“This is the year I learned…”
This is a sentence I’ve retwritten more than I can count. But this is my final draft.
This is the year that I learned that hearts don’t break because if they did, then ours would have never lasted. Over the past 6 months, I’ve come to realize the world revolves on an inherent sadness that we all will eventually face. We never thought we’d have to face it so soon. However, with this sadness, as Ivan’s mom had taught us, we can embrace fleeting moments of such great beauty. Our hearts ache so intensely for you, but we will never forget the beautiful person that you are and the inspiring legacy of your good heart and selfless deeds.
Mom, on the night of December 26, 2013, we were given news that none of us knew how to handle. That you, our loving mother, devoted Christian, and incredibly strong and kind-hearted person, had brain cancer. I called dad saying we had to go see you at the hospital, hoping that he could hear my words through my crying. He heard. And with the way he spoke his next words, I thought it was truly a moment where my heart broke.
When we saw you, you looked no different. I only hoped that the situation was not as dire as I first thought. When you struggled to find your words for the simplest ideas, I hung on desperately to the chance that this was temporary and that you would wake up tomorrow to be better. The doctors said we had two years with you.
Two years.
There was no getting better. There was still so much life I wanted to live with you. Two years wasn’t enough. I couldn’t even call you mom yet. Our kids would never know you. All, so selfish. I’m sorry. I just desperately still want you here.
Through this entire process, there wasn’t a single moment where you showed weakness or even the slightest indication of fear as every single “how are you feeling, mom?” was always answered “You know me, I’m okay!”.
Every single person that knew you was in awe of you. How does someone facing her inevitable end approach it with complete acceptance? I never knew bravery until I met you. Your trust in God’s plan for you gave you peace and acceptance that however difficult the next little while would be, that all would be taken care of.
When we all broke down around you, you stayed silent then prayed for us and continued to be our strength while never shedding a tear or submitting to any sense of helplessness. Your strength calmed our hearts and brought us peace.
During this time, we also created some of our most memorable moments together. We secretly ate ice cream together so dad wouldn’t know we were eating junk food, we surprised you with a dinner on your birthday, and you taught us how to pose “more feminine” as we tried your wigs on. Ivan too.
Among these moments, one of the most significant was that you were able to celebrate with us at our wedding. We look back so fondly at the photos of you and dad smiling. We’ll forever remember your happiness and we are grateful for all you have done for our growing relationship. You are one of the few couples that have taught us what a marriage truly is.
From being dressed all in white, I now mourn for you all in black.
On June 19, 2014 at 6:30 in the morning, mom stopped suffering.
As dad had said as we stood by your bed shortly after your passing, it is more important to have a shorter life that was filled with meaningful and substantial purpose than to have a long and empty life lacking love, devotion, and family. Although mom’s life was shortened, what she had accomplished during that time was no small feat. The memories of her will continue to inspire us.
Now, you are in a place where there are no hospitals, no medication, no sadness, and no pain. For this, we can be happy. Although you are no longer here, you will never leave us. You are every restaurant we’ve eaten at, you are every overstuffed bag of groceries, you are every late night staying up to shop online, you are Ivan’s wavy hair, you are our strength, our happiness, and part of our heart and soul.
Mom, you are my angel. I miss you so much but I’ll see you again. I love you.
Something sketchy is going on tonight... 