The Last Time I Held Her Hand

The last time I held my sisters hand was the first time she stood before her God and Maker. 

Cancer-free.

Complete.

Without pain or scars of her almost ten year journey with breast cancer. 

Surrounded by her family, she peacefully marched her way into glory. 

I say march because that's exactly what Traci did in those last hours here on earth. 

I was originally going to fly down to Portland Thursday morning, but my flight was cancelled the night before leaving me to drive the next morning. I got to Traci's apartment around 10:30am. Mom had told me about the confirmed liver failure a few days before and the turn of yellow in her skin, but seeing in person was much more prominent then I expected. 

Traci and I joked about how yellow was never her color. She said with her cute smirk, "Yeah, it's not my favorite either. It's not that bad though." She was always reassuring me she was okay. 

{ I'm not sure who looks more tired. Taken minutes after arriving to Portland. }

The car ride to Compass Oncology that afternoon was heavy with emotion, fatigue and the knowing of the reality to come. 

It didn't take long before the air was sucked right out of the room. 

"We're going to be stopping all treatments and transfer you into support care."

My sister has been a valiant fighter for ten years coming face to face with death sentences far too many times in her journey. What started as breast cancer soon raged into bone, lung, liver, brain and eye cancer. Multiple surgeries, not a day without pills or maintenance chemo, loss of hair four times and never a single complaint. She fought with that bright, contagious smile and never lost her sparkle. 

When most people fall into pieces after getting diagnosed with cancer, Traci came to life. 

My sister in her earlier days struggled to find her sense of identity; to know who she was and why she was placed here on earth. She fought with depression some and has said to me, "I felt like a wanderer not knowing what my purpose was." And then she met her diagnosis.

Traci was always passionate about her Jesus and had interest in missionary work growing up. What happened quickly after her first surgery was something magical. The harder cancer fought to take Traci away from us, the more she'd push to let her faith shine more radiantly. Rather than us encouraging her to stay strong, was Traci telling everyone "it's okay, God is in control."

These past few months I shared with my sister how I felt her starting to slip away. She, without hesitating, told me, "Sis, I'm not going anywhere."

When she was given her first timeline just a few months ago, she replied with, "Dr. Look is not in control of my timeline. God is the only one who knows my timeline."

She fought with confidence for a cure. She fought with purpose to share her Jesus with everyone she came into contact with at work, home, on her paddling team and any stranger willing to listen. 

Her fight inspired numbers that we will never see here on this side of earth. 

{ The weight of the world landed on our shoulders in the doctors office. }

We sat in shambles as the staff at Compass came in to say their goodbyes with social workers gathering information to set up hospice up north. The details of making Traci comfortable once we made it home came together easily, but the acceptance of "why" was hard to adjust to. Addison had been in Portland all week and after a few days of seeing her Auntie becoming weaker in strength and more confused in conversation, she finally came to the point where she broke into quiet sobs resting in her Papa's arms. My sister had reached her hand out and invited me to sit next to her. Fingers laced together, we were going to finish this strong. 

"Am I dying? Am I really dying?"

Yes, honey, you're dying. 

"I don't know. I...okay...yeah, I don't know."

You think about this moment happening, but then it's here and nothing prepares you for the rawness of emotions that flood every part of your mind and body. What happened in that doctors office was simple: the man who came up with options for every curve ball this cancer has thrown at us finally had no more tricks, experimental treatments or options to treat the beast that stole a healthy body ten years earlier. In those moments Dr. Look gave Traci's weak, frail body permission to stop fighting. Whether she wanted to or not; her body was worn out from such an intense fight. 

Dr. Look had given her one to two months. She was adamant about going on our family cruise next month. I'm not sure which made her more upset honestly;
stopping treatment or not being able to travel. 

With oxygen by her side, we navigated our way to the pharmacy to gather a few more prescriptions before heading back to the apartment. She had wanted to let her friends know and was asking to post something on Facebook. After making attempts on her phone, I placed her computer in her lap so she could let her supporters know of this news. Unfortunately, in her confusion, she wasn't able to recognize Facebook and saw the computer as just being black which led me to writing what she had earlier expressed and her approving it before posting.
"God was still good."

Later in the evening Pastor Jesse and his wife Crystal came to visit and pray with Traci. 

What astonishes me is how powerful the mind plays a role in our decision making, and our will to live. While visiting with Jesse, I noticed Traci dozing off and her color changing in front of us. Again, she said multiple times, "Yeah, so..I don't know," as we prayed over her, committing her to Jesus and asking boldly for peace. 

It was immediately after, Traci became cold and clammy, yet dripping in sweat. It was as if her spirit fled after Pastor Jesse prayed. Now her body and mind were in agreement.
Because of the liver failure and increasing kidney failure, she felt like using the bathroom every ten to fifteen minutes. We together spent many precious moments with me sitting on the floor resting on her knees telling her I loved her, discussing intimate details and moments of just locking eyes in disbelief. A blessing to us was when a Pink Phoenix team mate stopped by moments after Jesse left. With her knowledge and experience, it was clear that Traci would not make it home the next day. As gently as she could, Sue tenderly told me she may not survive the night. 

Panic. I'm not ready. Fear. Seriously? Is this really happening now?

Addison paced the front porch waiting for her baby brother to arrive to the apartment after being flown to Portland by his Grandpa Doug, and transported by Grandpa John to the apartment. There were many moments that evening that broke me, but the one of Addison and Charlie embracing in a tight hug weeping together was definitely one as a parent, that tore me apart. 

Traci didn't have much energy and her level of lucidness was becoming less, but the moment Charlie came to her side she lit up and together they had a moment. 

"Hi pal!"

Charlie knew the seriousness of the moment and laid in bed with his Auntie rubbing her back, reminding her he loved her. 

Tim arrived shortly after followed by Jason who raced down to be with us. We were supposed to be driving home the next day. We were supposed to all go to Charlie's basketball game Saturday and celebrate his birthday on Sunday.

Traci had other plans. 

The hours passed slowly. Mom and I never left her side as I read from her worn out Bible "songs" that she had underlined and known favorites of hers. I had stopped reading at one point and she asked for more songs so I continued to read scripture while Mom rubbed her back and I held her hand. Many times I locked eyes and told her it was okay to go, He's calling your name and you have permission to go. When it was just the two of us, I prayed that prayer with us never closing our eyes, and she in agreement smiled and said, "I know. I love you."

To have one more moment to say that to her, face to face. To hear her laugh just that one more time. To have her tell me she's not going anywhere.
Sister, I need you. 

It was hours later that Mom and I saw the struggle become more present. As a family, we laid hands on our beloved first daughter and big sister as I prayed permission for her to go and released her back into the hands of her Creator. After that, we didn't get many more words or response. Her spirit had left and her body was not far behind. She had calmed some and with the assistance of Hospice and Sue, we were able to rest for a short while. She was very comfortable with the efforts from morphine. Mom continued to hold her baby girl as I laid next to her never wanting to let go. 

The fight was gone. 

In her final moments, there was fear that it was happening, but also honor to be able to speak to her  through emotion as she was standing face to face with her Maker. 

"Honey, you need to go. Just go. You need to go. He's calling your name. It's okay.
We love you. You need to go."

8:40am

"The Sovereign LORD is my strength; He makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
He enables me to go to the heights."
Habakkuk 3:19

I should never have had to say those words to my big sister. I will never forget what it felt like to feel my big sisters hand go limp in mine knowing her life was gone and her fight was done. Nothing can steal that moment away and I'm still processing exactly what we experienced. 

The flood of emotion can not be explained. There was intense sadness. Relief. Loss. Joy.

I felt sick. I felt weak. I struggled to know what to do and saw my children process as they stood over their Auntie who conquered. The rest of the morning became a blur. 

There is still so much processing that needs to happen and grief that will wake me up at night.

But in the end...
God IS still good. 

{ Traci's first Heavenly sunset. Pink, of course...}