Awareness that Leads to Remembrance

My sister always made everyone around her know how good God was as she fought breast cancer. 

The confessions are found in the pages of her journal after her original diagnoses in 2007. Her continuous smile proved she believed in "counting it all joy." (James 1:2)

The month of October puts extra emphasis on breast cancer awareness. During the raw and most challenging moments of Traci's journey, I found myself at times bitter and angry walking into stores seeing all things pink. 

"Why did she have to suffer like this? Why was her youth stolen by this disease and dreams of having a family instantly ripped from her grip? It's not fair she suffered for so long."

I know my sister had these same thoughts, but my memory can only recall twice when I heard the frustration. Her faith soared while her ability to survive was rooted in the truth that God is good. 

It became her lens in all things hard and reason why she praised in the positive moments. 

Her very presence was contagious simply because her faith was who she was. Traci showed many who Jesus was during her cancer journey which gave her more reason to keep fighting. 

How often have I given up hope because life got hard? When my belief that God is good vanishes due to frustrations and negative outcomes to situations out of my control?

God, I'm so sorry my flesh caved to defeat. 

Thank you for allowing me to have the years with my sister who challenged my faith and taught me 'never' or 'can't' are void of the dictionary. Thank you for granting our family thirty seven short years with a warrior who showed us how to fight well. 

Yes, October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, but I'd rather change the language to show off the hero's who gave everyone else reason to believe that...

God is still good. 

If Traci was still living, I'm positive she'd still be fighting, stubborn in her prayers for healing and cheering on all her Pink Sister's battling breast cancer alongside her. 

To those battling breast cancer, you are not far from our thoughts and prayers. Your strength and tenacity inspires those around you and does not go unnoticed. 

Sister, I miss you. 

 { Super model pose while passing time receiving treatment. }

A Day of Rescue

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you. Not yet."

These were the words my sister shared with me a month before she passed.
As we sat in Red Robin, laughing over the need for straws and beverage stabilization, her hands shook tempting the lemon drop to fall into her lap. Her body weakening; her spirit fiercely fighting. We decided to order multiple appetizers since we couldn't land on one dinner option leaving us with a table full of food and conversation for hours. I'm sure it looked ridiculous honestly. The disease had clearly taken a tole on her appearance and, for what I think was the first time outwardly, looked really sick. Regardless of how she felt, we were going to enjoy our time as sisters.
It was in these conversations where I remember asking if anything had changed and if she was ready. 

What I loved most about my sister was her ability to calm the weary supporter. The ability to relay a message of peace and firmly causing me to believe that only God can have control of her earthly timeline. I let her say her peace, but inside I knew things were changing. 

And here I sit, two years after my sweet sister gained her heavenly citizenship; grieved but not without joy, broken but whole, empty but have all that I need. 

There's not a day that goes by without a thought of my sister passing through a memory. A day that goes by without a longing to call and share the embarrassing moment or frustrating situation in parenting. I will always want more time, more hugs, more shaky dates with lemon drops and straws, but I realized in the process of my healing, that she needed a rescue more than I needed an earthly sister to stand by my side. 

God works all things for His glory, at the right time and with His purpose which points to His Kingdom and power. I believe it; I know it; I read the truth and rest in those promises. It's still hard. Heaven is more real now than has ever been before. Three grandparents and a sister in two years is far too much for one family to experience yet alone process with young ones. Death changes you. Grief rearranges your priorities and places a filter on life that is hard to understand when it's not personal and within reach of your sphere. Giving my grief words can be a challenge some days and when needed my tears speak for the lost communication. 

God heard my sisters request of her spirit growing faint to this earthly world and sent an army to rescue her from the physical suffering and torment the ravishing disease was doing to her body. What settles my deep longing to pull my sister from Heaven is knowing the impact still taking place through her story and how God, in His infinite wisdom, orchestrated her beautiful rescue. 

He heard her.

He saw her. 

He sheltered her. 

He defended her. 

He found her. 

I'm confident that my sisters words would not change if she could shout down from Heaven...

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you. Not yet."

Her message unwavering:
God is still good. 

Not every rescue looks the way we requested, planned or even want to experience. There is no goodbye willingly given to those you love. 

But, this I know... I needed a rescue as much as my sister received hers. 

God rescued me from intense grief, from a state of brokenness and loss that has turned to joy. 

God hears me, sees me, continues to shelter me and defend me. 

Today, I reflect on the moment my sisters hand slipped from mine and entered into the presence of God. 

Today, as a family, we remember the life that was lived with a contagious smile, laughter
and zest for adventure. 

I will raise my hands in worship, allow the tears to slip down my cheeks and embrace the army that has surrounded me here on earth separate from my sister. 

Happy Heavenly Birthday my sweet sister... You still haven't left me. 

Hummingbird Kisses

A faint hum. A flutter of the wing. A hummingbird kiss hovering in the air.

The ability to beat the wing two hundred times in a single second. 

This is grief; a flutter of memories that holds hundreds of visuals of the one you love which are displayed in a single beat of the heart longing to be with those gone. 

{ 1980's Christmas }

I first experienced this the day my sister passed almost two years ago. As the sun was setting in a pink fire of a sky, hummingbirds greeted the porch that once fed them in multiple feeders on Traci's balcony. The pause of movement hovering before diving to the next destination. 

Many have sent text messages with images of hummingbirds staring them down outside a kitchen window as a reminder of the connection my sister had with the fascinating bird. 

A physical reminder that brought a memory to mind. 

The most significant being on a run with a girlfriend this past summer, 1200ft. in elevation, pausing at an overlook facing Mt. Baker and the valley below. A breathtaking display of God's creation that felt like a hands distance away. Our emotions were already in play as we began our run in tears and paused in reflection of what God had done in our lives. As I began to explain how I couldn't even come close to what heaven would be like compared to the view we had in front of us, a hummingbird came within arms reach; eye level, face to face, pausing for what felt like minutes. My body collapsed to the stone rock we stood on as the tears flooded my cheeks. A hummingbird kiss of desired touch, relationship and physical presence fluttered in front of me as if Traci herself, was there to tell me to get it going, stop you're fussing and get running. My girlfriend gently laid her hand on my shoulder praying through the grief left on that view point advantage. 

"I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember Your miracles of long ago. I will meditate on all Your works and consider all your mighty deeds."

Psalm 77:11-12

Hauling out the Christmas decorations I, out of habit, went to grab my phone to call my sister and tell her Christmas was about to unleash throughout my house. Her name greeting me on the Christmas card list in harsh reality that I won't be sending her a card. 

The ornament hanging on the tree in memory of my sister not here in person to celebrate. 

Memories of decorating gingerbread houses together, discussing what gifts to buy for our parents, what crafts to make for teacher gifts and how to spoil the nieces and nephews have been in full view this month. It's hard not to remember the old... of not that long ago. 

One particular Christmas really stands out in my mind. My dad had just recently been diagnosed with prostate cancer. The weekend we found out all the details of his condition, I spent in Portland visiting Traci. She always had a list a mile long of things to do that if accomplished, would take the entire month to cross each one off. She was never shy of ideas to create memories. This weekend she took us (Tim, Addi & I) to the Grotto to see the beautiful displayed nativity scene carved in stone along with harmonic choirs in a tree light setting. There was a glimpse of fear in our conversation over Dad and tears shed as Daddy's girls were scared for his future. Little did we know four months later she would be facing a diagnoses herself. 

I also think back to Christmas of 2015 when us three kids tried to replicate an old childhood picture in our Christmas onesie pj's with perfectly cropped mullets. There was laughter that filled the living room seeing all of us in oversized, ridiculous pj's making the kids think we were all a bit crazy. 

And taking you really far back, the memories of red, plaid Christmas nightgowns with curly hair and three kids overly anxious to open presents with Mom slowly... washing... every... single... dish before we could even so much as touch a present to open. And of course, the kid picture in front of the tree or fireplace has to take place as well before the excitement of gifts begin. These are the flutters that cross my mind as I glance at our Christmas tree and see the hummingbird visit the feeder outside my window. 

"And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, "This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.""

Luke 22:19

Grief can be complicated, exhausting, unexpected and beautiful all in the same moment. I've been punched with grief when not expecting the tears to well up and then find myself laughing in the middle of a memory. I have promised myself that I will not give any ground for the Enemy to steal my joy and that also 

includes my joy in grief. 

Once a month, we remember what Christ did for us on the cross taking our sins upon Himself to then offer His children eternal salvation if we believe. A time to reflect, repent and remember ALL that Father God has done in our lives. Sure, for some this can be a time of extreme emotions and others a time of gratitude that extends through smiles and worship. Both displaying the act of remembering. We don't do this to get stuck on the fact that we are filthy sinners who don't deserve grace. We do this to remember the freedom we have through the cross. God has provided believers an expression to receive a hummingbird kiss. A moment to reflect on the ways God has rescued, redeemed and forgiven you in life. 

I am so thankful for the beauty of remembering. 

Sister, thank you for giving me so much to remember. 

Two hundred memories in a single second. 

Two hundred times two hundred more days I wish I had more with you. 

Two hundred ways to say I love you and miss you. 

Two hundred ways God gave you miracles that has inspired, encouraged and given me reason to smile. 

Hummingbird kisses. 

Flutters of memories displayed in mere seconds as a single tear quietly travels down my cheek. 

Merry Christmas Sister. You are always remembered.