Hello August.

We are walking into August. It arrived today- it was a quiet, pretty arrival... all soft hues of sunrise.
All week I've been hearing people lament, "Where has the year gone??" and "How quickly are the months flying by?"
I may have uttered such thoughts myself as I realise that the end of year madness is fast approaching.

August is a 'line in the sand' type month for us.
It was the last month that he lived and loved and battled to stay with us.
He set a goal- a determined decision- to survive August.
He wanted to be alive for his 43rd birthday.
And he was.
Oh- that season of the great leaning in. Those days of thousands of birthday cards and the support and overwhelming push of care that they arrived with.
Yes... He determined to survive August.
And it was a battle.
Each day was tough.
Each day was brimmed and tinged with pain.
The physical pain that he endured as the tumours raged and grew. As his liver shut down- threw in the towel in violent response to the masses that had lodged there.
The physical pain- and the other type of pain. The one that lodges up in your heart.
That primal, heart wrenching pain of a long goodbye.

His final day at home was the 31st August.
It was the worst day we had- he was in and out of lucid moments. He knew- I could see it in his eyes. he knew that he was nearing the end.
The boys came home from school and he was sitting up in our bed. He gathered every iota of strength that he had and he opened his arms to his boys.
They all piled on the bed and what followed was a special moment.
The boys revelled in his arms being around them.
He fought to stay present.
I felt my heart shatter into a billion pieces.
I knew it was time for him to go to palliative care for that last time.

No more daddy-type bed time hugs.

At 11pm that night, we ushered him out the front door and he never returned. As he shuffled slowly past the boys room, his hand went out- a silent wave to his sleeping babies.
We got to the hospital and I wheeled him into St. Catherines ward. The amazing nurses began the process of getting him settled and he suddenly says, "Wait- what day is it??" One of the nurses looks at her watch and says- "Well- it's past midnight, so that makes it the 1st of September."
Sheldon sighs and looking at me says, "I did it. I lived August!"

He lived August.

And now- here we are. A whole year has marched by.
I've talked to you all about how precious time is and about how the fleeting beauty of the moments that we are granted are to be treasured. Treasure them!
Time.
A year.
I couldn't imagine being without him for a day, and here I am. A year has waltzed past and I am learning to fly again.
Learning to laugh freely.
Learning to expect that good things will happen- and that those good things will not be snatched away from me. Death and grief can foster that fear. That every time something precious and good is placed before you, it might just vanish.
It's taken some time, but I can now think about the terms "...a future and a hope", and truly believe that yes, maybe they still apply to me and my family. That maybe they weren't nullified by the curse of cancer and the grave.
That's the thing about hope- once it's been lodged and anchored deep in the recesses of your heart, well it can't be shifted- not truly. No chaotic storm. No cancerous growth. No sad, lamentable day of death- nothing can truly shift that hope.
It is steady and steadfast.
It is the most immoveable of anchors.
It was silent for a while as my heart mended it's shattered and torn edges, but then- it softly and slowly rose up.
Hope rose up.
It had never shifted.
I can see now that hope was the sustaining breath that I needed when I thought I could go no further- it whispered, "One step more, my girl. It will get easier. He has heaven and you have these days".
Hope.
Hope for a brighter day than the ones I have known.
Hope for laughter and joy that echo despite the grief of death. A hope filled laughter that flows from such a deep perspective of how beautiful the gift of life is.
Hope for Heaven and for the people that stand on her glittering shore.
Hope for now- that the healing will continue and that garment of praise will replace the spirit of heaviness.

Yes- hope rose up.
I heard her call.

And now- a year.
August arrived today. I heard her being ushered in by the early morning bird calls.
I had thought I might flinch or grimace at this day.
But I found myself waking with a peaceful heart- and a smile to greet this day.

And while I walk through her days this time around, my heart is full.
It's a different August this year.
No more pain.
No more long goodbye.

 So- Hello August.

You are called the same numbered days, but you have a different agenda this year.
You don't carry us towards the moment of his final breath, you carry us into a new chapter.

Thank God for the next page, huh?
Thank God that the next page is bordered and margined with the reminders of a kind, strong and courageous Sheldon- who we miss but who we KNOW is so very whole and at peace on that distant shore. And on this page we see the brilliant new days we are living written out in clear and determined letters. Oh- thank God for the next page.
Thank God for sons who mirror the very reflection of their dad- in looks and in kind heart.
Thank God for the days that are unravelling, touched with a new expectation and a future worth smiling at.

Yes- August, you are not the enemy.
You are not days to be sighed over or feared.
You did your job last year. You were his last month and you helped us find a moment each of your days to say goodbye.
Those 31 days of his last month are amongst the most precious moments I have tucked away. He was present and purposed in his love for those he adored. He dragged the most out of each moment. Because he knew.

What if you knew?
What if you knew that you had one more month to live?
One more month that would be named and numbered your last?
Sheldon knew.
And he gathered his loves around him.
Our house filled and brimmed to overflowing with love and our people.
What if you knew?
What would you change?
What person would you forgive?
What story would you tell?
What face would you study and burn into memory?
How would your last month be different to the hundreds of months that you had at your disposal before?
Would you love deeper?
Would you live kinder?
Would you be more present at the meal time conversations?
Would you put down the phone and look into a face for a conversation?
Would you jump on a plane and take that trip to hug that far away loved one?
Would you finally face the fears and the issues that hold you at ransom?
Could you find freedom from strangleholds in an effort to truly live free- if only for a month?

What if you knew that one more month was all you had?

Don't wait to know.
Linger in a kiss today.
Wrap your arms tighter in a hug this morning.
Face them- those fears and issues that have held you captive for too long.
Make every second and moment of this August count.
Be kind despite the unkindness of others.
Tell them- those people that you love- what they mean to you.
Be PURPOSEFUL in your moments.

Don't wait.
Live this month with determined JOY!

Find the crazy parts of a day and laugh!!!!

Adventures are ours to have!!!!

What madness is this?

I sat down this morning.
My coffee was hot and my slippers warmed my cold toes.

I sat down and I decided to catch up on the happenings of the world.
I've been living for so many weeks in a lovely little bubble planet... and I said to myself-
"Suz- it's time to catch up on what's been going on in the big wide world.."

I sat down this morning and I turned on the TV.
As the news anchor spoke and the images flashed before me, my fingers curled around my now cooling coffee cup.
As the anguish and the monumental heartache was communicated from distant, bloodstained shores... I sat.

I sat in silent disbelief- I mean, why?
Why?
Why?

We fought cancer.
An insidious and evil terrorist that tormented and wreaked havoc on healthy cells. Invading and overtaking until the cancerous cells were the ruling majority.
We fought cancer and we battled long and hard against a foe that we could name.

What is this madness- that invades our society in cruel and malicious means.
Worse than any cancerous cell.
Unnamed and masked behind the labels of religiosity and fundamental belief hierarchies.

Today and tomorrow, the families of those who were slain by this rogue madness will prepare themselves to say that final farewell.
They have had no preparation.
No last, long lingering looks as the life of their beloved slowly ebbed away.
They have had no discussions by the fireplace as the last moments crept closer- conversations about what life without their physicality would be like.
No.
This madness... worse than a cancerous cell... is a cruel and heartless menace.

And this madness is not merely confined to the headlines of today.
It's everyday.
It's 310 dead in Baghdad two weeks ago when a bomb ripped through a market place.
Madness.
It's the Syrian crisis.
A madness too heavy for comprehension.
It's the unknown and relentless attacks that plague this planet.
And closer to home the madness edges and dips her toes in our pleasant waters.
We push it back and refuse to admit that we, the luckiest of all lucky countries are amongst those who will fall prey to this... to this madness.

I know grief.
She is my friend and my worst enemy.
And I felt her sigh as I sat this morning.
I heard the woe in her voice as she whispered of broken hearts that are scattered across the face of this planet- broken because of a madness.

I sat this morning and watched a world turned upside down by madness.
And my heart ached for them.
For us.
For me.

And my thoughts turned, as a mother's thoughts always will, to the children that are mine.
To the world that they are entering into- bright eyed and full of the potential to be anyone and do anything.
And I felt a moment of bitter sadness. A sadness that was carried by the weight of a world turned mad.
And then, because it's who I am and it's how I am wired to process- I hoped.
I hoped.
In the face of hopelessness.
In the harsh glare of madness- I hope.

Hope won't disappoint.
It can't.
It is the fervent belief that things will be ok.
That, despite and regardless of how truly bottom of the barrel this world just might get, there will be a glimmer of good.
I hope.
I hope that the families of the slain will find peace.
Peace in the midst of chaos.
That is a beautiful, hard fought for peace.
It is a war-weary peace.

Hope- an expectation that there will be beauty in the midst of chaos.

If I have discovered anything on this journey of the long goodbye to him- it is this...
Hope matters.
Looking forward with expectation, even in the darkest and wildest of storms- it matters.
Looking to a day that is bright with laughter and love, even while death and heartache abounds... well that matters most.

I don't have a solution.
Or even a reason for this madness.
I have only this- a glimmer of hope.
A sliver of hope that my children will know a world where beauty lives and flourishes.
Because if we lose hope- well, then we lose the war.