Saturday, September 10, 2016

No title because I have no idea.

Each day, I want to write to you and share with you. I want to tell you what happened, why I was absent from this space. I, desperately, want to explain the lessons I learned and personal discoveries I made. But, I couldn’t and can’t. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I don’t know how to put any of these experiences into words. I don’t know how to tell you what flirting with death feels like. Because when that date with death actually happens, I am not thinking, remember this, record this, you will remember this one day

I stood under the Sistine Chapel and can tell you, in detail, about the moment I looked up, and noticed the ceiling and felt my breath leave my body. I remember the first time I witnessed the birth of a baby and the magic that fills the room...especially right after she is here. This time though, without magnificent ceilings and magical babies, I only thought about survival and the unknown. I only thought, please dear Lord, do not make this whole death thing painful. If this is your will, then so be it, but please make it easy. My thoughts weren't beautiful like the ceiling and they weren't magical and filled with love like those few moments after a baby arrives. They were confusing and unknown.

One Friday, this past June, I planted and potted, all afternoon, on my deck. This kind of day is not unusual, I have done this for days and weeks, since the first week of May. I remained determined to create my simple, container version of a garden. A true and tangible realization of a dream. A real, flowering garden watered by my heart and soul. My philosophy has always been and forever shall be, do what you can when you can. So, I designed a container garden in March. 

I researched deer resistant flowers and plants, and watched more YouTube how-to videos-- how to plant Dahlia tubers-- than you can imagine. I planted the tubers when they arrived and I made an obnoxious number of trips to the local nursery. I killed and over-watered and didn’t realize the importance of soil and sun and drainage. I chose difficult to grow plants and easy to grow plants, and I learned from each of them. But, then, this Friday, in June, I had to leave my garden for a few hours to go in for a quick and routine test. An MRI. Moments after the test, as I was quickly transferring mounds of laundry from the washing machine to the dryer,I received a call. The caller told me I was septic and must go to the emergency room as soon as possible.

I yelled and screamed. I tried to convince everyone these results weren’t possible. I was, after all, moving forward. I was working on a dream. I was paying my bills and showing up and doing all the things we think we need to do to live well. And then, boom. All was not well. I panicked. I refused to go the hospital. I insisted I could not do this again. I could not be sick. I would not take IV medications. ‘I am not doing this again’ is all I could say, over and over again.

And then I went into my bathroom, my very safest place. And I called my friend. The friend I call when I can’t do it anymore, the friend I call when I don’t believe in anything anymore...especially me.

I said, “ I have to go to the hospital because I am septic and I don’t want to.”

He said, “ Well, you understand this feeling more than most people.”

I said, “ I know, and I don’t want to go. I just don’t think I can. Just please tell me I can do it. Just say I can and I will. Just say it will all be okay. ”

He said, “ Sarah, you are far more resilient that you give yourself credit." 

And then I cried and asked him what the damn meaning was of the Book of Job, in the Bible. I cried and sobbed and asked. And he answered.

He said, “Well, I think there is some comfort that lies in the unknown.”

And I didn’t get it. At all. I thought the letting go and the unknown were full of fear, not hope and love. 

And then I suffered through these months of the unknown and only came out with more peace and comfort than before. And tonight as the rain poured, so did my tears...like a baptism, and I thought of my friend. And I messaged him. And this is what I wrote. 




And then I sent pictures of the silly little deck garden I stared in March.





We do not know anything for sure. Our only power lies in hope and love and faith...all things  unknown. We can force anything we want, we can ask for anything we want, but when we let go, when we let go of the requests and the have to's and should's and would's...our true self takes over. Our will to live outweighs our fear of the unknown. We take the risk, the leap of faith, that all will be well, even if we are not in control.   

I am having a hard time this time around, because I know so many things for sure and I don’t feel qualified to share these things. Because I am just human and make so many mistakes and lost my faith and fail at love and I hurt people. However, in the moments in the bathroom when I continued to repeat, Your will, not mine. Your will, not mine. I only thought of the mark I will leave when I am gone. Nothing about success or rules or time or right and wrong. Only thoughts of how I made people feel. And some thoughts had to be handed over to the unknown. And some thoughts were certain. I didn’t know the mark I would leave. I just hoped and prayed and loved. Because it was all I could do, in the end. It’s all any of us can do, ever. Just love. Just hope. And just pray in anyway you can.

The unknown sounds so scary and dark, like the night. And then the stars start to twinkle and shine and you know you are safe to let go and just admire...the unknown. Forever and always. 

I will be back. I will share more. I think of you, daily. 

Thank you for showing up during the certain and the unknown. You are loved. Each of you has left your mark. You helped a stranger. You are loved. 


27 comments:

  1. Blessing to you Sarah and to your family

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  2. What a beautiful, inspiring post, Sarah!

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  3. Your garden is beautiful, just like YOU!

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  4. I don't know you. I know your mom. I am gobsmacked by your heart and wisdom. Also, dahlias are my favorites. Thanks for the beauty you bring to the world, young woman.

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    1. Wow, your comment brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for your beautiful and generous message. So very kind of you and shows the abundance of beauty you bring to the world. Thank you. And, yes I agree, I am in love with the dahlias. I'll post another picture when they all are open at the same time, it's getting very close!

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  5. I don't know you. I know your mom. I am gobsmacked by your heart and wisdom. Also, dahlias are my favorites. Thanks for the beauty you bring to the world, young woman.

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  6. wishing you health and all the strength in the world to continue forward and get through the hard times!

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    1. Beautiful. And, thank you. I wish you the very same.

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  7. I am double your age and I am learning so much from you. Thank you, you are very special.

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    1. That's quite a compliment, thank you. Thank you for your encouragement and kind heart and words.

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  8. So glad you are back, I was worried about you. Your resilience and strength are so inspiring. Keep shining bright, you have so much to give this world.

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    1. Thank you, Liz. Your kindness is so inspiring! Thank you. xoxo

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  9. Thinking of you! When the going gets tough, the tough get going. You my dear DEFINE tough.

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    1. Awe, Jen, thank you! You are right about the tough getting going. WE are all so tough! I am amazed! xoxo

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  10. I'm thinking of you, and hoping that you get stronger every day. I've been checking your blog and hoping you're okay :) Big hugs from Australia!

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    1. Thank you for your thoughtfulness and checking in on me. Your hope has carried me so very much! Big hug to you, too!! xoxo

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  11. Thinking of you, reading your shared thoughts, and hoping that you feel well and can enjoy the things and people you love.

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    1. I am working on enjoying again. Thank you for the precious hope and wish. Thank you.

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  12. Feeling so many things reading this post, Sarah. So happy to see that you are able to post again, and so sad that you have been so sick and discouraged. Happy that you are able to lean on God during your struggle, but so very sad that you do have to struggle. I wish I could convey how much your sharing means to so many people. You affect so many faceless lives out here in cyberland with your strength and vulnerability and love that you so freely share. God bless you, dear one.

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    1. Mary - God bless you, too. Your second to last line brings tears to my eyes. Thank you for sharing that with me. I think of all of my 'faceless' friends constantly and hold you all very close to my heart. Thank you for so much support and sharing so freely, too. Love to you, Sarah

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  13. You show such grace in the face of adversity, Sarah. I am so glad you are back to this space, I missed your inspirational words and gentle way of conveying them. I hope you are feeling a little better. Thinking of you x

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    1. Thank you, Lulu, for graciously welcoming me back. I miss this place the most when I am sick. Thank you and thinking of you, too :) xoxo

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Thank you for commenting. I appreciate all of your words.