Scars in Heaven

Grief doesn't go away. We've been without my sister for thirty-one months. It is unbelievable that more than 2.5 years have passed since she passed. A better way to say it, or how I prefer to think of it, since Lianne moved in with the Lord in His Holy Dwelling Place. Where she left this earth and now lives in her forever Home. 

This song,
Scars in Heaven was released by Casting Crowns a couple of days ago and it just hits home. Every time I hear it tears roll and joy fills my heart. 

If I'd only known the last time would be the last time....

I have few regrets about my relationship with Lianne. We fought when we were kids, we stole each other's doll or game or friend or hair-tie, we argued when we were teenagers, kicked a door or two, we laughed so hard we cried and cried so much it hurt. We learned to live in a new culture and what it means to be homesick, to have longing, and have a deep ache in our soul. We learned what it means to live in the world by doing so, and what it means to be liberated from the chains of darkness that held us down. We learned and shared together as sisters in Christ and were so encouraged to grow deeper and stronger as sisters-squared. We learned to serve, to love, to be ourselves. We were trying desperately to learn how to act justly and do love mercy and walk humbly and do so not for our name but His! We shared so many dreams and ambitions and then cancer hit, and hit hard! It hit home and it took you out. And cancer is this stupid c-word that wreaks havoc in so many lives and then there's a last time. For us it was the end of October when we got to spend a bonus week together. I cherish that last time. And at the same time I didn't want to experience it whatsoever. I remember so well, the pain of letting go, of having to say bye but not being able to. I remember feeling so broken and telling you to have courage and oh - you were so courageous! And then, I left. Let you go. I flew to Holland. A short two weeks later I flew back to Canada, as you'd gone to be with the LORD. And Lianne, it hurts still. Heartbreak is something I experienced relationship ended during my late teens. It was super hard. But the heartbreak that I've felt since you moved in with Jesus has been so much more intense and harder and surreal and painful and excruciating. There's this deep brokenness, these pieces, and honestly, it's bitter and disgusting and beautiful in the same breath.

There will be no such thing as broken - the old made new.

Never have I ever, a game we played with friends and youth groups and mingling-required-activities at church camps. But Never have I ever longed so much for the newness, for the healing of heartbreak, for the pain to be gone, for the Lord to come. Perhaps a little selfish, because I'm a little sick of the pain at times. I long for healing and the Maranatha because the old must pass away and the new must come. We're called to a denial and dying of self and be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new self, which in the likeness of God has been created in righteousness and holiness of the truth (Eph 4:22-24). We'll be made new, the old made new. Here a little, then in full. The already but not yet, but the promise.

A smile, even as tears fall down... 

Because this happens. Simultaneously. Joy and sorrow. Deep pain and incredible freedom. I type this and tears roll and smiles form and they eb and flow together. There is no division, I can't choose what happens. Simultaneously and inseparable. Sometimes one more intense than the other, sometimes one so real and so vivid you can hardly breathe. And then it softens, and healing happens. Healing happens only due to the scars that Christ has. Healing happens through this compassionate GodMan who stood and took the blame and bore the wrath. The power of the cross! He took it all away for us, lets us cry now and hurt now but also gives warmth and healing and embrace. It hurts still, it hurts incredibly deep and stings and feels bruised and painful. But there's such a promise, knowing he holds us, but also holds my sister, holds Lianne, holds your loved one who was set free by God Himself. He holds

Only scars in heaven are on the hands that hold you now.

I believe that Jesus' death made Life possible. Only through Him can we live and move and have our being. And then He rose from the grave, victory over death, and knowing that we will be risen with Christ - what a promise! Then He ascended and He is still with God and that's where He intercedes for us and will meet us too! He'll walk with us and talk with us and have perfect union with His own. I once saw a picture which I just imagine Lianne does all the time in heaven, Hugging Jesus. The biggest, tightest, and best Lianne hugs. And Jesus hands hold her, and never let her go. That's why I can still smile and laugh and rejoice! There's a joyful 

Hallelujah!

Until I finally can see what you can see.

"So I am thankful for the scars, for without them I wouldn't know Your heart"(I am They) Scars that bring healing and ones we'll see when "we all get to heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be; when we all see Jesus, and sing and shout the victory!" (Redman)

Words and life

 I wrote this piece last year, shortly after moving to Alberta. Never shared it then. I felt too frail to share words then, felt too vulnerable to lay my heart bare. This summer one of the books I'm working through is all about vulnerability. Today's lesson was about numbing ourselves because we want either more or less of something. This something can be emotion or connection or adequacy or material good or admiration or, or, or... I think for a while I pretended to be strong, to be independent, to be shielded by strength and not show my pain. I didn't want to share my heart, my grief, my brokenness because the whole world was saying I was so strong and so brave and so admired for moving across the world again. Moving to Canada in the summer of 2019 was a decision I made for multiple reasons, one of which was choosing health over career, was choosing me over societal standards, was choosing to listen to my heart over being deafened by the screams of my mind, was saying "Yes, Lord" instead of "I'm going to do my own thing". It was the most difficult decision, because I had to listen and admit my brokenness and face burnout head on. I wanted less grief. Less attention. Less pain. Less pity. More understanding. More healing. More being heard. More energy. More ability. 

The Lord knew I needed healing, family, process, deep grief, painful valleys, torrential tear storms, warming spring days, and the power of words to bring life. Words of Life through Scripture. Words of Life through sharing with others at a 13 week program called GriefShare (highly recommend!). Words of Life through new friends. Words of Life through Bible studies, I studied Joshua-2Samuel in the fall when looking at David's life specifically and during the Covid lockdown when we read all of it as a group in 8 weeks! David, a man who experienced a lot of ups and downs and wrote a lot about it through songs. I'm no poet, and definitely not at all musical, but David's example is one of courage to share words with the Lord. So I share words. I share what's on my heart with Him, and maybe with you, because it brings healing and life. Because I live only through Him. And only because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, I live and share. 

[picture: Lianne and I, we always shared sky photos. Especially when I moved away from AB. The storm clouds loom over autumn fields, but the sun is strong, the Light prevails. Sept.2019)]

August 7, 2019

Lianne, my dearest sister in heaven...

When I look you up in my Google photos there are 1272 photos in which your face is recognized. So many of them are crazy photos of you with others. Sometimes it's you just being goofy and other times it's you with many others being goofy. You had great humour, were witty, and always in for a silly selfie.  

When I went to buy a new phone today I said to mom that I kind of need you! Remember, how you convinced me to get a smart phone 10 years ago. That HTC Desire you had was far more fun than my little flip phone. So of course I got the same one. You'd do research for me to help me figure out every technological problem I encountered. I let you, it was easy for me and you loved to help. You had a generous heart, were willing, and always in for serving others.

When I packed up all my belongings in the Netherlands to move to Alberta (crazy daisy, Lianne, you'd not believe it - I moved back here!!) I thought of you so often. You never asked until last Fall. But I knew so well that you wished I'd move here. You'd suggest boys I should meet, sent jobs I should apply to, hinted at where I should go to church when I'd move here. We even once daydreamed about moving in together and hosting all the dinner parties one could dream of. You'd bake. We'd cook. I'd clean. You had it figured. You know how I would have loved to live near you as adult. One day girl we'll live in the same House again. You're already there but I'm coming, and can't wait to join you and all the others having the best time for ever and ever. 

Wherever I go, I see you and hear your voice and watch your face light up and sense your joy again. You're in my dreams and nightmares and tears and laughter. You're in my memories and in my future and in the now. Girl, even though you're no longer bouncing around this ball called earth, you're still coming along for the ride it seems. You've been there for 25 years of my life and no one can ever take all that forming and shaping and learning and growing up together away, that comes with me until I die. There's a huge gaping hole in our lives and we miss you fiercely. Some days we don't know how to go on. The fact that you'll never be here again, squeeze me tight like you always did, or correct me seems surreal. I can't grasp it and doubt I ever will. 

We know you're in heaven and get to celebrate there 24/7 (oh, wait there is no time there.... always then??). Dude, you got the best deal. You're free from pain, that stupid cancer is gone, and you've no more worries or tears or bills or shit to deal with. You're having the best time ever and will forever because you're with Jesus and reunited with Him. It's crazy to think what you had to endure to get there and that we got to know you for a breath. We always just wanted to grow up. Be adults. Live the life. Be free. Have skills. Have families and be successful. Everyone's dream. When we were young we learned all about life from mom and dad. Not just life skills for here but - you know - the most important stuff. Dat aller belangrijkste in ons leven. Dad would always kiss us for our birthday and congratulate us and pray that we would receive the best gift of all time, a new heart... Later on I learned that it meant we needed to belong to God and sing fully I AM A CHILD OF GOD and call Him ABBA and cling to Him. For the longest time it left us cold and we just looked at it as tradition. And the the triumphant Lord, victorious over death and darkness called us to Himself and blessed us and held us as His own. His grace, amazing! We grew and learned, together and separately, what it meant to be changed. Last week I heard a sermon that changed people change people, in the sense that a believer is changed and their change impacts others... I couldn't help but think about how (when you became to believe) you were on fire, were changed. I mean all of Red Deer had to know. You shared it with the youth at Crossroads and drove far and wide to get them kiddos out to events (and organized those dinner parties with friends)! Girl, you were on fire and that fire burned fiercely and then God said, "come home, Lianne!" Oh, and you wanted to go so bad but had to endure so much before. That journey to the unknown was excruciating and rocky and terribly frightening. Yet you held on to Christ. You let Him hold you as His own and you leaned on Him. As your body weakened drastically in a short time His strength was made perfect. He was and is exalted and He is lived up! 

[picture: Looking West from LPC one evening before GriefShare, Aug 2019)]

Whether you can see from heaven or not I don't know. (At least you no longer have to deal with fricken glasses!) I know that your life was lived fully while you were here. You impacted many and you still do. That verse I partially quoted above was tattooed on your wrist and somehow you convinced us to do the same. Dude. I was in Florida and people at the beach said "beautiful testimony on your shoulder" and I was so confused... and then I realized. So I shared. The story behind that tattoo. The testimony of your life and the story that lives on. Because Christ is alive and working... through life and death He reigns and stands supreme and you gotta go there first! Man girl, I'm actually jealous, zussie, because grief is super hard and the valley seems dark. I wish you were still here but you're celebrating and I don't want you to miss out on the best Feast ever. So while we are here we will look not to ourselves but to the God and Father who called you home and never left you. Just like you always seemed to get the first new gadget like that smartphone, I wanna run to get it too... Lianne panne poep chinees - ik mis je zo! But keep celebrating. We will too. 

Life is a party. And the life after this one is the Best... I'll see you there. 

Love you always! 

Forever my sister you'll be!

❤

[picture: July 2019, family day during my surprise visit to AB. We had no clue how sick you were. So thankful for this happy memory and photo!]

I’m at your grave

I’m at your grave

I’m sitting at your grave right now. The sun is warm and the breeze feels nice. So many sounds of construction and yard work around me while a crow let's me know he’s here too. It’s odd, sitting here. Every time I come some other neighhour has been added to the row. It makes me sad, because I know there are more people who, like us, have to experience loss. Have lost their loved one, have to feel grief.

Tears run down my cheek. I parked my car over by Co-op this time and as walked here I could feel them swelling and welling up. It's weird. I feel it in my throat and in my gut and in my heart. I haven't cried about you for a while, but that doesn’t make the heartbreak less intense. Sometimes I feel guilty when there are no tears, but girl, the lack of tears doesn't mean I no longer miss you. I almost think the missing becomes deeper as time passes.

You should have turned 27 this weekend. That would have been according to my plan, you know, the ‘grow old together’ kind of thing; and here I am sitting at your grave. That isnt right, that shouldn't be. I always find the solitude, the respect, the solemness of a cemetery quite comforting, peaceful, and at the same time this place is so empty or something. Most people don’t come here for fun. Then the other time I was here I saw a lady working out between headstones and I nearly walked up to her. You know me - I'm kind of chicken, but honestly I had to tell you. I can’t believe people have the audacity to do something like that.

I was gonna say I'm glad you're here. In this grave. But you really aren’t here. It's just a casket with what remains of your body and a pretty headstone on top. You know we got your verse, our verse, put on it?! It is such a great reminder that the Lord’s strength is what carries us, what's perfect in our brokenness if we commit to him and that it's only by his grace. But that grace is so sufficient, so abundant for me in my weakness and you in yours. It is what saved us and holds us and makes you be able to be with God in heaven now. And we, we to get to live with the Lord but here on earth. What a blessing and such amazing grace that we get to abide with the Lord and that He never leaves us and He never changes. It blows my mind that we get to be with Him in heaven and I'm actually a little lot jealous you already get to be there.

This world has been quite the gongshow lately. The craziest things have been happening, I'm not getting into them but you'd have a fit if you heard about all the jazz going on. I know you would have your opinions but you’d also have been without work and youth and friends for months and months because of covid and I'm just so glad you dont have to experience all that. This would break you girl, and yet you’d remain positive and think of way to hug people even though we are told we can’t.

There is so much going on and I wish we could talk. I'd ask you your views and listen to your rants. We’d message back and forth and try to wrap our heads around this.

I mean, the world situation is nuts and I'm not minimizing that. Really though, we were told from the beginning that by choosing to eat (goodness, I just realized even Eve liked food!) - we made a choice that life wouldn't be easy. We wouldn't forever walk with God in the garden and the Lord could no longer say “and it was very good”. We, as humanity, messed up big time. And until this day we live with the effects of that choice so long ago. The effects are diseases like cancer and viruses like covid. It’s crime and violence and hatred. It's people blowing each other up and selfish gain being priority over the whole. It's the loss of community and family units. It's broken relationships and abuse. And yet there is some hope. Lots of hope. You knew it. I know it. And you shared it when you were here and even in the story of your battle with NUTs and death, even then you stood triumphant. How? Because you lived and relished in God’s grace and shared his power and might and victory. Not just a few, you shared with everyone so that they too would know His strength. God used you to plant so many seeds and that was your task. And you did, often with joy and a smile. Honestly, you weren‘t perfect but your smile and joy and genuine care and love for people is what I hear about. You cared girl. And your youth, your friends, clients, co-workers, co-leaders, everyone who knew you knows that still. I believe it's a testimony in itself and those seeds you sowed and showed, God will give the increase.

So as I sit here, my tears dry now, and my cheeks salty, I just am so thankful for the years we had together. For the time I got to have with you and for the life you lived here on earth. I am thankful for the beautiful woman you are and were and that I know that you are with the Lord. Thank you, for being your bouncy, crazily excited you, for being the non-communicating listener, my loudest cheerleader and my truest friend. I miss you dear sister but oh am I ever glad that the lord had you Home and that we have that comfort. Looking forward to being reunited one point in eternity but until then I will continue to tell your story, continue loving you my dear, and all who know me know I have a little sister and she's with Jesus.

To God be the glory!

I'm moving to The Netherlands soon here, and this will be the last time I can visit your gravesite for a while. I mean, you don’t notice I'm here probably - but that's fine! This is a pretty special place.

Ps. took my birks off and just chilling here with my sunnies and soaking up the rays. You would do the same.

And another thing. You’re beside a police officer and across the path is a large army vehicle. One of the kids trusted that you’d at least be safe in this spot.

silent flow

One day, in July of this year, I woke up early and got on the train to Maastricht. That day was a glorious summer day and I took some time to write. Just my paper and my pen. I listened and wrote.

~~

I'm sitting here along the Maas river that flows through Maastricht. I haven't a clue where it has been or where it goes. Just now I saw a sign 'A2' (a highway in Nederland) and it surprised me - does it really so easily connect to Leerdam, the place where for now my house resides?

Wings of pigeons sweep across. I hear their gargling gurgle of content whilst behind me trees clap their hands in the wind. The wind waves from right to left, the soothing sounds calm my heart in some way. There are leaves and sticks and garbage that rustle the surface of the stairs on which I've found my seat. Across the water carillions in both or all the churches and cathedrals mark the hour, whilst busses, taxis and other motorized vehicles buzz across the bridges on either side. 

Around me are many others - basking in the sunshine and conversing with one another. A car honks - probably, in its path crosses a pedestrian. The women who were so near me walk away - along their journey - their steps fade. The dog on the dock barks again - it seems to alert its owner of other passing by. A rustle, gurgle, bubble on my left comes closer. ‘Scheldevallei’ with many flags at the bow and a tour guide at the stern honks, loud and boisterous. Waves increase as the ship speeds up. It turns, just round the boulders that support the bridge and then there comes another. And another. Sirens cross to the other side of the river, and veer left. I see a captain - his tie fluttering in the wind and faintly can detect human voices numbed by the sounds of engines…

[ Wilhelmina. Bridge to my right. I just saw her. Named after a lady who reigned for some time, was head of state and perhaps most powerful and rich in her days. She's gone now. Just her name in many a place and marking history's page.

How different the ordinary - the lay and peasant - are, none like royalty or bourgeoisie. And yet. Their names all fade… their memories pass as people do… the pain perhaps a generation and maybe two… and then it's gone. Forgotten. But in the present the pain so real. The ache so vivid. The tears so hole. The water rolling down my cheeks more days than not. I'm okay with it. Embrace the emotions yet hate them at the same time. Not an ounce understands - yet I know it is good. Somewhere head knowledge transcends what lies within me, can rationalize what my heart doesn't want to accept. I know it is well - even though no part of me comprehends. Which for now is okay. ]

With all the sounds I hear, I have likely not said more than 100 words today. Living in silence amidst all the noise. I entered a chapel some hours ago. The silence. The awe. The solitude. A longing for still. For peace. For calm in my heart, my soul, my life, my whole. A longing for stillness and something other than the busy. Something other than constant connection and FOMO. Going here alone was a sporadic but good decision. To be good with exploring and not sharing. To be cool with going places and bit getting input from all. It's cool to experience a certain peace in that. Mind you, I'd love to share…

I entered the chapel. A place where peace lives. Where silence is expected, known, common sense. What other places besides places of worship or cemetery do people hush upon entry? How, in all the bustle of this life, can we cease our voices and calm in the face it the place? How come there we can, while in other moments we automatically increase the volume, fill the void with voice and tune, look for connection with whoever is around…?

What is it in the sanctuary that satisfies in us? What is it that calms us? Perhaps we all long for calm, still, disconnect. Long for peace. Long for rest. 

Whether we can create it, I don't know. But we can choose the stillness. Can find places where our souls can come to grips with what's happening - can take time to be still. 

A song suddenly comes to mind:

Take time to he holy, be one with the Lord.

And: 

Vrede, Heer, geef vrede…

(Peace, Lord, give peace)

Stil, mijn ziel wees stil en wees niet bang

(Silent, my soul be silent and be not afraid)

Voor de onzekerheid van morgen

(For the uncertainty of tomorrow)

And:

Comfort, comfort (Isaiah 40:1)

~~

betrayal

It's almost May....
I wonder how I got here?

Where have the months gone? Have I been sleeping? Crawling? Hibernating? How did the months pass without me noticing? So many moments it felt like time stood still. I, overwhelmed by grief, by the new reality, was just trying to get through moments, was just trying to do this minute or that. Later, without consciously choosing to, the moments became hours, and then days... I am not gonna lie, I still have days in which I just need moments to pass. Moments of grief, of incredible emptiness, of complete brokeness, of a thousand unanswered questions. Moments in which all I could or can do was just hold on.. Hold on to the promise and knowledge of life in Christ.

Where have the moments gone? Have I been sleeping? Crawling? Hibernating? How have the moments passed? Was I numb? Deafened by the loss and gripped by fear? How have the moments passed and how did the moments pass...? Weeks seemed to drag and yet they flew. Days were never ending, and yet some were done in the blink of an eye. There were dark days. Pitch black. Some charcoal. Others pale grey. And every tint of dullness in between. I read in a book on grief that a fog can flood your life, that through that fog you can't see clearly, can't think clearly, can't engage clearly. It's in that fog that you get wet and damp and cold; frozen to the bone. Frozen in your grief. The fog hardly lifts. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't. You can't blow the fog away. People around you can't lift the fog, as much as they may try.
I love invites to people's houses - and sometimes I have the courage and energy to accept the invite. Sometimes I don't and then they stop asking... I wonder sometimes if they've forgotten that I have lost my sister, my friend - and they just kept moving on.
I love being around people and at the same time I hate it. It's awesome to watch friendships blossom and siblings interact even though it hurts to think that my friendship with my Lianne so abruptly came to a stop and we only had 25 years to spend together.
I love spring and new life and flowers and blossom. Love the way the seasons change... Yet I remember clearly that autumn day, knowing Lianne was nearing the crossing into eternity real soon. I remember saying to my aunt and cousin that I loved fall - the golden leaves, the scents and moisture, but man was I dreading the dreary, dark, winter... (That evening she entered glory...) And now the winter past, Spring is here. I don't remember winter. Don't know how I did January 15 or February 2 or March 11, OR ANY OTHER DAY. Don't know how I moved from one moment to the next...


Sure I smiled. Sure I laughed. Sure I had moments that I thoroughly enjoyed the company of the people around me. I had moments in which new friendships grew, in which I met new people and came to love things I never knew I could love. There were moments where I cherished new memories and savoured moments of sipping tea or nibbling on a treat. Savoured laughter and joy...

I cried a great deal of tears. I know they don't go unseen. In your living room, in the store, in my car, in a classroom, in my house, on my pillow. During a sermon, a song, a walk, a glimpse, a picture or a tag online. I don't know what triggers tears. Don't know when they will come. They roll ever so freely and sometimes I can bite my tongue and they don't come. Sometimes I miss the tears... When I want to cry because it hurts so bad but I can't. Sometimes I miss the tears, wonder where they are. Did I get numb to the pain and no longer feel it? I feel bad that I haven't cried for a while or haven't felt the pain as raw as I did in moments before. My heart is filled with guilt sometimes, that I haven't considered the heavens, or thought about the suffering she went through - when once again I worry about the food I eat today or the clothes I have got. When she just died, and even in the months before I didn't give a shit what to wear or what to eat, and now sometimes I wonder how I can care so much about the earthly stuff. It's odd - Lianne's always been a real and vital part of my life and that will never change. Right now it just becomes less vivid... I miss her.

Now there are moments I long to hear her bitchy comments, long to hear her words of advice which I sometimes took with a grain of salt because she was so much younger. Now I wish she'd call me at 11:30 at night like she did a couple of times accidentally. Now I sometimes hope for a hug or a massage from her even though those touchy feely things were never my thing... Now there are moments when I long to just hear her voice one more time.

It is completely normal to have all those thoughts. Chatting with my psychologist about it all and reading up on the topic has been so encouraging. What I am experiencing is totally normal and expected. (I just had no clue what I was in for when I told Lianne it was okay for her to die... That we'd understand and wanted to keep her her but knew she needed to be with her Saviour...)

I'd no idea that those moments of laughter would feel like betrayal. That those moments in which I found joy for the first time would make guilt wash over me. I hadn't the slightest clue that the lack of tears could almost hurt more than the gushing waterworks. No part of me ever realized that the absence of people asking me how I was doing could feel so empty - where before I wished they would stop asking. I had never thought that changing my laptop background could feel like such betrayal... So I changed it right back to our family photo - and I think it will stay like that for a while.


I have been reading a lot about grief, about loss, about trusting God even when it hurts, about death and hell and heaven and eternity. Never has the Easter season tugged my heart strings as it did this year. The reality of death, of suffering, of pain, of the grave breaks my heart each time. The suffering Lianne endured is just a glimpse, the slightest fraction of what Christ went through on Calvary. Oh then that blessed Easter morn! When He rose! Christ is risen and He conquered death. Stands victorious. With that promise, that knowledge I entered the new week... Christ is risen and in Him I live. More amazingly, Lianne no longer needs to endure suffering, no longer lives in a cancer infested body, no longer needs to fight earthly powers or satan and sin. She's alive, fully alive, and made whole. What a promise, what a comfort!

As I tried to proofread this post tears rolled down my cheeks once more. I always read what I wrote out loud and hope to catch the mistakes. But with the tears that ran almost all was blurry. It hurts and yet it is so good to put these feelings to words. It helps me process, helps me figure out what ahs been going on in my head, in my mind, in my heart. It gives light to the situation but I will never forget how Christ holds me through this all, He holds me by the hand and lifts me up above the waves.

It is in His strength that I live and it is in His rising I have life.
And so can you!

diagnosis

diagnosis.

That word is loaded.

Sometimes a diagnosis clarifies a whole lot of things, it explains why one has been feeling like this or that, explains the symptoms observed and the trouble it has caused. Sometimes a diagnosis helps care move along, provides opportunity for therapy, counselling, extra support in home or school or place of work. Sometimes a diagnosis is a good thing, but I think it's always life altering.

This word has been playing in my mind for a number of weeks. Diagnosis. Painful. Loaded. Heavy. Associated with grief and hurt in my life. Diagnosis - that word 'cancer', with all its connotations. Cancer - and then rare - and then aggresive - and then genetic mutation. Cancer. Fear. For me cancer goes hand in hand with fear. Fear of that dreaded disease that not only affected and still effects my family. Fear of that awful disease that impacts not only people near me. Fear of that pain, that loss, that brokenness, that frailty of the human body. Fear of being confronted - faced with - death. Eye to eye with the end.

Her diagnosis - and the prognosis of just mere days, maybe weeks - changed my life. Upside down. Rollercoaster ride. Tumulting and plummeting deep down into the dark. Changed my life in a rapid pace, unimaginable speed, a blur. Numb.

Diagnosis, not just my family that heard a diagnosis that week in August. One of my students found out his 5 year old sister had leukemia. She's battling hard. A co-worker found out his mom has pancreatic cancer, just like that, another one. Then my friends' aunt was diagnosed a couple of weeks ago. A friend from church back home was diagnosed. I was in church on Sunday and a young father was diagnosed with stage 4 - terminal. Seriously, all around. Diagnosis after diagnosis. Not just cancer but many other things. Then you hear the questions fly - is it curable? What's the prognosis? What's the plan?  Have they started treatment? Basically the questions all seem to say the same thing, will they live?

To be diagnosed - when the illness or problem is identified based on examined symptoms. 

Diagnose -  a whackload of tests and a whirlwind of questions all at once. I love the medical field, am so thankful for all the knowledge it entails and has to offer us, all the care it provides and the lives it saves, enriches and helps. I was overwhelmed by the medical field in those months of Lianne's illness, overwhelmed by all the questions she was asked - it was so very repetitive and exhausting. I am thankful for the medical staff, doctors, nurses, residents, oncologists, radiologists, health care aids, paramedics, and so many more who worked with and helped Lianne (and us).

That whirlwind was physical - you could see the symptoms that needed to be treated. We saw her muscles deteriorate before our eyes and her skin sag and her abdomen swell. We heard her cough and helped collect the vomit. We helped clean up after her and adjusted pillows to make her more comfortable where possible. All that - after the diagnosis. NUT Midline Carcinoma is what my sister had. She passed far too early but am I ever thankful that horrific disease no longer eats away at her body.

Breast cancer.
Lung cancer.
Pancreatic cancer.
Leukemia.
Brain tumours.
Grief.

Those are just a few of the diagnosis I've heard in the last few months, some multiple times. Each time my body shudders. I tremble. Goose bumps. Shivers down my spine.

All I can utter is "not another one!!"


My heart is overwhelmed with grief each time I hear of another diagnosis. It's one thing my sister died and I have to bear that cross of loss now. But to hear that friends had to lose a family member, a friend loses her hair and energy and the normalcy of her life, that people are attached to lines and tubes with fluid and oxygen because their body no longer does it well... because cancer rages. My heart cries, and often tears actually well up. You know why??! It hurts like hell. To watch a loved one suffer. To see those around them crumble. To see people's heart break and watch their world shatter. To witness people as they cope with the diagnosis and courageously start treatment with high hope but you know how hard all those decisions are. It tears your heart in pieces when you hear of another patient whose body is inhabited by carcinoma or another disease.

It's one thing my sister died and I have to bear that cross of loss now but I don't want that for anyone else. No one should have to suffer through this pit of darkness and despair. I don't think anyone deserves to feel the pain of loss and grief.
Symptoms of grief aren't very visible, but they sure are there. You can examine me or anyone else who's grieving and wrestling with a diagnosis - but you may not see the diagnosis. Grief and loss is not like a broken leg with a cast or a deep wound with stitches. Grief and psychological complications surrounding grief are difficult to diagnose, difficult to define, difficult to name.

Grief is vulnerable, it's painful and it hurts like hell.
But honestly people. It's there alright, diagnosed or not.

In a way I find it the most beautiful thing of all - you crumble and feel fragile and shattered. Tears trickle or rush down your cheeks and sometimes you can feel them in your eyes just waiting for the dam to burst. Memories flood back and laughter fills my heart and mind and it's the best when you can share that with other people. Sometimes I can share her story with others and other times we just weep. I love it when I have the most vivid dreams bring them back to life - so real. But then, just today as I was leaving work it hit me - I no longer have a little sister to hug. She's gone!

I got in my car and drove off. There.

I called my health insurance to get some stuff organized and the lady on the other end asked me why... It felt cold when I said "my sister died a couple of months ago". A shiver down my spine - how did I say that so matter of factly? Did those words really roll off my tongue? How can this be?



You know... After Lianne died so many things happened and we all kind of tried to pick up the pieces, to keep going. But we are learning that each day is different and each moment we may respond differently. We are learning that we aren't the only ones grieving and at a loss for words. We know there are many around us who are now facing similar trials as we faced while Lianne was sick. We also know there are many around us who are grieving loved ones - loved ones who passed yesterday or a what seems like yesterday. Your grief is there. Let it be there. Don't be ashamed to voice it and share. Let tears roll and laughter fill the air (sometimes with only seconds separating the two).

Recently I could say to people that my days have more ups than downs. I was shocked when I heard those words come out of my mouth. How?! Four months and 13 days and I am already doing okay or experience more ups? More than four months and finally I can say I am doing okay...? (It's this tugging between finally and already... or still not and yay I got this!)
Oh these emotions are so mixed. Guilt for feeling okay right now and longing to be doing okay when you don't feel okay.
As a family we are all learning in this. We get to know ourselves and are faced with the loneliness of grief. We journey through emotions, sleepless nights and lack of energy or drive. We struggle to fill our days with good stuff and binge watch shows or take endless naps. We fill our agendas to the brim and keep on keeping on... We all are trying to find our way through this, trying to learn and to carry this with us. But we're not alone. We're carried in the arms of our loving Father.

The diagnosis. No matter what it is - let your feelings be. Just be. It's okay to not be okay. And okay will come again.

Sunshine and rain at the same time.

Blossom. Okay will come again.

the grey, the dreary, the rain

Winter days here in the Netherlands are often grey and dreary. The rain that comes down is sometimes gentle and soft. It's raining cats and dogs is what most Dutchies say to me when it's raining. Pouring. That happens too. Those rain storms are good for something; I know nature needs the water, needs to be refreshed and get the necessary minerals. Some catch the rain water, catch the heavenly blessings pouring down for free. It rains on all, it shines on all, and none have say in it...

The weather happens and it can really influence life - your choices in what to do for the day or what to wear or where to go. To find shelter from the rain, the wind, the heat. From when I was a little girl the weather has impacted my mood. Some days I find that the rain, the grey, the dreary is right in line with how I feel. Some days I find that the rain, the dreary reflects exactly how my heart is, but don't assume it always is. Just because it's rainy or grey doesn't guarantee the Monday blues on a Wednesday or Friday. Just because it's rainy or grey doesn't mean the day will be difficult. I need to remember that. Remember that rain is a good thing, that the dreary doesn't need to bring me down, that the grey doesn't need to take me through the negative spiral. In the rain there's hope, there's good, there's blessings pouring down. When in that negative spiral it's hard to break out of it. Thoughts become irrational, far from realistic and yet you can't get out just like that. My house has windows with many panes. When it's dark inside and the street lights shine through I see a grids on the wall. The other day I noticed the grid and it felt a bit constricting, jail like or something. I tried taking a picture but that didn't show. Turning on the light helped. In the light you don't see the darkness, in the light there is no room for darkness, in the light there is no room for grids or enprisonment.


The Light - the Truth - will set you free! No longer enslaved, enprisoned, but living in the Light. Seek the Light when darkness tries to get you down, when it tries to get you take you out. Reminding myself again and again to not let the darkness overrule. Some days are hard. Some days just feel plain impossible. Some days it's actually going okay. And then there are days that end and as I hit the pillow I realize 'that was a good day'. That day was filled with sunshine even though it rained.

In a way I feel guilty for having a good day... guilty for enjoying myself and moments filled with laughter. How does joy go together with grief? Can it go together with grief - and if it can how do you balance it? Perhaps I shouldn't over think it. Allow the emotions to happen when they come, allow the laughter and the joy and the smiles and the tears and the confusion and the down thoughts to be. Allow myself to not be okay during this time because this is really hard, this isn't okay. The not-okay-ness is okay and I need to allow this part too, to read this chapter as well.

The other day I said to someone how I felt it was taking forever. In a way you want to finish this chapter of grief, read it through and be done with it. Done with the salty tears. Done with the flood of emotions. Done with the unexpected waterworks. Done with heart ache that is constantly felt. Done with it all. Because I don't want this - don't want to have to grieve the fact that my sister is no longer here. Don't want to have to live on without her, have to deal with an empty place. I want to be done with it all because this chapter sucks, it's stupid and difficult and the toughest read. I don't know the words I need to give, can't give words that will do justice to what this is like. If you ask me now I may tell you I'm doing fine because in that moment I feel fine. Or may say I am doing good because in that moment it feels good. Or you may say something to me and tears well up and roll down, because that night I didn't sleep well or that morning I woke up discouraged.
Yesterday someone came up to me and commended my courage. I fell silent.

Courage?

I'm feel weak and broken and super fragile. But courage? Seriously, I am still in survival mode. I fight my way out the door because I can't do it otherwise. I pray each day for patience with my students because my mind feels almost too full. Strength is something I cannot live without, and that strength doesn't come from within. It's not courage I've got, or at least it doesn't feel that way. It's trying to find what I need for that moment from the tips of my toes, from the depth of my soul, from the bottom of my heart. Strength to face the day, hear the comments, answer questions, absorb all the advice and ideas people try to share. Dear people, thank you for the cards you send - even though they guarantee tears. Dear people, thank you for the WhatsApp message about the least important and most nonsense things. Dear people, thank you for your prayers - for our friends and family and myself. You prayed when Lianne was sick and your continued prayers are so appreciated and needed. Dear people, thank you for asking questions even though sometimes I can hardly answer you. Dear people, thank you for offering me your help or ideas or advice - to be honest, I don't know what I need right now, don't know how you can help, don't have answers.
But thank you.
All of that adds to the joy and courage to keep going.

All that you offer and say and give doesn't go unnoticed, I honestly take it to heart and I see it as rays of sunshine on those grey days in my mind. Those are winks that take the chill off the grief. Thank you. For embracing me in the normal and in the pain and in the joy, too. Sunshine warms you, brings brightness and is light itself. Light doesn't allow for darkness. So thanks for bringing Light by being you and reaching out.