My Christmas Playlist

I opened my Spotify playlist for Christmas recently and was instantly brought back to December 2020. This week marks one year since the beginning and ending of radiation for cancer. The Christmas playlist was something I listened to on my way to and from therapy in Sacramento. For the therapy portion of those days I tried to find songs that had a length of at least 5 minutes as that would be how long my treatments were. Maverick City Music always came through for me as most of their songs are at least that long. I haven't been listening to this playlist this year. I'm not sure why, maybe because I know myself well enough that being transported to that time isn't something I like. It wasn't painful; it was just that it was CANCER. It's like grief. It's constantly in the foreground. Always lurking. I'm grateful that I feel good and that my checkups to this point have been fine. It's just that I never know. So while picking up coffee, I remembered my playlist, and the memories of last year came rushing back.

A Man of Prose and Poems

The clouds have been looming overhead for the last few days gray, dark and stormy. Today the sun has come shining through, and memories of this day and this time of year five years ago are always swirling around in my mind. People who have had significate trauma through the loss of a person and, for me, the loss of a child remember details that at the time seem insignificant to most. I remember the weather and the lack of photos I took leading up to this day and the following days of waiting and watching. I was still learning photography, and taking pictures every day was part of the process of learning, so for me to look back on this time and seeing very few photos seemed strange for me.

I've heard that during the days, weeks, and months leading up to his accident, Evan had reached out to several folks that he had lost touch with or just had things that had been left unspoken. I often wonder if somehow the universe was making way for him to fill the holes he thought were there. I usually live in this space of contentment and regret when I look back on these days leading up to this time. Contentment as his parent that Evan was doing the thing he had worked so hard for and that he was working as a salesforce administrator, coming into his last semester at Sac State and finding his sense of purpose. When I think in those terms, my regret and sadness seem multiplied. He was finally finding the rhythm. So the regret for me is why???

I know I'm five years in, and shouldn't I feel less regret. Unfortunately, the answer to that for me is no. With every promotion, every child born, every announcement, and the significant moments of others, I wonder and ask why? I wondered why in the earlier days of my loss, but now it's become a painful part of the healing and angst of loss. I run into people even now who remember Evan and are quick to share the impact he made with them. Maybe it's their way of finding peace, or they are just being kind, but we're talking five years later, and they still remember and want to share that with me. Their words fill the empty place in my heart that misses Evan and yet it brings a great sadness and returns me to Why?

In all of this, the building of my Faith has been strengthened, and honestly it’s a mystery. In the mystery and depth of Christ, that question goes unanswered. It is not because of anything I can do but because I can't know all the answers. I don't have all the answers, and it keeps me dependent on a God who does. It keeps me open to the possibility that even in the most painful and misunderstood parts of me, He is there to walk with me...carrying me...hold me and to show me that I'm not alone. He brings me peace in the turmoil and if there is anything I can tell you about the last five years is that I know that Jesus has carried me. He brings those people who remember and have good things to say and encourages me to see the impact that Evan had, and with that comes peace, if just for a moment. It makes me smile through my tears as I can tell you I miss Evan, and I know that Alex and John do too.

So as I move into this time of reflection of this significant loss for me, I do so consistently with a clear understanding of the significance of faith and with the questions of my loss placed entirely on the shoulders of Jesus. He carries the load with the strength that I'm unable to maintain.

The Painter of Life Gloria Ann Kincade

I had an appointment in the city today, and after a stop in Oakland to have coffee with Alex, I drove home through the hills of Berkley. This time of year is always so beautiful; even here in California, the leaves are changing. The fresh rain helped to brighten the leaves with a soaking these last few days.

While preparing for surgery, my mother-in-law, Gloria, took her last breath from her earthly home on Sunday. I had the entire drive home from the city to process what that felt like to me. I stopped along the way and took a few photos of the landscape and that made the trip home weepy and filled with memories. The reality is that none of us will escape death. It's a hard truth but a truth just the same. What we can reflect on is the impact that we make and the lives we touch.

Gloria was the keeper of memories in the Kincade family. She spent many days putting memories in scrapbooks and reminiscing of her childhood. She was active in the lives of her children and grandchildren. I was fortunate to be the first in the family to fill her arms with a grandchild, Evan. She was an active grandparent, and although she worked full time when Evan was born, she made time for him and never missed a holiday that she could celebrate her firstborn grandchild. Not too soon after that, her second grandchild, Alex, came along, and again she and Pop-Pop made every family holiday and some made-up holidays extra special. My boys have the fondest memories of those days.

Today has been hard for many reasons that don't honestly make sense to the average person. Gloria and I had so much that we loved and enjoyed. She was an artist and loved to paint. She and I could talk for days about color, landscapes, and all of the beauty and wonder of creation. We often spoke of Jesus, and we would even complain about some of the same things. One of my fondest memories recently was the year that my father-in-law passed away and the last Thanksgiving we had with Evan. Nana (Gloria) wanted to cook Thanksgiving dinner at her house for the family, but it was a tremendous undertaking for her. So she and I partnered together, and we made Thanksgiving dinner for the family. That was our last big dinner in her home as it became too hard for her to perform that task. She LOVED to prepare and decorate for the holidays, and that is just another of the things I loved about her; her sense of style.

The Summer before Evan passed away, she and I were docents at the California State Fair. I had several photos chosen for the photography section, and it was one of the best times I can remember of us having done something we both loved. I'm grateful for Nana's influence on my life and the lives of my children. I know that Pop-pop and Evan greeted you with the biggest hug.

Happy Birthday to you!!

Today is your birthday and as you begin your 29th trip around the sun I want you to know that we are so proud of you and are so grateful for the light that you bring to us. We don’t always agree and that’s ok. We hold on to the things that matter most, each other. This last year found you doing new things and forging new, uncharted paths.

As your mom, I want to give you space to acknowledge how the threads of grief and loss weave through the very fabric of any occasion we celebrate. The passing of time is a thief and sometimes we are left empty handed watching it run away from us. It seems to start as the season's change and carries through, at least for me, until spring. Honestly, it never goes away. I also realize that there are things that Dad and I don't know that only Evan held about you, and it's those things that I mourn. It's that proximity that I agonize over as I can't give those to you. You can't always articulate those things; you often seem without the words you need to express it, and I want to help, but I'm just a listener—an observer of the grief you bear. So I listen. I hold open the door so that you can walkthrough. I mourn with you as it seems hard to find those who understand these parts—the loss of a brother and all that comes with it. Happy Birthday, son! May this year hold great things for you as you continue to walk out your path.

Mosaic of Seasons

"Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting, and autumn a mosaic of them all." Stanley Horowitz

I love this quote as it is a lovely word picture of the seasons and the different art mediums. Fall brings cooler weather, leaves changing, shorter days, and the smell of rain in the air. On the other hand, spring brings the brightest flowers, warmer weather, longer days, and the scent of new beginnings. Fall brings an end to the cycle that will begin again when spring returns. It's part of the journey, and yet we so look forward to spring, at least I do. Fall brings changes and those feelings of loss and grief for me.

This Saturday will mark the last birthday I spent with Evan here on this planet five years ago. It's one of the many birthday memories I have of us as a family, and as I begin this new year, it's a longing to be together that never leaves me. The internet isn't always kind when we see all the family's celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, and other special events, and I am ALWAYS repeating the same photos and feelings. This time of year is hard. I woke up the other day, and this overwhelming sense of grief came over and had me crying into my pillow until the sunrise. The days between tears have gotten longer. Softer. But they're still very hard. Sad. Painful. I read this article about Grief Math and had often wondered if these calculations I do on the future anniversaries and such are just a quirky thing that I do, but I've come to realize that it's a thing. That helped me feel ok about what I do.

So Saturday, I begin my next trip around the sun, and with that, I've come out on the other side one-year cancer-free. YAY! I've recovered from radiation and C*vid, and I've learned who can be trusted and who will see me through when the going gets tough. That has been the most painful and most challenging lesson for me. Just as in the earlier parts of grief, you come to realize who can be in it for the long haul, and you find that most of the time, when you go to lean back, the community has left you, and just a few are left to hold your heart. You also learn that the people who dare to stand with you are the people that have similar wounds that you do. Those people understand, and if your space is filled with a few of these precious souls, you are luckier than most.

So I walk into this birthday, feeling slightly anxious about what the future holds but more resolute to follow my path and with the feelings of grief and loss still right on the surface, ready to wake me in the early morning hours to have me watch for the sunrise.

John and Alex, thanks for always talking me off the edge. You both always find a way to carry my heart even though you, too, are walking out your grief.

Looking in the Rearview Mirror

There has been a gloom that has settled over my soul that I can't seem to shake. As much as I try, this feeling is always just on the edge of my heart, and most days, I can keep it at bay. If you were to ask my husband or anyone close to me, they would say that it is evident in my attitude and responses. I've come to realize that this gloom is just grief. My anger, my silence, my anxious thoughts, and my discontent...is grief. So on this day, 8/30, it is officially National Grief Awareness Day. What a funny thing! Funny, not in a ha-ha kind of way but in a WTH type of way. For people who have suffered loss, grief is every day. It is a never-ending thought or feeling, and although we may not speak of it every day, it is EVER present.

Last year moving into this week, it had been a rough time, and I believe even then, although I felt anxious about the world, I thought I had lived through the worst of it and was rounding a corner. I started having some issues within my body during this time, which I attributed to the shutdown. My doctor disagreed and told me she wanted to see me. But everything took twice as much time cause of C*v#d. So after multiple appointments which spanned months apart when I got the call from my doctor on that Thursday last year that I had cancer, I went into the fight or flight and self-preservation mode. Only to get a call the following day that my mom had passed away. It put me in motion to walk through over a month of planning, talking, processing, and lastly, watching as things fell into place. It gave me great comfort from God as only He could have set the many doctors' appointments, bloodwork, scans, and other things that needed to be done before my surgery. The aggressive nature of the type of cancer I had, the surgery needed to happen sooner rather than later. So from 1st ultrasound to surgery was about six months.

As I shared in my blog last month, I'm not brave or strong; I'm just trying to survive. Literally and figurately. My grief and anxiety were multiplied by other factors as the passing of my mom brought with it loads of different unprocessed feelings. So this week brings back that unbridled mixture of emotions and anxiety from a year ago that my brain did not have a chance to process.

I recently started reading a book called Try Softer, and this book talks about the mantra of "Try Harder." For most, we've found that trying harder doesn't always bring the desired outcome we want. After trying harder, we still come up empty and anxiety-filled. So in the book, the author shares to try softer. Be gentle with yourself. Listen to your body because your body holds the pain, the anxiety, and the trauma. Talk to your body and let it help you find your way back to health and healing. I'm just beginning, but I desire to take on the banner of "Try Softer," and with that, I'm asking the Lord to help me get there.

https://www.amazon.com/Try-Softer-Approach-Mode-Connection/dp/1496439651

Silence

I’m hoping this is a jump start to a return to writing after nearly 7 months of silence. Silence may not be the best word maybe it’s better to say I’ve felt without the words and emotions to express where I am in this journey.

Sad

Indifferent

Brokenhearted

Crushed

Hopeless

Empty

Angry

Hurt

Anxious

These words are just a short list of my current feelings. These probably don't fully communicate all that I have bottled up, but these words are the ones that bubble to the surface. I wrestle with them. I stuff them. I try to put a sunny face on them, but in doing so, that leaves me just on the brink of a full-on crying spell. So I continue. Not fully expressing my thoughts/feelings and internalizing all of it. Sometimes in stuffing them, I lash out at the things that show me the most compassion, but like a container under pressure, the angst has to go somewhere, often to the people/spaces that gives me the most expansive room.

We live in a world that, for the most part, does not want to acknowledge any of the above emotions along with failure, remorse, being tired, depressed, or just unable to “do it”. "You're so strong" or "you're so brave" isn't something we are, but it's an expectation that we honestly don't want. We face each challenge and conflict with resistance and anxiety just like the rest; we just chose to move forward with fortitude because we must.

2020/21 has been emotionally fragile, resurrecting my already monumental grief, anxiety, hurt, and sorrow. I want to return to a gentler time when people loved each other when I could rely on those closest to me to see through the strength and nurture my soul. Trying to navigate my feelings and emotions and in that I’m praying for the Lord to bring a sense of calm and nearness that has been absent.

These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world. 1 Peter 1:7 NLT