It's Just Going to Hurt

In the 3 weeks that have passed since Harper gained her wings, I have struggled to know what to write.

When things were happening with Harper over the past 18 months, writing on this blog was therapy for me. It was an outlet.  A way to communicate not just facts, but emotions I was experiencing - and releasing them and sharing them helped.

But now I don't know what to write.  The world is moving so much slower now.  And things that happen seem so much less worthy of words and emotions to express them.

I have started countless blog posts in my head, only to have them flatten and fall apart as I try to put the structure around them.  The ideas seem viable at the moment they occur to me, but quickly fade and lose their color and my ambition recedes.

Life has moved on.  The sun has risen.  The sun has set.  Cadence and Finley have gone to school.  I've gone to work.

We've laughed at times.  We've cried at others.  We've seen Harper in books, sunshine and sunsets, and rainbows.

We've even played - ice skating as a family - a family of four.  There was smiling and laughing and falling.

And through it all, it has hurt.  No matter what, it has hurt.

Sometimes it hurts more than other times.  Sometimes I can distract myself with tasks, or music, or friends or alcohol.

But sometimes, when it's quiet, and I'm still - I can't prevent my mind from wandering to the painful images - and the numbing cover comes off - and it hurts.

I know it will get better - slowly.  I've been told that, I've told myself that and I've told others that.  I want it to get better - but then again, I don't.

Hurting means I haven't forgotten.  Hurting means I still love her.  Hurting means I miss her.

But I cover it back up.  Pat it down, shake my head, and go on about my daily life.

Smile at this person.  Greet that person.  Yeah, I'm doing ok.  I'm here.

But it still hurts.  And its going to hurt for a long, long time.

I don't think I'm ever going to get over it - just learn to keep it covered and only take that cover off when I have the strength to endure the raw pain.

I wish I had more uplifting things to say.  I wish I had encouragement for all those who shared in Harper's life and are feeling this same pain - but I don't.

It's just going to hurt.

Day +7 : Moving Forward

Those born on February 29th live with having their birthday only once every 4 years. Harper lived (although briefly) with an opposite existence - she had three birthdays.

One was her physical birth, June 7th, 2005.  The second was the day she received her first stem cell transplant.  And her third was the day she received her second stem cell transplant.

In the stem cell transplant world, the day of transplantation (which is seriously just a simple  infusion) is considered Day 0.  All other activity around the transplant is tracked according to how many days before or days after the transplant it occurs.

But a week ago, Harper gained another final and special birthday - the day she gained her heavenly birth, without pain; without anxiety; without cancer.

Day 0.

I don't imagine that heavenly existence is measured in the same way we measure time here on earth; but if it were, today would be Day +7.

One week ago today, Harper left us.  The pain is still fresh, still harsh, still sharp.  But if cliche's are based in truth (which I believe they are), time will heal our wounds.  And while Harper has no wounds to heal, those of us left behind certainly do.

Seven days has yielded little healing so far, but it is starting. I can now walk past Harper's room without tearing up.  Walking up the stairs and getting past her door was something I dreaded on Day 0. But we're still far from being able to go through her room and determine what we will do with her things.

The weekend of hugs and tears, remembering her and sharing her memory with those touched by her beauty has helped, and helped me realize you stop crying as your body becomes dehydrated. Spending time with family and friends, either talking fondly about her, or simply sitting quietly together has helped. Today (earlier than I expected) we were brave enough to listen to "Brave" in the car as we were driving.

Soon school will return for Cadence and Finley. I will return to work. Melissa is planning to disassemble and reassemble our house. We will evolve once again to something resembling normal.

Time will slowly erode the sharpness of the pain, but like mountains, it will take eons to smooth completely. Ultimately, it will take joining Harper for the pain to be permanently erased.

7 days down.  In another week, it will be 14. While we can't move on, we are moving forward.

Choose Joy

This is the Remembrance I wrote and read at Harper's Celebration of Life Service:

In June of 2005 we were blessed with the second of what would become a trio of beautiful daughters. From the start, Harper has been a feisty, strong willed child.  Her spirit is something with which we sometimes battled when our views of the world differed, but is also something that we cherish. Her spirit and spunk is something she cannot and will not hide - it is part of her and a key to her personality. A defining characteristic.

We did not know in 2005 what this tiny bundle would be destined to become, but as time passed we came to know that Harper would be something special. Only after her diagnosis in May 2013, in the face of incredible adversity, did the true strength and power of her persona begin to show itself.

Harper became a light in the dark for those around her.  After coming to grips with her diagnosis and the hand she was dealt, she began to dispel shadows around her with a glow of positivity, hope and joy. Her smile became infectious, and even sitting in a chair, with poison dripping into her veins, making her sick beyond comprehension, her playful attitude lifted the spirits of not only those caring for her but those who simply had the pleasure of being in her presence.

I will not focus on the battle which she fought, but on the victory she claimed.  After 10 months of chemotherapy and radiation she emerged NED or No Evidence of Disease. We planned and hosted a party in her honor where friends and family came to celebrate her victory. We played, and danced, and laughed and cried. It was a beautiful day.

That day of jubilation is the day I choose to keep in my mind.  It is the picture of Harper that I will continue to cherish.  It is the image I hold dear and force my mind to when sadness attacks.  It is my rock - my happy place.

As we now know, that day did not last.  That day was a peak from which things would fall. 

Again, I will not focus on the battle, but instead on the way with which Harper chose to fight it. 

Harper chose joy. At the darkest moments, she could still smile. And she would. Her big, gorgeous hazel eyes radiated love.  Her laugh could make a room smile. And it did.

Many have worn, throughout this experience, bracelets emblazoned with the words “Hope for Harper.” A constant reminder of the battle she was fighting and that despite the odds and the adversity, we embraced and willed hope. And Harper personified that hope. And she still does.

I choose not to allow myself to yet transition to referring to Harper in the past tense.  When I speak of what she has done, I can look back and marvel at the history, but I refuse to acknowledge that there is no future. Harper is still here, in each of us who was touched by her spirit.

Harper physically left us - a conscious choice I believe she made, betrayed in her eyes as she opened them and looked at Melissa and I mere hours before the end. But she did not lose hope, and she did not lose joy.

She took those qualities, with which she enriched the world, and carried them on to Heaven. She is right now blessing the angels and those departed before her with her love, her light, her hope, her joy. She is still Harper - still bringing hope and light and joy to those there and to us here as well.

She is playing with her friend Lydia, whom she met in clinic. Despite our statements and decisions that we would not allow her to become close to other cancer patients - the likely outcome too difficult to fathom - Harper chose joy and shared it with Lydia, someone who had a similar life experience and with whom she could relate. Lydia proceeded Harper, but they are together now.

I know she is riding horses, and smiling and laughing, without pain, without fear and choosing joy.  We are heartbroken at her leaving us, but she is now happy, without the weight of human existence to hamper her spirit.

Harper always chose joy, and so, inspired by her, I do so also. Me and my family choose joy.  We ask that you also choose joy. The hole in our hearts is real, and cannot be diminished - we have lost a light in our lives that cannot and will not be replaced. But we choose joy because we know that Harper would choose it too.

Choose to embrace the time you are given. Love those around you without hesitation.  Forgive and live life without regret.

Take from Harper what she freely gave to anyone she met - Hope and Joy.

Today we share once more from the lessons Harper taught us during the precious time she spent with us - and ask you take with you a bracelet that does not say Hope for Harper - for she needs it not - but instead says “Hope FROM Harper” and “Choose Joy”

Harper has improved our lives, enriched our spirits, and I ask that you each, in whatever way you can, embrace the little piece of Harper that she gave to you.  Take Hope from Harper.

And Choose Joy.