Lizzi was five when her dad and I divorced, and she was 9 when he died. I was in another very unhealthy relationship from the time she was 7 until she was 12. She is the oldest and she has loved, protected, and "mothered" her siblings in ways she never should have needed to. By all rights, she could have been a real mess. However, we were loved and supported by a number of amazing people who surrounded us daily. We have wonderful family and dedicated friends who we also call family. Our weekend celebration consisted of an incredible mix of people, blood family, step-family, adopted family, all who have contributed in some way to who she is and who she will be.
Two short weeks later (while I was still trying to wrap my brain around graduation), my sister called late in the evening which is not the norm. My brother-in-law was in the hospital. I could feel her anxiety more than usual which left me pacing and upon her second phone call I raced to the hospital to be with them late into the night. And so began a journey I find it difficult to write about. He had fought a long hard battle with a rare soft tissue sarcoma (cancer-I hate even using the word), and now it had metastasized in his brain. She has blogged over the years on it and I can in no way express the things that she shares. What I can share is that the next ten days were brutal, taking me to places in my walk with God I had never experienced. I stood by watching her wait, pray, and hear from doctors that the fight was over. I watched as events occurred in ways that could only be explained by the presence of a loving and merciful God. I sat with her as she explained to him that there was nothing left to do. We moved to hospice. We met with doctors, nurses, and social workers regarding the best ways to keep him comfortable. We sat with him through fear, frustration, anger, and disorientation. I sat with her as she explained to their children (ages 8, 10, & 25) that daddy would be on his way to heaven very soon. And on day eleven, brutal changed to peaceful and I sat with her as she cheered him home to the arms of a loving Savior who would heal him in ways no earthly doctor ever could have. She knew, and he knew right where he was headed and it was victory! Together they crossed the finish line in a way that many of us could never imagine and I was there to witness it and the very presence of God was there in a way I had never experienced.
When we left the hospital that afternoon, we stopped for some comfort food. A pepsi and a snickers. Our mom's snack of choice. We're certain she was there to greet my brother-in-law upon his arrival in Glory. We were comforted by Steven Curtis Chapman's "Long Way Home" on the radio. We called our pastor. We laughed and cried, and laughed and cried. We gathered with family and told her children. My own girls who were just seven and nine when they lost their dad came right away to scoop them up, and as a family we began to mourn. We laughed as much as we cried. The memorial service was one of celebration of life. My sister has been surrounded by two church families and the dearest and most precious of friends. New friendships were started. There has been love and community at its finest. Life continues, and it continues to be celebrated.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lq9UWomEAVg
And, second, the link to my sister's blog. She's one of the most inspiring writers I've ever read. She's very real and has a faith that won't quit. So, if you haven't begun to follow her already, I encourage you to take some time to read it.
http://mrs1inamillion.blogspot.com/2012/06/june-14th-2012.html
