To indulge in my grief would be to limit myself along the path of my life journey.....

The Agony Of Grief

My grief has been heavy lately. I feel like I have ten pound weights on my mind and my heart. It has been just over 2 months since Charlotte, my friend of forty-one years - my 'chosen' sister - lost her courageously fought battle with mestasticized lung cancer.  This past week, making plans for Thanksgiving dinner with my family, has been particularly difficult as I continually recall Charlotte's last visit with us in Toronto - Thanksgiving Weekend one year ago - and the closeness that our friendship continued to give us that three day weekend.

We were so fortunate because we had used every possible opportunity in our lives to share our thoughts, our ideas, our feelings, and our last weekend together brought us even closer, as we took a long trip down memory lane - sharing every picture I had of our times together and reliving the good - and the bad - events in our lives. These memorable moments are forever etched in my mind and in my heart. I now believe that Charlotte knew this was to be her last visit to my home.

Then followed the worst of times, as, several months later my vibrant friend told me of her life shattering terminal diagnosis. What was I to do with incurable news like that? How was I supposed to conduct myself in such a lethal situation?

It didn't take me long to find out that I didn't have to answer my heart-rending questions as I was guided by Charlotte who showed me that all I had to do was to take my cues from her as she chose to face every day with 100% grace and dignity.

I visited Montreal frequently in the next six months and was honored that she wanted me to spend my time there looking after her both at her home - feeding her, medicating her, taking her to her medical appointments, going out to dinner occasionally, taking short walks around the neighborhood, and, most importantly, holding her hand and crying with her through her pain - and then in the Palliative Care Unit in the Montreal General Hospital - spending my visits by her bedside, again reminiscing, but this time, both of us knowing that there soon would be no more tomorrows.  But she chose, at this terribly painful ending of her life, to be happy -  and she continued to be grateful for every new sunset and to be thankful for each sundown that she could still experience. 

As I write this, I realize that I, again, must take my cues from Charlotte. She lived her life well. Helping others. Always giving. Loving deeply. I know that she would want me to do the same and she would want me to celebrate her life.  So, instead of being sad this Thanksgiving, I will make her proud. I will be happy and thankful that we shared the dance of life. And I will celebrate. Her life. My life. Life itself.