In some ways, it seems crazy that that it's been a year and then on the other hand, it seems like it's been much longer. I suppose that's normal. I have a lot of vivid memories of events that relate to Ann from October 11, 2012 to February 16, 2013. It was only four months.
- I remember when she called me on that fall-weathered day. I was driving home from a quick trip to Wal-Mart. She told me to pull over and I know exactly which field driveway I pulled into. I drive by this spot and still think about it. I remember her saying the cancer will never be cured, she'd never be in remission. It had already spread to her kidneys and liver and I remember thinking, I'll give you a kidney… and can't the liver regenerate? Isn't this fixable?
- I remember Face Timing and seeing the sadness in her eyes but watching her roll her eyes instead of letting the tears flow.
- I remember the exchanges with Koen… he wanted to tell everything but then he was concerned it would hurt. I kept telling him "we need to know everything even if it's bad." And he did tell us. And it was bad.
- I remember the conversations we had when I traveled to Belgium with Brian. Ann and I talked about her faith, something that had been so evident and strong in her first 30 years. Some of her habits had changed while in Belgium, but her beliefs had never lessened. We talked about her death and what some of her wishes were. She was most concerned about Koen. She wasn't sure how he would manage to cope.
- I remember the text that came from Koen at the end of January when the cancer had spread to her brain and the urgency to get there. Brent and I immediately started to figure out how and when we could arrange everything at home to get to Belgium.
- There are hundreds of memories from the week of February 10-16. I was able to be with her that week, her last week on earth, and my parent's got there just in time. Some of those memories I wish would fade… others I want to hold onto forever.
- I remember saying my goodbye on our last evening in Belgium, giving her permission to let go of her fight and then, just a few hours later getting the call in the middle of the night from Koen and the quiet, dark, cold taxi ride in the streets of Leuven to be with Koen and my parents.
The two weeks between her death and the Iowa funeral seemed a bit like slow motion, but still, many memories.
The kind words and gestures people expressed were/are so thoughtful. Brent is my rock carrying me through tough times. The kids are my loving hugs at sad moments. There are still times that I "vent." Maggie and Jenny are usually the recipients - they both know just the right words to say, or just the amount of silence to pause to let me know that they understand something has sparked a memory.
It still totally sucks to be mourning. Not that I expected it would end at any certain point. But sometimes I do want to scream at people - "my sister is dead." Like, seriously, whatever little inconvenience you have in your life is not that big of deal in the grand scheme of things. I even have to remind myself of that when my head gets full of little things that build up. I continue to share stories about Aunt Ann anytime I get the chance. Those stories make a difference because on October 12, 2013 (a year and one day after her phone call to tell me she had cancer) we sat at the lunch table and Lucas randomly says, "Aunt Ann is always watching us from heaven. She wants us to do good things." Amazing. Simple amazing.
And Hannah loves Yellow Ducky4. Lucas understands some of the symbolism behind Ducky and someday Hannah and Ryan will know and understand all about the original Ducky but for now it doesn't matter. It just makes me heart melt when they hug Ducky4 and play with him.
Our family will be together today. We'll celebrate Hannah, Claire and my mom's birthdays. We'll eat pizza for lunch because pizza was Ann's favorite. We'll save the special events for a happier, anytime we want to celebrate them kind of time, like on cousins vacation, because this is an anniversary we wish didn't exist. But it does.
I love and miss you, sis!
{my favorite picture of her}
This poem was a gift that Ann brought to Belgium for Koen when she moved there. I took a picture on my phone in her room at St. Pieter the day before Ann died. She had no idea what the meaning of some of those words would be to her and Koen's marriage…
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