I have been in a downsizing mood lately - clutter is making me anxious, and I have been attacking it with a vigor and frenzy akin to that energy surge you get right before you go into labor. I put a set of luggage on Freecycle last week, nice stuff that I have not used in more than 5 years. It went right away. I felt pounds lighter!
As I was cleaning it off to get it ready to be picked up I pulled the baggage tape from the handle and was about to throw it away. But I stopped and held it in my hand. I don't know why. Then I looked at it. February 13, 2001. BWI - MSP. And I knew why I was holding it in my hand.
That was the day I returned home from Krista's funeral. 7 years ago.
I made that round trip dozens of times in the almost 3 years she was being treated for ovarian cancer. She was 14 when she was diagnosed - 17 when she died. I went to Minneapolis almost monthly to be with her during that time. She never had a remission - she never got to go home again.
I remember sitting by her bed early on. She was sleeping. And I was battling with god for an answer. A reason. WHY does a 14 year old get OVARIAN cancer? Why does she get any kind of cancer, let alone one that is supposed to be for old women! I never did get an answer. What I did receive after a much prayer and struggle was acceptance of god's will.
It may sound odd, but the visits with Krista were some of the most fun times I have ever had. My daughters and my cousin would often join me on my Krista visits. We laughed! And laughed! And laughed till our stomach's cramped; till we cried; and then laughed some more - again and again. We would play pranks on the hospital staff. We would have them rolling on the floor laughing. Her doctors were always shaking their heads in wry amusement at Krista's antics and her crazy Aunt Pattee. How could that insane woman have a Ph.D. in anything, I could hear them saying in their minds. We had slumber parties in her hospital room. Beauty salon days. Movie nights - popcorn and all. We overflowed the dishwasher and flooded the hospital hallways. We stole movies from the Ronald McDonald House to take with Krista for another hospital stay. We stole movies from the hospital to home with her to the Ronald McDonald House. There were more shopping trips to the Mall of America than I can count. We did wheelies with Krista in her wheelchair in parking lots.
We had ecstatic moments of hope. We firmly believed in miracles. We absolutely and without a doubt believed each new treatment would be the one that cured her. Vincristin, cisplatin, paclitaxel, radiation, surgery and more surgery, a bone marrow transplant, more cemo. She never had a remission.
And we cried more tears than a body should hold. Tears of fear and horror at the start. Tears of frustration as the process went on. Tears of anger when a new treatment did not work. Tears over the pain she was suffering. Tears over our fear of losing her. Tears of despair as the doctors began to run out of treatments. And finally, tears of relief and sorrow when she died. Relief that Krista was no long in pain. Of sorrow for our loss, for Krista and all the things she would never do.
We finally took Krista home to her beloved Ashland. It was cold beyond bitter. That gray which was a lack of color settled over everything. Gray as only February can be. February in Ashland, Wisconsin. On Lake Superior. Below zero, too cold to snow out. Everything was frozen solid. Including those of us who went to bury her. Numb, frozen, in a state of disbelief, suspended animation. Just for a little while. Her mom and I readied her body for the burial. We massaged her favorite lotion all over her scarred body. We dressed her. I made the funeral plans, bought the coffin, wrote the eulogy for the newspaper. Keep busy, just jeep busy.
We were kind and loving to everyone who came to the wake. We found ourselves, after a while, in a large circle of Krista's friends and their moms. And we began to tell Krista stories. And we began to laugh, hesitantly and quietly at first. And then with great relief and true joy at the funny stories, the memories, the short but meaningful life of that girl. We roared! It felt so good to let all that come out there in the lobby of the funeral home.
We had the funeral. The lid to her coffin was closed. It was so final. I wanted to scream NO! Instead, I read a story and told a story. Her girlfriends sang. Her minister comforted. We picked up her coffin. By the time we got to the church door she had more than a dozen pall bearers. No one wanted to let her go. The cemetery was cold-bleak-blustery, colorless and empty. There was a hole in the ground. We brought the coffin there. We stood and prayed. Tears froze on our faces. We left her there.
Krista is still with me today. I believe in the existence of what people call "ghosts." I prefer to think of them as spirits of people I loved. I can see Krista at times, hear her talking to me, feel her next to me. She even can make me laugh out loud! Especially when I am in the pajama section at Target! She is always urging me to buy her some new colorful flannel pajama pants - that is all she lived in her last year of life. And I am delighted to have Krista hang around. Her spirit is kind and funny and loving. She is saying "Remember me Aunt Pattee. Remember me."
