Grieving Through The Holidays

Shortly after my dad passed away, we attended a grief support group called Grief Share, where we learned several tools and truths that have helped us navigate the ever changing journey of grief. There are many things I took away from that group, but one of the things that is always a great help me is this: grief comes in waves and when the waves come, its best to lean into them instead of resisting them. Most of the time these waves are unpredictable; they come when you least expect it. You never really know how long it will last or how much time you have before another one hits.

There are some waves that tend to come at the same time every year. One of those times is the holidays. This time of year is so emotionally charged and filled with memories and flashbacks, and I have yet to find a way to escape it. Whether your loved one has been gone for decades, a few years, or this is the first holiday with an empty seat at the table…the holidays are hard. Bittersweet is probably the best word I can use to describe it. You feel so many things, most of which are complete opposites, but you experience them all at the same time. The combination of happy memories and the reality that the one you love is no longer here to make new memories inflicts a kind of pain that can’t really be described. But if you’ve lost a loved one, you probably know the exact feeling.

The holidays are supposed to be a happy time and you’re probably wondering why I’m writing all of this now. This is our third Christmas without my dad, and while I’m no expert, I’ve learned some things along this difficult journey that I would like to share with you as we all prepare for our various celebrations. And also, because I know too many people that will be having their first Christmas with the indescribable void of people they never imagined their lives without. And the truth is, grief makes most of us uncomfortable. We don’t really know how to process it and if you haven’t experienced it, there is so much about it that you don’t understand. A lot of us want to do or say something that can bring some relief and comfort to those we love, and sometimes from the best places in our hearts, we can say or do things that might cause more harm than good. This isn’t the same for everyone, but after talking amongst my family, we came up with some things that have been the most comfort and support for us and wanted to share those with you.

  • Be a safe place. Grief has many expressions and you never really know if something will make you laugh or cry. This kind of unpredictability is scary if you aren’t in a safe place, in addition to the pain you feel, the last thing you’re looking for is to be judged. I remember during our first Christmas without my dad, we were at a family gathering and a song came on that had a lot of memories attached and took us by surprise. It was a cross between not being able to breathe and tears coming so fast there wasn’t time to keep up. One of us rushed to skip the song, in an effort to make it hurt less, and someone that didn’t really understand what was going on, made a hurtful remark: “It’s just a song, what’s the big deal?” While I don’t believe it was malicious, it was hurtful. The big deal was that it was a song my dad and brother used to play/sing together every year. It wouldn’t be a big deal to anyone else, but to us it was huge. There are going to be things that you won’t understand, and that’s okay, as long as you create a safe space for those you love that are grieving to express whatever they are feeling. Because, like I mentioned earlier, it’s a wave and the thing about waves is…they pass. Ride the wave with us.
  • We might be a mess, join us in the mess. Sometimes we laugh, sometimes we cry, both are okay. My dad was hilarious, and as a result there are many of our memories of him that still make us laugh. And there are some things that we miss so much it brings tears. Both expressions are sacred. Grief is messy, especially during the holidays, but if you can be gracious and present with us, let us laugh, cry, and remember without judgment or ridicule, you will enter into a space in our hearts so special you will be one of a select few that aren’t afraid to get a little messy.
  • If you don’t know what to say, just sit down with us, its okay. Odds are, the silence might be a welcome change. We spend a lot of time talking about our loved ones and that’s important, and we appreciate that you let us, even if you’ve heard the story a thousand times. But often times, people feel like they need to give us some kind of wisdom or advice…sometimes that makes things worse. We aren’t looking for answers; we’re looking for a friend. If you don’t know what to say to us, its okay, you don’t have to say anything. Your presence with us in the silence will speak volumes.
  • Don’t be afraid of us. We’re mostly the same people, we’ve just been marked by something that changes a piece of us forever. When we feel like people are avoiding us because grief makes them uncomfortable, it hurts. We didn’t choose this path, and we still want our friends and family. From the very first day, my grandpa has probably been one of the people that has best been able to really be there for me. He has never tiptoed around my grief. When he feels the time is right, he will ask me questions, like what I miss most about my dad. He always remembers my dad at family gatherings. He tells me his stories about my dad. And sometimes he sits in silence with me. I have never felt him hesitate to be near me or my grief. It takes a special person. Be that person.
  • Love. However you express that best, just love us.

I’m not an expert, and will never claim to be one, but in the last few years I have experienced some of the best and worst of these things that I’ve mentioned. I’ve learned who the true friends in my life are and have been so richly blessed with people who don’t mind the mess. The holidays are hard, and there’s no way around it. But with the wonderful people in my life who love me well, they make a difficult season, a little less difficult.  Be those people.

Merry Christmas.

To those with an empty seat at the table this Christmas, you are in our thoughts and prayers.

Christmas 2011 Our Last Christmas With Dad

Christmas 2011
Our Last Christmas With Dad

A Letter To Cancer

Dear Cancer,

In March 2013 you came crashing into our world with complete disregard for the fact that it was a world barely standing. It was a world that had come crashing down around us only 9 months earlier when it was shattered by grief over losing dad. It didn’t matter to you that we were barely learning how to breathe again after that loss. Mom’s heart was broken and every day was a fight and then you went and started attacking her from the inside out. Your timing was cruel. Things we now know as “symptoms” were things we thought were normal parts of the grieving process. And then came the pain; the excruciating, incapacitating pain. You forced us to relive the horrors of the night dad died when we took mom to the ER for the first time. And then, a few hours later…you made yourself known. The scans showed a mass that could be indicative of ovarian cancer. CANCER. We heard that all too familiar sound of a world falling to pieces again. In those early days and weeks I remember fearing even saying your name. If I had to say it, it was never louder than a whisper. You were the elephant in the room until the diagnosis was confirmed. Stage IV Cancer. You were out for blood, you had plans of claiming another life. We were told our best chance was to build a team of people that have dedicated their lives to learning your sneaky ways so that they can find a way to obliterate you. We found our people. We formed our team. Our UCI heroes didn’t wear capes…they wore white coats. And from the beginning the goal was clear: for you to lose. We fought against insurmountable odds and you threw one curve ball and complication after the other. All along the phrase that was used constantly amongst our team was to be “cautiously optimistic” and we were. I think that angered you. You see, I think one of the biggest tricks you have up your sleeve is the lies you try to tell. You want people to believe that they are alone…both our medical team and our supportive relational team made sure we were never alone. You want people to believe their situation is hopeless…our team made sure we stayed hopeful, even if it was cautiously. And you try and convince people that you’re a death sentence…but you couldn’t change this one fact: mom wanted to live. She was choosing life for as long as there was breath in her lungs. Not even you can compete with that. Between our faith, her resolve, and our team, you really never stood a chance. In December 2013 we received the news that mom was CANCER FREE! She was free! Free of you! You had no place in our world anymore and we began to rebuild a twice shattered world. In May 2014 you snuck back in. We heard the word ‘recurrence’ and our hearts were crushed with dissapointment. But, remember that team we built? Without hesitation they got back into position and put another plan in motion. Your lies tried to creep up on us, but everything was different now. Mom was a survivor this time; a champion. A warrior that wasn’t afraid to go up against you, because she knew what winning was…and winning was the only option. That incredible team of ours put her on a clinical study. You know what that means? Every single day there are people working constantly to find new ways to beat you. And mom was committed to being a part of that. You know what else? It worked. In October 2014 the words CANCER FREE were spoken again. We have no guarantee that you won’t weasel your way back into our lives, in any one of our bodies. We celebrate the wins that we have had but only for a moment before we remember all those whose lives you claim each day. You show no bias; you sneak your way into the bodies of kids, women, men, young, old etc. Every day people hear your name for the first time and every day you make worlds crash down. And the real reason behind this letter is to tell you this: the days of your wins are numbered. I believe and have faith that in my lifetime you truly will be obliterated. You have claimed and broken too many lives. You will not continue to win. The lies you tell are simply that…lies. We know what our truth is. Our truth is that we are strong. We are brave. We are courageous. We are the ones who fight against you and all odds.

As a writer, it’s not a habit of mine to spoil the ending, but just so you know and can be sure….we win. You lose.

Sincerely,
A daughter who is tired of hearing your name,
Leslie Danielle

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112 Days

Last December when we found out that after an exhausting, brutal fight, mom was cancer free, we put together a video to announce our good news. You can watch that video here: http://youtu.be/EVt7khQH9qM Since then, that video has had quite a bit of circulation within our UCI family, and we hope that it goes on to inspire and encourage anyone who sees it. We ended that video with a screen that simply says: “Onto the next chapter…”

But the next chapter didn’t turn out the way we had hoped or imagined. Earlier this year when we first found out that mom’s cancer had come back we were all hit with several waves of different emotions. Fear. Anger. Disappointment. Frustration. It felt as though we had barely had time to start catching our breath from the first cancer battle. We knew that recurrence was always a possibility, but if we would have to face it again, we had hoped for more time before having to do it all again. I think within our family, we all struggled to accept the second diagnosis, at times, more than the first one. The first time mom was diagnosed, she was really sick and it was visible and painfully evident. The second time, she was herself, there was really no indication that anything was wrong, but the bloodwork and scans proved that there was…the cancer had come back. Granted, it was nowhere near what it had been before, and mom’s quality of life was still the same, but cancer is cancer. And once you’ve heard that diagnosis once, you never want to hear it again. But as is life, cancer is unpredictable and we had to choose to move forward in hope and faith that God would allow medicine to heal once again

Mom visiting with a pet therapy dog named Ella on her first day of treatment June 2014

Mom visiting with a pet therapy dog named Ella on her first day of treatment June 2014

As we moved forward to make a plan with her team of doctors, mom was faced with the decision to join a clinical study for treatment or just pursue the current standard treatment; it was a no brainer. With a little fear and apprehension, but mostly joy and excitement she joined the study. It is important to her and is something she is proud to be a part of. At some point before her first diagnosis there were people who signed on to join a study for the drugs and treatments that helped save her life. In an act of gratitude and with a deeply rooted desire to give back, she said yes to doing her part to help find even better treatments, in the hopes that one day, we will see a definitive cure for this disease.

Mom's study drug AKA her "kool-aid"

Mom’s study drug AKA her “kool-aid”

112 days ago we walked in to the Cancer Center at UCI for her first treatment. We had walked in here countless times before for lab work and previous treatments, but this time was different. We were at the start of this fight and as she has learned to do so well, mom appropriately had her fight face on. She was ready to walk into battle with no other possible outcome but winning. It was a completely different experience in comparison to the last time she received treatment and I could only identify it as one thing: she knew what it was to win. The previous times she had received treatment during her first battle, she had hoped that it would work and that she would beat cancer, but she hadn’t yet experienced what it was to be told “you’re cancer free.” So what made this time different? She walked in that first day of treatment 112 days ago already a survivor. These walls, nurses, procedures etc. weren’t unfamiliar; they were a kind of home and safe place. Naturally there was fear, hesitation, and apprehension going into treatment, but it was put at ease because she didn’t have to wonder what survival felt like…she was already a survivor.

This is her "fight face" taken 5 days into her first cycle of chemo

This is her “fight face” taken 5 days into her first cycle of chemo

In comparison to her first battle, the side effects were minimal this time around and for that we are so grateful. The biggest and most traumatic one was the loss of her hair. But as she has done so well, so many times before, she proved her bravery yet again by shaving it off. This is the part where I gush about my mom even more than usual. To those of us who haven’t been through what she has, it might seem like an easy thing to shave off all of your hair and we would all be very wrong. My mom made that decision for herself; she was not going to let cancer take anything else from her. Her decision to shave her head was a declaration to cancer that she was not going to hand over her power to it. She is brave. It might be easy to think that with all the ways we try and bring awareness to cancer that most people would be comfortable with a bald woman…let me clear up that confusion…it still makes most people uncomfortable. That fact combined with the twisted views our society has about beauty, all I can say is we still have a long way to go. But like I said, my mom is brave. And I have seen her walk confidently in any and every situation, and it is her hope, as it is mine, that her bravery will help empower other women going through it, but also that it would help teach us that it is not something that we need to look away from, but embrace, support and encourage. She is brave, and it makes me brave.

Mom rockin' her freshly shaved head

Mom rockin’ her freshly shaved head

I know this is a long post, maybe longer than usual, but stick with me because it’s about to get really good…

Yesterday we received the news that mom is CANCER FREE once again!! She received her final treatment this morning!! We hope and pray that it was her last one ever, but we trust God and his plans for the future and today we celebrate this moment!

Mom walking out of UCI after hearing that she is CANCER FREE again October 13, 2014

Mom walking out of UCI after hearing that she is CANCER FREE again October 13, 2014

Our hearts are overflowing with joy and we hope that you join us in this so this joy can be multiplied. Yet, in the midst of that joy, we ask that you pause with us to honor and pray for all those that are fighting this vicious disease and remember those who have not had the outcomes that they had hoped for and pray for their families. I hope and pray we all get to see a day where this disease is 100% curable, but until that day we need to be vigilant and support all those that are walking through it.

Mom joining UCI and #TheAntiCancer movement

Mom joining UCI and #TheAntiCancer movement

There is no better way to end this post than by expressing our deepest gratitude. God has been so faithful and has blessed us so far beyond what we could have ever hoped or imagined. And one of the biggest blessings he has given us is our support system. I wish I could list each one of you that has joined mom’s team to help her win this fight, but this is already pretty long so I will just do a few groups of people 🙂

  • To our family: thank you for committing to walk alongside us once again and for expressing your love and support in so many beautiful ways. You have held up our family in love and prayers and we could not imagine going through this without you. You fill our lives with joy, laughter, and more love than we can describe. We love you so much!
  • To all of our friends: thank you for your constant prayers, encouragement, and love. You help us see beauty of community: sorrows divided and joys multiplied.
  • To the incredible UCI staff, from the valet attendants, to the check in desk, to the nurses and aides, and study coordinator, thank you for your gift of making a difficult journey a little bit easier. You shine your lights so brightly and add warmth, joy, and love to a place that could be cold, sad, and lonely.
  • And lastly, a very special thanks to Dr. Berman and Dr. Eskander. You are the coaches of our dream team and we can’t imagine this journey without you! Your commitment, excellence, hard work, and “cautious optimism” have journeyed with us and we have the privilege of walking out on the other end once again alongside two of the most gifted human beings we have ever known. Though you are truly remarkable doctors, your gifts go so far beyond the medicine, your compassion and dedication to caring for the whole patient has made all the difference! The world needs more people like you and we are grateful, honored, and humbled to know you. We think of you and pray for you often, thank you for your permanent mark on our lives.

As the cancer free finish line got closer and closer, there were questions about how we would announce it since mom’s video from last time was such a success and my response is this: no one goes into their wedding, planning for their second wedding. The hope and idea is that you only do this once. However, God saw fit that mom fight this fight again, and so there isn’t a beautifully edited video chronicling mom’s journey this time. Instead, I decided to sit at the computer and pour my heart out and celebrate mom’s journey the best way I know how.

With the hospital behind her, remembering how far she has come, celebrating a win once again October 13, 2014

With the hospital behind her, remembering how far she has come, celebrating a win once again October 13, 2014

Thank you again to everyone who has prayed, sent positive thoughts, loved, and supported my mom and our family throughout this time. We love you more than you know!

And so we say again: On to the next chapter…

Light and Love,

The Lopez Family