Saturday, April 18, 2009

Keep Believing

Today's post is dedicated to my dear friend Angie, as today is her and her husband's 12th anniversary. Angie's husband, Brian, lost his battle with cancer last month. To read her whole story just go to her blog.

Lately I have been in a funk. I think it is hormonal, but since I have estrogen coursing through my body I don't expect to be un-funked anytime soon. I cry off an on some days, and other days I just stare blankly out the window.

I think this is a really hard thing to be going through, but I keep believing that I know someone who would give anything to trade places with me.

I have so many good friends who willingly listen to my every complaint, no matter how minor or insignificant. Before I know it, the bitching and moaning turns into joking and storytelling, and I've forgotten all about my troubles. Talking to them really lifts my burdens and I really hope that in some way, I can do the same thing for them when they need it.

But, deep down, I keep believing that no amount of jokes or "I'm here for you" or will ever make a girl feel better.

Living in Texas has had its ups and downs. We've only been here a year so I feel like I really need to wait a bit to judge my situation objectively. It's just too hard to realize what I'm going through while I'm in the middle of it. I'm trying my best to make it work, but I wonder if I'll look back a year from now (or two, or five) and think, "Yo, I royally screwed THAT one up!"

And I think of an incredible woman who will look back a year from now (or two, or five) and say to herself, "I can't believe I persevered through it."

I am not just pouring empty accolades on this woman. She is funny as hell. And she's smart as a whip. And she's like a little firecracker (tiny package, huge fire). And her outside beauty can only be matched by her inner beauty. She is generous, loyal, an incredible listener, and an amazing friend. I consider myself lucky to have had her in my life for 20+ years.

For a long time, I had a hard time to keep believing that her husband's life should be touched by cancer. I had a hard time accepting that such a wonderful person wouldn't live a life of fullness, free of pain and suffering. That was a lesson for me, in that we don't get what we deserve - we just get. And how we deal with what we get is the true mark of an individual's character. And, in turn, I understood that living a life of fullness doesn't necessarily mean living a life of many years.

Angie and Brian would be celebrating their 12th anniversary today. They lived their lives in the shadow of death every single day, but instead of being bitter and anxious, they chose to embrace every day and cherish each other every bit more.

I keep believing that I do appreciate my husband and that I love him a little bit more every day. But Angie and Brian shared a meaning of marriage that few people will ever know. Cancer ended up not being the tool that the devil intended it to be. Instead, cancer taught them to appreciate each other. To listen to each other. To trust God. To forgive more often. To laugh a little bit louder. To hug a little bit tighter. To learn the real lessons of life, together. To spend more time doing special things that the rest of us keep putting off until tomorrow.

Brian is gone now, but his love for Angie remains. I know her love for him lives on too.

Angie, your journey has been a lesson for us all in strength. But, without you realizing it, it's also been an example of how to have a lasting marriage. Brian's legacy will live on through the impact you have had on all of us.

We love you Angie.

KEEP BELIEVING

11 comments:

Scary Mommy said...

Such a beautiful post. Angie, I'll me thinking of you today too...

Mandy said...

It is such a beautiful post. Touching. I'll be thinking of you guys.

Angie @ KEEP BELIEVING said...

I love you, G. Thank You.

KEEP BELIEVING

Jenn @ Juggling Life said...

Beautiful. I hope that I can be Angie's friend in real life as well as on the blogosphere someday.

texasholly said...

Keep Believing.

Heather said...

Thank you for your Keep Believing post. It means so much to me that so many were able to do it, and from Angie's post I think we did a good thing and that it really is helping her through a terribly difficult day. Her blog roll looks incredible! Heather

Anna See said...

What an honor to read this. Thanks for introducing me to Angie and Brian through your blog. xo, A

Wendy said...

Where does Angie live? My friend Jenny lost her husband Brad to cancer last month, too. He was 34. She lives in Houston, and is an inspiration - always has been, even before this happened.

Do they live close enough that they might like to know each other?

http://thewims.blogspot.com/

Wendy said...

But also I forgot to ask. Did you author this post? Is it you that is in such a funk? Did you say why at some earlier point on your blog and I wasn't a reader yet? Because it doesn't sound too good. If you were my IRL friend I would show up at your house uninvited with a tray of chocolate-chip muffins and say, "spill it, girl."

Oh, so this is your cyber version of that. What is going on? Is it Texas? Is it your friend's husband? Because I've grieved for someone else like that before. Are you pregnant? Are you depressed? It sounds like depressed. It sounds like me after moving 3 times in 7 months and actually wanting to be put into a padded room somewhere.

If it's about Texas, all I can say is... try rural Oklahoma, honey. Or Bakersfield f-n California. Both are worse than almost anywhere in Texas. Almost.

And no matter where you move to, you hit this point where the new has definitely worn off but it doesn't have that lived-in comfortable feeling yet. And you feel sort of lost and all wanty-to-move-againy.

But then again, some places just stink like old rotten cheese. Like rural Oklahoma. And there's just no getting around it.

Wendy said...

Man I'm like a stalker. I meant to say, "are you still pregnant." If you don't want to talk about it, delete my comment(s).

Debbi said...

Hugs for you, Mamma. Times are tough- moving is hard and sometimes it feels so dark. I hope you find more peace soon.

Hugs hugs and more hugs.