What is this?

What is this? I don't really know, other then a continuation of my updates and writings that I was sharing previously on Caringbridge of this journey through cancer and now widowhood and single parenting.

Maybe it won't end up being anything at all, or maybe it will be a glimpse into my heart, my life, my current situation, my testimony.

Whatever it becomes, I am touched that you are interested.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

Field of Dreams

I sit here at our neighborhood park and playground. As I walked the familiar steps here I'm transported to a time long gone. Though, really, it wasn't so long ago, yet it feels like a lifetime away.

I sit on a bench overlooking a field where just months ago we sat and watched children playing in the grass, our hands resting on my belly feeling our daughter kicking, as if with excitement to join us in that dream.

Now, with Aria in the stroller and me on 'our' bench, I'm here today with tears streaming down my face as I realize that dream is gone. All my dreams look different now.  What was excitement looking upon this park, is now sadness.

Brandon and I also came to this bench as we processed the devastating results of the PET scan. And this open field was then images of daddy sitting on the bench, weak from treatment, but smiling with a heart full of gratitude at watching his girls laying in the grass. We were filled with fear and sadness, but hope for another remission and a chance to be a family.

Just weeks later I sat on this bench with Aria nestled in her infant carrier in the stroller as Brandon lay in a hospital bed. I knew then that I would soon be a widow and single mother, and I tried to envision what that would look like, just mother and daughter picking dandelions in the field. The thought that Brandon's heart was shattering thinking of the same. 

Too soon after that I walked with a friend to this bench when that fear had been realized. I cried as I let the hope of a different ending for our field of dreams slip through my fingers and drift away with the breeze. I held onto the hope of a miracle til the very end. So much so that as I walked back into the room that September 23rd and saw that Brandon's eyes had opened for the first time in over 36 hours my first thought was that my miracle was happening! He was waking up! God was bringing him back to us!

But then I quickly realized that instead he had opened his eyes to see Jesus, taking him home.
From this bench I can also look upon the hill with the cross, where the earthy vessel for Brandon's beautiful soul rests. I almost feel his presence more right here then anywhere else.

My tears will stain this place forever. I will always be taken back to the foot steps we took together along these sidewalks and the times we shared upon this seat. I don't know what this bench has in store for us in the future. Hopefully something beautiful. I like to think Brandon will see to it that it does.

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