Training

Almost nine and half years ago my mother died from ovarian cancer.  To say she had 'battled' it for five years isn't really accurate.  She dealt with the 'nuisance' of it is more apt.  You'd have to know my mother to fully understand.  She was 76 and our Owen was five weeks old.  He never knew her, but you'd think he did, does.
People from my mothers life cross my path all the time.  More me than any of my other siblings.  Around the corner is a friend of hers, where I work I see her best friend, and others too.  Just yesterday, a woman leaned over and introduced herself, told me her mother-in-law had helped my mother find her wedding dress.  She is all around, her influence, all she taught me.  How can you ever capture a personality in words?  You can't when the personality defies a 'type.'  My mother was her own person, so nonplussed, so unimpressed with material accoutrements ....so genuine.  And I don't mean perfect in any way.  She wouldn't have claimed to be. I struggled with her a lot.   But she was genuine and she was a fighter ...a survivor.  My mother was an only child who found her way through this world, on her own, worked side by side with Sydney Farber as a chemist, and then went on to medical school at a time when women didn't do such things.  She raised six kids, two sons and four daughters.  It is not an understatement to say my mother trained her girls to survive.  Each of us have been handed challenges the average person is not.  And each of us have survived, and in our own very separate ways, thrived, risen above the storm and found a way to laugh each day.
My oldest sister, Betsy, was diagnosed with breast cancer recently.  It's a new journey for her, it's opened a door for the four sisters, another chance to survive.  You generally won't find one of my mother's girls 'crying in her soup.'  You generally won't see the drawn faces, the heartache, the weight of burden upon us.  Not because we are special ...but because we were taught by a remarkable women to forge ahead, to watch the horizon for the sunrise.  "It simply is," my mother would say.  Nothing to be done about it, but step forward.
For a long time, I didn't have the vision, the keen sense of wonder and appreciation to marvel at all she'd given me.  Phoebe's death has helped me to see it more clearly, to recognize the magnificent gift my mother gave.  God knew what was in store for me, and He knew how to prepare me, to ready me for the walk ahead.  He allowed my mother to train me, to teach me to carry the heavy load ...
Betsy shares a bit of her story, spiced with a touch of this women who shaped us on her blog
Comfort me with food.
Please pray for Betsy.  I picture my mother and Phoebe tending to her.  My mother monitoring the medical care and Phoebe finding all the quirky personalities and making sure there was plenty around to make Betsy laugh.
On my mirror is a picture of my mother with her wig, arm around Phoebe in her First Communion dress.  They are both beaming smiles.  That picture starts my day ...and ends it!  A remarkable woman with a remarkable girl.  How blessed am I to have walked this earth for a time with each of them.