I dare to stare the possibility of losing my dear daughter in the face. I will not run away from it…fear is poisonous and years of it takes its toll. I want to heal, with my daughter. For me this meant accepting that although I must, always, keep trying to save her, at the end of the day, my daughter’s longevity is beyond my control. Accepting that ‘what will be, will be’ is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
I’m losing count of the number of young, cancer related deaths that I’ve encountered over the last two years. For those that live with a child with chronic health issues like Hana, death is always a possibility in our minds. We don’t want it to be there but it lurks in the dark corners of the house, and the cruel but distinct, nagging feeling that you might outlive the beautiful child to whom you gave birth.
Please don’t misunderstand me, I don’t live my life thinking about Hana leaving me, I spend it thinking about her life!
I think about her future each day and I envisage an amazing future for her. I can SEE her pottering around her garden as an old lady. Meticulous as ever with grey hair tied up and she is wearing an apron – of all things – in the garden! I can see her get home from high school, throwing herself on the couch, trying on the role of a moody teenager but still shining that angelic light she so uniquely radiates. I can see her… I believe in the power of those visions.
However, I believe I came here to learn something important and this is the point of this post. I came here to learn to LET GO of my baby girl. I came here to learn that her life and her soul journey is not mine to control or save (although this does not mean ‘inaction’ on my side). I believe I needed to learn to be at peace in the midst of her pain and suffering, without making it my own or being broken by it. And, most importantly I needed to learn to peacefully accept that her time here may be shorter than mine. This doesn’t mean it will be shorter than mine, it may be, but equally, it may not! It just means that I needed to learn this.
For two years, I wasn’t close to learning that. I kept vigil in the dark hours of the night as she gasped for breath with sleep apnoea and her body unnaturally exploded in size beyond what ever should be physically possible. How could her heart keep beating in that tremendous explosive assault? I lay awake in the darkness pleading with the universe to let my baby girl be with me, always, never, never apart. I researched every treatment option I could that might keep her alive and with me. But sometimes when I was utterly tormented by the sense of death watching from the sidelines, I would send a silent, furious scream into the darkness: “If you are going to take her, take her now! Just end these games, end her suffering! She is not a toy, stop playing with her!” Then I would instantly be filled with desperation: No no no! I couldn’t lose her, don’t EVER take her! How I would I ever be able to breath again if she was taken from me? I was gripping on as tightly as I could to her fragile life, resigned that my ‘self’ would be destroyed by fear in the process.
Then, when peace began to rain down, (read these posts on that: My Spiritual Awakening: The blog post I never thought I’d write and Can you ever be at Peace while your child suffers?) I knew I needed to let her go.
After ‘waking up,’ I could clearly see Hana’s spiritual journey as intrinsically linked to mine but also separate and so I began to accept that she had a right to chose when she wanted to go. My ferocious battle to keep her alive needed to end. This DOES NOT mean that I won’t continue my quest to heal her! No! But it is a quest with an acceptance that:
“All shall be well. All shall be well. All in all manner of things shall be well.”
And so I held my hands over her in a Reiki treatment and delighted in the feeling that our souls were mingling. ‘I love you mummy, I love you mummy, I love you mummy,’ she murmured as the rush of energy began to flow out of the palms of my hand, stinging the tips of my fingers. My heart swelled with love and gratitude and I let that feeling transfer into the energy flowing out of my hands. Silently, I spoke to her higher self, her soul:
“You are beautiful and I will love you for eternity. But I let you go! You are not mine. I love you, but you are not mine. I let you go, baby girl.”
She looked at me with those crystal blue eyes, shining that unearthly light she radiates, a light that old ladies and some sensitive individuals are so drawn to! It’s like they can see the angel inside of her. And I smiled at her, saying words I had muttered so many times in the midst of her pain:
“It’s OK baby, it’s all going to be OK.”
After two years of saying this but really, feeling it a lie, I believe it! I believe everything will happen as we decided it would as souls embarking on this tough journey. Yes, I believe together we chose this journey because we knew we’d learn such important things together. The result is liberating for us both.
I’ve set my baby free and I know she can sense it because she is glowing brighter than ever before:
‘Mummy,’ she says knowingly – we are walking to school, enjoying the fresh morning smell wafting off the Eucalyptus trees – ‘We are going to be together for ever and ever.’
I sucked in a lungful of that wonderful air, but it was really the beauty of her words that I wanted to absorb into every single cell in my body. ‘I know…’ I said, squeezing her hand,’I can’t wait.’
Dear lovely readers…thank you for reading this. I’ve been compelled to share everything I’m going through ever since Hana was diagnosed and ‘Nurse Naomi blog’ transformed from ‘Flu, Hand-washing and Gastro’ to my journey ‘un-learning’ as Nurse and Mum. I am so honoured that you have taken the time to read what I have to say! Please get in touch via Facebook where I share daily bits and pieces and leave a comment below, I’d love to hear from you. If you think this piece might touch someone else, think about sharing it. Namaste xxx