The Parking Pass

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I am living through the first anniversary of Jordon’s diagnosis of terminal metastatic melanoma skin cancer. Those six weeks between his diagnosis and his passing are still very clear and alive in my mind. I was bracing myself for some heavy memories and hard times but I have stayed busy and in forward motion and focused on Jackson and his happiness. Until this morning.

This morning was different. I listened to a song this morning that I played over and over again during the crisis last year and was reading posts from dear friends on Facebook when it hit me. A searing, painful, stinging memory barged in unwelcome in my mind. A flashback that probably happened around this day last year. I was under severe stress trying to help Jordon as much as I could. He was at home with family. My task for the day was to get a handicapped parking pass, chemotherapy medicines from the drug store, and a cane so he could walk. I had just left the drug store and went into a government office to apply for the parking pass. The lady behind the counter began to explain the parking permit and how I would have a temporary pass until they could mail the original one in June and that it wouldn’t expire for another five years. Bam! ~ like a sucker punch to the face it hit me. Jordon wasn’t going to make it to June, much less be around for the next 5 years. These reality checks hit the human psyche like a ton of bricks. They can disembody your soul for a moment to save it from the pain your mind and body feels. I could barely walk out of the office. I found my way home somehow and came in and sat on the couch. My mind and body and spirit shut me down cold. I didn’t fall asleep. I didn’t stay awake. I just shut down and went somewhere else for a while. I think God and our angels take us out of ourselves for moments when life is too much. I don’t know how long I sat slumped on the couch unresponsive but the chiming sound of my cell phone brought me back from where I was. It was my good friend Colby from back home. Her voice sounded angelic and caring and comforting. I was twelve hours from home and her voice and concern pierced through my pain and anguish and brought me back to my life for a minute. I finally started to cry a little. She did most the talking and the conversation was short as I was still awaking from the experience of the day.

I don’t have a real positive spin on this moment. And really this journal is just about getting this memory on paper so it doesn’t eat me alive today. It needs out of me and away from me because the energy of it is too much to be contained inside my mind. Maybe this is about release of powerful negative experiences and allowing yourself to breathe through a horrible flashback. If I didn’t write about it or talk about it and kept this pain inside I think it would be destructive to my health and emotional wellbeing. So I share this story with the universe today to release this pain. I give it away so I can move forward. Thank you, Universe. Thank you, Colby. Thank you God for allowing and absorbing the transfer of this energy into another place for transmutation and diffusion. Thank you for making that possible so I may heal. Thank you for giving me a portal to let go of this memory and now I allow in gratitude for you and all the amazing gifts you have bestowed upon my life. Amen.

8 thoughts on “The Parking Pass

  1. Dear Holly. Remembering that time… And privately (you wouldn’t have known it) living a tiny portion of it… feeling it with you. Our family talked about what was happening. It was seeing Jackson that hit me the most. Seeing Jackson and imagining the enormity of the reality he had to get his head around. Passing on the street, I would speak to Joshua, or Sylvia, or Sara. I would speak of what Jackson was having to emotionally/intellectually navigate over the coming few weeks. Loving their Daddy so very much… It was a sobering, empathetic contemplation. We all willingly shared a little piece of your pain.
    Proud of you Holly. And great respect for your and Jackson’s strength and courage in navigating that dark, windy, iceberg-filled sea. It would make me feel so good to know that if through sharing some of your pain, we could actually be “absorbing” some of it for you. Not sure it works that way… But it is my wish that it where true.

    Great song by the way. Yet, don’t linger there too long. There is a certain attachment we can get to feeling the poignant profundity of these feelings. A loving ache, a wistfulness that draws us far away in reflection… Yet, don’t drink too deep. It’s an interesting feeling, but not helpful in that stormy sea. Look forward. Look to the sunshine Holly!

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    • Can I approve this and post? Thank you so much Andy. I agree with all you said. I don’t sip from this cup too often. But when I do I somehow feel better afterward. I’m glad Jordan’s death had impact on others in enabling people to really appreciate what they have and what life is really about.

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      • Didn’t really realize that the entry was a “post”. The thoughts were more from me to you. But if you wish to post, I have no problem with that. Wishing you something happy today Holly! Have a great day. (Probably don’t need to post this reply though eh!?) Lol!

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  2. Reading your story made me think about my husband. I have problems getting it out and letting it go. For months I was in denial that he was even gone. Thank you for sharing your story. Today is the 8 month anniversary of my husband’s death. Still not over the shock. God Bless you on your journey forward.

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    • Amy, thanks for posting. I lost my husband in Dec…coming up on two years this Dec. Some days that seems impossible. I don’t think I started coming out of the shock until about 9 months…I even remember asking my daughter if this really happened. So go easy on yourself… It’s all normal. It doesn’t get easier but it does get different. I still cry but, sometimes I realize I’m smiling at a thought or memory. Kathy

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      • That’s where I want to be. I want to think about him and not cry. Right now I try not to think about him. Don’t look at his picture. It hurts too much. My situation is different in that my husband had dementia. So I los. t him really before he died. I grieve for the man I married .

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