I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith…
2 Timothy 4:7
While I don't want to do my usual wordy blog---somehow those words just don't come so easily right now---I do want to let everyone know that Mike passed from this life on February 12.
His transition from this illness into a life free of cancer was peaceful and without pain, a well-deserved rest after such a brave and hard-fought battle.
Although I know with certainty that he would not have wanted those left behind to grieve, it's hard to see your child's name in the same sentence as 'in memory of' in an obituary.
Suddenly the pain you've been able to keep nestled inside floods to the surface and you're forced to acknolwedge they are gone, they aren't going to return, and you do mourn.
But I refuse to mourn for long. Not only because I know he is in a much better place now, but because I choose to dwell on the beauty of having had a son. Even if it was for only the five short years. It doesn't take a lifetime to know someone, to love them.
I can smile in the knowledge that my daughter experienced love, real love. She was one of those fortunate ones who found a soul mate. The marriage wasn't free of trials---no marriage ever is---but it was still perfect in that Mike and Lyndie weathered every storm and always found a clearing.
I won't even say rest in peace, Mike, because---now that I know he's pain-free and healthy once more, I'm rooting for him to have found a lovely fishing hole and is casting for lots of fish and enjoying the sun.
Finally, I found this quote from Victor Hugo on my daughter's Facebook where she shared it after having found it on a plaque in a garden at M.D. Anderson hospital.
Be like the bird who, halfway in his flight on limb too slight, feels it give way beneath him; yet sings, knowing he hath wings.
I love you, Mike. My son.