Hope

I've thought a lot about the topic of this posting recently... sorry it has taken me so long to commit it to writing.

The other night in a support group meeting at the Solace House (where the kids and I have been going for several months now... what a wonderful blessing), the counselor in my group asked the question... "Do you have hope? If so, how?"

Fortunately, I was the last one to have to answer the question... not because I couldn't answer, but because to me it is so much more than just saying "yes". I really wanted to communicate why it is possible (for me) to have hope, and also why it was always possible for Laura to have hope. So, I had some time to reflect on that while others answered the question. A few others in the room (each had lost a spouse) indicated that they really didn't have hope... that they were in such despair and shock that they didn't even know what hope was.

Much of what I will describe I learned by witnessing Laura's incredible determination. Some of which we built together (consciously and unconsciously) in the four years she battled her breast cancer. And, some of this framework I have developed for myself in a determination to cope since we lost her.

In my opinion, to have "hope" is to be able to look forward in life and reasonably believe that life is worth living and fulfilling. For all of us, it is certainly easy to feel this way when things are going well, but perhaps most important to feel this way when things are at their worst. That is when it is easiest to lose hope. I believe hope is a mindset and a framework for dealing with life that must be understood, developed, and forged in times of happiness so that it will be there for us in times of challenge.

As I sat there waiting to answer the question, particularly as I listened to those few that did not believe they could have hope, I realized that I had never been at that level... never had I been truly in despair. Even in the hospital with Laura during those final days and hours, even watching her go, even on that painful drive from the hospital trying to figure out how to tell Morgan and Jack that Mommy was gone, even during those early weeks -- nights alone, up at two or three in the morning thinking about all that had been lost, and even now during the moments that I ache for the fact that she is not here... I have NEVER felt that life wasn't worth it. I have never felt hopelessness. I never felt that I/we wouldn't be happy. Some suggest, and have suggested, that I was just trying to be strong, but truly it is genuine.

Why?... I wondered as I sat there.

Suddenly (and luckily about 10 seconds before it was my turn to speak!) I realized there were three things that had helped shaped my hope, and that always would... quite simply they are: (1) realizing there are many things that are completely OUT of my control and they must be accepted, (2) knowing that there are many things that are IN my control that must be acted upon, and (3) having a genuine belief that life WILL offer many wonderful and happy moments.... moments worthy of being hopeful and living through the sad and challenging times.

Though we never put these labels on it specifically, I witnessed Laura exhibit this outlook... and in turn I developed these traits in myself. It was certainly a struggle at times for both of us to accept her disease and the possibility that she might die. But, somehow over time we simply accepted that was part of the deal, life was not fair, and we could not change what happened. We could only do the things that were in our control. There were physical things... getting the best medical treatment, etc. But the most important thing that was in our control was how we would deal with it emotionally. We were resolved (driven by Laura) to be positive and live a normal life... and we did. In those four years, we became closer in our marriage, and our kids had a normal happy life during some very formative years. The alternative - living with anger and hopelessness - was simply not acceptable.

Having hope is so important. I now know first hand that bad things will happen. But, I also now take comfort in the fact that my hope and genuine happiness is not dependent on bad things never happening... that would truly be false hope.

If anyone is reading this, particularly those of you that are going through breast cancer or any other of life's inevitable challenges, please understand that this hasn't been easy... for me having hope doesn't mean I am always happy. It means that while it is okay and expected to be sad at times, I am resolved not to live sadly.

For Laura, it was the same. She was sad at times... but as I wrote in this blog the night she died, never for long!


One more thing... only recently were we able to place Laura's marker at her gravesite. For those of you that would like to visit her grave, it is located in Mount Moriah Cemetary just south of I-435 on Holmes Road in Kansas City. The gravesite is located towards the back (east) of the cemetary, just south of the lake and next to a stone bridge. The kids and I find it a peaceful place to visit... and the kids like the lake! There is a vase attached to the in-ground marker. Please contact me (msplunk@gmail.com) if you would like specific directions.

I want to share with you what is inscribed on her marker. The message is driven by her hope. She used to say to Morgan... "You are my heart" and to Jack "You are my smile". I wanted to incorporate this into the inscription so each of them would have a personal message and an everlasting reminder that they are truly a product of their Mommy. The inscription reads:

Laura Walsh Plunkett
May 10, 1972 – December 14, 2008

A Wonderful and Truly Beautiful
Daughter, Sister, Friend, Wife, and Mommy

We will always love you and miss you dearly,
but it comforts us to know that
your heart lives on in Morgan,
your smile lives on in Jack,
and your incredible hope and spirit lives on in us all.


So it must. And so it does.

Peace and hope to you all,
Michael