An Eve and and End, or Beginning

I got up this morning and rushed to upload some photos I wanted to print before leaving tonight. I got dressed, and rushed out, only to deal with the hordes of people trying to spend money before the stores close for Christmas. I got annoyed and angry at people who were driving like idiots. I almost got hit by a car while walking. I got less done than I wanted to, and came home feeling annoyed.

And then, I logged on to my blog, and saw a post in my reader that I didn't expect to see. I knew I'd see it someday, but I didn't expect, on Christmas Eve, to see this post, titled "Emilie's Passing". I almost didn't click on it, but I did.

It's amazing to me that someone who I have never met has touched my life. I never once spoke to Emilie, but the honesty she shared through her writing made me feel as though I knew her. She was so open, so genuine, and so real about her life and her soul. I found Emilie's blog through my Sister In Law, right before her oldest son was born, and I've followed her ever since. Looking through the comments left for her over the past months, I can see that hundreds of other people who found her blog through one vein or another have been touched just as I have.

Now, I sit on the floor of my living room, with so much stuff left to do, and no ambition to do any of it. I can only think of sitting next to my husband, enjoying him, listening to him, keeping him close to me. Doing and being the little things that I miss in my hurried nature far too often.

I ache for Emilie's husband and her two sons. I know they will be alright. I know Emilie's spirit will keep them and guide them as they grow, teaching them that life is about love and soul and spirit. I think about what a miracle it was for Emilie to become pregnant with her youngest son naturally, when she and her husband tried for two years with fertility help before conceiving their oldest son. Had Ben not been conceived, so magically, Emilie would most likely have had much less time when she finally learned of her cancer. Instead, she was able to survive (and her son in utero) a surgery, lots of chemo, and another year. I smile for the connection that little Ben will feel with his mother, even after he's forgotten her touch.

I'll leave you with a post Emilie wrote two years ago that I stumbled upon just yesterday and re-read, feeling a much different sentiment than I did the first time I read it: Easter Prayer.

Emilie, rest in peace.