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Dawn Marie Van House, MS, CRC, QRC

Colibri Consulting, LLC
855 Village Center Drive, #110
North Oaks, Minnesota 55127
Telephone: (651) 757-7275
Facsimile: (651) 994-6492

Email: dawn@colibriconsultingllc.com

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————   From Chapter 7 …"The Wound"  ————


On Mother's Day, I ran in the "Race for the Cure" of breast cancer. I fantasized about winning it for Toni but almost killed myself trying. I was running hard, as fast as I could, from the loss of my sister — a race I should never have run — as surely as I ran toward the finish line.

Later that day, I sat with my son, at the time 2 ½, by a pond near our home. He unpacked our snacks from beneath the seat of his plastic trike and, sitting side by side, we ate fruit snacks and drank from juice boxes. My thoughts turned to Toni this Mother's Day. Mentally picking up on this, Alex looked to the pale blue sky and said, "Hi, Toni." I was caught off guard. Totally unprepared. My breath was caught in the sudden constriction of my throat. "Hold on," I warned myself. Hearing no response, he looked my way with a furrowed brow.

"Say hi to Toni, Mom," he said, admonishing me. Holding on as tightly as I could, I choked out a greeting to my sister. With a smile of satisfaction, he took another bite of his fruit roll-up. The strangle hold around my throat slackened. The moment was passing. Looking heavenward, he added, "We miss you, Toni," and the dam broke.

Birds flew overhead. The sun's warmth rose from the ground, carrying with it the fragrance of dry leaves. The smell of dirt was strong. I looked down at the sky as its mirrored reflection in the pond shimmered like a sapphire jewel. And as I grieved, I took in all of this, my senses alive. I looked over at my son, my beautiful son; I was filled with a spasm of love so pure I ached with pleasure. He sat unconcerned with my tears. I realized, once again, how closely joy and sorrow are related, as they danced around me.

We stood to leave our impromptu picnic. I bent down, grasping the corner of my oversized jean jacket we had used as a blanket. Fresh coffee-colored stains had seeped through. Perplexed, I turned over the jacket. Recognition followed and I started to laugh. Alex joined me, having no clue what I found so funny, but loving the melody of my laughter again. I saw myself earlier, grieving, while unknowingly sitting on top of fresh goose shit.

And the wound began to heal.

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