February Blues

Hello everyone, I haven't forgotten about you. It seems as though the shortest month of the year has been moving at the speed of light and at a snail's pace at the same time. It seems as though I've developed a case of the February Blues. When I started writing this blog post, I thought I was being witty and creative by calling the bleakest month here "blue," but it turns out that the February Blues is the milder form of SAD-Seasonal Affective Disorder. Now this is not a blog post designed to reveal some diagnosis related to the weather, though this is the darkest winter in Germany in 43 years. No, my reasons for having the February Blues go beyond the dreary view from my workspace and much deeper into the heart of my family.

I lost my best friend to breast cancer. While so many sweethearts were celebrating with chocolate and wine in a cozy booth for two, I was picking up the pieces of a broken heart and ordering flowers to be placed at a freshly dug grave. But before I can move forward, I have to go back. I have to introduce you to the person who inspired me to begin this journey. It would be an injustice if I did not do so.

My cousin Michelle was more than a cousin to me. She was the older sister I never had. When I was very little, her and her husband (then boyfriend) Ron taught me to fish by singing "The Fishy Song" at the top of my lungs. If you don't remember the lyrics, I'll refresh your memory:

Have you ever been a fishin' on a bright and sunny day?
With all the little fishies swimmin' in an' out the bay?
With their hands in their pockets and their pockets in their pants.
And all the lil' fishies doin' the Hoochie-Coochie Dance!

 I'll let you know we caught several fish that day. And I was so proud.

Michelle used to let me watch her paint at her parents house in the spare bedroom. I remember her painting a woman on an oval canvas and sitting on the bed wishing I could paint like her. So I went and bought video tapes on how to paint so I could paint flowers and sceneries too. Mine were never as good as hers, but it made me feel special.

Just like her scrapbooks. My cousin had the most beautiful scrapbooks you could ever imagine. She was an artist like no other. One night we stayed up together just so I could scrapbook with her, but most of the time I was watching her. I hope that I can be as good as she was.

Or the time when I was her flower girl in her wedding, and I got to wear white gloves and the bottom of my dress was the same color as her wedding dress so it felt like we matched. And when I was thinking about my future and the day that I were to walk down the asile, I wanted her to be my maid of honor. I told her this right after my dad died and we were sitting in her car waiting to pick up the twins. I'm sure we both knew she wouldn't live to be there, but we both knew that if she could have been, she would have.

Speaking of the twins, Michelle had two beautiful, smart boys named Hunter and Chase, and they were her world. After trying in vitro fertilization repeatedly, she finally conceived the loves of her life. I used to go over once a month and spend the night, helping to take care of them and helping Michelle run errands. When they moved out of their tiny apartment and into their new home I got to help with some of the packing and keeping the boys occupied. And I thought how great it was for her to finally have her family complete.

But when the boys were 4 years old, Michelle was diagnosed with breast cancer. She fought hard, and she beat it. But sometimes when we let our guard down, we see that we were fooled. The day after my dad passed away, she was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer in her liver, lungs, and spine. And we knew that this would be an uphill battle until the end.

The end came on February 10th, 2013. She was only 42 years old. Michelle had everything to lose but she never gave up the fight. She had the strength of ten thousand angels. And she was the perfect example of that age-old saying, "only the good die young."

My cousin touched so many people in her short, but love-filled life that over 400 people came to pay her and her family their respects. It was truly a moving experience. There is even a book being written about her and how she remained faithful through her illness. My cousin Michelle was an inspiration to everyone who met her, and she is leaving behind a legacy of love that will never be forgotten. 

So now you know why I've been so silent this month, and why I have the February Blues. But my cousin Michelle did not want us to feel sad because she was gone. She wanted us to appreciate the life we have now, to stay present, and to make the most of our journey.

This is my cousin Michelle's final request: "Speak sweeter, hug each other tighter, and live each day like it were your last."

I hope you all have a love-filled life.