Before and After

Over the last four years my life has been divided. Life with my Melina, life prior to a brain tumor, and life without Melina. I hate that. I hate how a diagnosis can truly divide your world. I have a before and after Melina. How can one word, cancer, tumor, define everything. But does it?

This past Saturday I was running at a marathon (just a mile). I was screaming from the rooftops for the people running their hearts out for my baby’s mission. As I was in my car driving with one of my dearest friends to get to the finish line my whole world stopped. We were chatting away as I drove, and to be honest I don’t know Akron well. We were laughing in excitement about the day. I was laughing and then I literally couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t believe it, I had forgotten. I forgot I was going to drive right past it all. And there it was right in front of me. The bridge I walked her on. The bridge I carried her to the car. The parking garage I put her in her car seat. The building where I laid her on a table for radiation. The hospital where I met the greatest doctors I will ever know, but wish I didn’t. There was where my before ended. I held my breath and I slowly told my friend oh my gosh, I just wasn’t ready. I hate that. I hate those moments. I hate that power of the pain and how deep it can run on such a special day.

Yet what did my beautiful friend do. She reminded me that Melina lived. She said it’s okay Michelle. This sucks. I hate this for you. But look at today. These people are here because of Melina. She reminded me there is more to the story. Her physical presence might not be here but her soul is and as long as we say her name Melina’s presence is here.

When I got home I had to message a friend. I happened to mention the reminders and how they took me for a moment. That is grief too. And I apologize to my world. But for the rest of my life my grief will spill out, and sometimes it might not be at the right time or even in the right ways. But sometimes it just shows up. In that moment I am so glad it spilled. Because my friend said something that changed me…

“I bet that is so hard. It’s so hard to remember, but forgetting would be even worse.”

Yes, yes it would. My Melina was one of the greatest gifts for the four years of her life. And her gift continues every day I live on this Earth loving her. I will tell anyone that if I knew her story I would take her four years over and over knowing this pain would be for the rest of my life. No questions asked no shadow of a doubt. And letting go of a minute of memories is letting go of time with her. And four years will never be enough.

The more I reflected I realized the word tumor doesn’t define everything. I will accept as much as I hate it that a tumor did cause a before and after that will forever be etched in my story. Yet my Melina’s love doesn’t have a before and after it’s a constant. My Melina is everything. This past Saturday I felt the pain, it stopped me in my tracks. I kept going because I won’t let that pain define her and she reminds me I have a choice. When I got to that finish line, as hard as it was to recover, I saw something even greater than pain, and loss. I saw Joy, Melina Joy, and that is everything