Loss

This morning, my friend and colleague, Shantelle Almeida (pictured here with her daughter, Mikayla) died. Shantelle was the only other full time female faculty at Briercrest College during my time there - this alone bound us together - but we also shared a love of wild spaces, learning, the classroom and our students.

Her death is devastating news to receive. Shantelle had been diagnosed with terminal cancer about a year ago. She battled through, prayed through and suffered through months of the ravages of this disease. In September, many of us celebrated as we heard she had been cured. She was cancer free!

Her reflections on being cured are as follows:
"On the way home from church tonight Kayla asked me if my cancer was coming back - she'd overheard me talking with her dad. I explained to her that I didn't believe it would but that I was afraid anyway. Then I asked her if she understood. She said no. Smart kid. I tried to think like a child and realized of course the two didn't really go together: not believing that the cancer would come back but being afraid anyway. So I tried to think of an example and that is when it hit me! I finally understand this element of my emotional state!
So I said to Kayla, "You know how when after a storm everything is wet and you can still see the terrible dark clouds in the distance?" She said 'uh huh'. I explained further, "I guess that's kind of how I feel...like I know the sky is blue, but I'm still 'wet' from the storm...the feeling of being IN the storm is still all around and inside me...it hasn't faded yet." It is still there, like a bad taste in the spirit. I can see the blue sky, but I'm still able to see the clouds too…they are lingering on the horizon as they fade into the distance. There is relief that the storm has passed overhead, but the knowledge that a major storm came so quickly has me looking around constantly for any cloud in the sky. The wetness of the earth is still there to remind me of the storm also, with my emotions still transitioning. In fact, I'm still wearing my raincoat and boots. The storm is still so recent that I haven't had time to take them off. Does that make sense?" (from her blog, prairierascal.spaces.live.com)

It's hard today to understand the storm that has hit this family today. It wasn't cancer, as she feared, that took her - rather a brain aneurism that struck suddenly last night, leaving her on life support, and finally, without breath this morning at 9:30am.

Please pray for her husband Joe, daughter Mikayla and all of us that are grieving her loss.

It is a strange and difficult thing to be miles away from this tragedy - both in distance and experience. I think it is hard to live happily knowing the heartbreak of friends. I am learning, in yet another way, that it is not either/or - I am not either happy or sad - I am both/and. Today, I am happy for a day to hunker down (the weather is cold and rainy in West Virginia) and get some much needed work done, to laugh and fellowship with Leslie and others, while at the same time recognizing this undercurrent of grief. I am glad this daughter is home with her heavenly Father, but I am sad and confused at this unexpected storm and my heart is heavy for her family.