Memory Be Eternal

In the Orthodox Church, when someone passes away, instead of saying, "May they rest in peace," or "God rest their soul," we say "May their memory be eternal."

Not simply because we wish them to be remembered---both in loving thoughts and in our prayers, but it is our prayer that God remember them, as the thief crucified with Christ also asked to be remembered, and assuredly, he became the first to enter the kingdom of Heaven. And so we pray for their remembrance by God, so that their soul may also enter into Paradise.

Today's post, I will admit, is purely for me and has nothing to do with homesteading. If you are looking for a more farming, edutainment type post, I recommend several of the others that I have posted previously. I kind of went back and forth about whether or not it was even proper for me to write this... but I have been thinking about my friend for many days now, and I would very much like to share her story, her impact on my life, with whoever would like to read.

In September of 2020, I had the great honor of being interviewed for Ancient Faith Radio's segment "Everyday Orthodox with Elissa Bjeletich." I was embarrassed and had no idea why anyone would want to hear about me or anything about my life, but it was such a blessing because it was the means through which I met my friend, Sarah. I guess she happened to have tuned in to Ancient Faith that day and heard the show and reached out to me as a fellow Orthodox woman with a love of medicine and science (she was a physician), and who had a great interest in the "simple" farm life. The one email became two and then three and quickly, it turned into a regular correspondence. I shared stories about the farm, about my ups and downs with the kids, and whatever was on my mind at the time. She told me about her husband, her dog Jojo, and her family. We mulled over theological questions and situations, and we shared pictures of our lives and discovered we had quite a bit in common. We both loved science, and we fielded hypotheticals and diagnoses and treatments for the various medical ailments we both were dealing with. We planned out gardens---she didn't have farming experience but wanted to start small in her home to practice. We loved the same music and had a thing for Outlander, and we talked about cooking and parents and homeschooling.

But mostly, we talked about faith.

Perhaps that wasn't the reason why Sarah initially reached out to me, but it was definitely the reason why we continued to keep in touch. I think she could see that while I had all these blessings in my life--innumerable, and more often than not these days, I feel like the wind is knocked out of me as I think about all these beautiful gifts that have been given to me; none of which I deserve--that it was a struggle for me to remember that gratitude for them. It is all too easy for me to take everything around me for granted. She was so sincere in her writing to me--that she was Orthodox, but for some time, had been waking up to the fact that she wasn't living a Christ-like life, and had become complacent in her practice of faith. In realizing that, she was making the attempt to live fully, in a more Christ-centered way, and searching for the tools and the strength and the faith in order to do so. She was a kindred spirit to me in more ways than I had known, and I greatly looked forward to news from my "dear friend."

My dear friend had a rare form of cancer. It began as a jaw tumor, a rhabdomyosarcoma, more commonly diagnosed in children. At the time of our first communication, she had had surgery which had removed the tumor, undergone several rounds of chemotherapy, had celebrated a one year anniversary with her husband, and was attempting to recover, mulling over the question of whether or not she should return back to her fellowship and her patients, or focus on her recovery, living a quiet life, balancing her remaining treatments and spending time with her beloved family and friends.

She had a window of time where all her CT scans and bloodwork came back clean. We talked about silly things then like the pigs and ducks that were giving me trouble on the farm. She showed me pictures of her beautiful new godchildren, and the crochet work that she had attempted to start. And then our letters to each other took more time to get to because her health seemed to take a turn for the worse. I became an avid follower of her Caring Bridge journal, and I was able to keep in touch with her through there, and she still read my inane ramblings on the blog, and left sweet comments about her thoughts, which were always very welcome. She was still recovering. Still tired, still trying to regain feeling and function in her face, but she was cancer free for more than a year.

And then after feeling fatigue and pain from what she initially thought was a muscle injury from moving, CT scans showed cancer in her lungs. In her hips. In the surrounding muscle. Her scalp.

She started radiation right away. She was actively working with physical therapists and a veritable army of specialists, surgeons and physicians. Then chemotherapy. Some of the tumors were going away. But then she was struggling with the after-effects of the medications that had been working in her body. It was astounding to get the email updates every time she or her husband would post because it was every day. Every day, it was a new procedure, a new bit of news, a new consult, a new medication, another appointment, another exercise, another pain, another scan, another side effect, another, another, another...

In July of 2022, her husband posted that Sarah's heart had stopped. Thank God he had been home. He performed CPR until paramedics could rush her to the hospital. She was stabilized, but tests showed that cancer had spread to her heart.

Another round of radiation. Another series of chemo. And then pain in her hips and her lower back. More chemo. More scans. More therapies and exercises. A blood transfusion. Scans showed that the tumors were getting bigger. There were no surgical options. There were some experimental treatments that they could still try, but then Sarah's family posted that she had decided to enter into hospice care at the end of 2022.

On January 15, 2023, Sarah fell asleep in the Lord.

I have looked back at the very short timeline in which I had the honor of knowing Sarah. In the two years within which we spoke, she endured more than most people do in the entirety of their lives. She and her husband posted almost every single day to update their family and friends. And what amazed me, always, was the sincerity of their faith.

There was an update about the medications she was taking and some of the side effects she was experiencing, but she would close with a passage from St. Porphyrios about practicing humility. Cameron would post about Sarah not feeling well and needing to rest after a round of chemotherapy, and close with thoughts on St. Paisios of a husband serving his wife and the blessings within that struggle in the sacrament of marriage. They shared their sadness and frustration and the many tears they shed. The sleepless nights from pain and anxiety and how they used those hours to keep vigil and pray, giving up what they had to God. When they felt anger and sadness, they gave that up to God. When they felt their faith falter, they asked for prayers and relied on the strength of the faith of others. They rejoiced in every sacrament that Sarah was able to participate in, every service she was able to attend. Every gift that was given to them. Her blog posts were a treasury of the saints, their teachings, words from Scriptures and from the church fathers. She would share a prayer that she had found, a new akathist that was given to her. Even as cancer ravaged her body, she still exclaimed, Glory to God for all things!

I am so very humbled by their strength of faith. Instead of complaining and falling into despair, her cancer was the means through which both she and her husband grew strong. They dedicated the minutes of their lives to turn to God, yes, asking for healing, but also asking for hope to continue on, the strength to endure, the faith not to falter, and in the end, more time. Time to repent, and to prepare her soul. I never had the blessing to meet Sarah in person, but I treasure her friendship and the example of her faith dearly. In her last few entries, I remember sitting with my husband, in tears, because if I felt so helpless, a woman that she had never met, I cannot fathom the emotions that her husband and her family must be enduring. I would look at my children running around me, and my heart would ache for them and their joy, their innocence, and the sheer force of their existence. The house in which we live, the parents who are within walking distance to me, the strength of my body, the food on our table, the steady, loving presence of the man who is my husband---I told my husband, almost helplessly, and with so much confusion, I have so many gifts. I do not know how to give thanks adequately for all that I have. I am no more deserving of these blessings than Sarah was of her pain, and yet she endured and glorified God throughout the entire process. Every hour she could not sleep from the suffering, she stood in prayer and gave her tears to Him. And when she could not stand, she continued to pray in her bed, and when she could no longer be conscious, her husband took her hand and prayed for the both of them.

Cameron said that the cancer was their blessing of ascesis. They took on the monastic hours, ate in the manner of the ascetics, both because of her health, and because they were strengthening their bodies and souls for this struggle. Through her illness, they centered their life around God.

Her Trisagion Service and Funeral Service was live-streamed, and I was able to watch and see members of her family and friends for the first time. It is not the first time that I have marveled at how celebratory the funeral service is. The hope in the Resurrection and of God's mercy is imprinted within every word, and we ask it on behalf of the soul of His departed servant. And then at the end of the service, as everyone made their way to give their final respects, I noticed the quiet figure of a person---the image wasn't very clear because of the video, but I knew it immediately to be her husband. He stood as if he had been broken by the world, and the depth of his sorrow reached out of the screen and felt like it would strangle me. I do not know that I would have had the strength to bear such a cross. I can already feel the very inside of me crumble at the thought. I break at even the notion of losing my husband, and he had lived it. He watched the process, every day in perfect, brutal clarity.

Cameron's posts leading up to her death and after Sarah's funeral was one of hope. Again he posted words from the church fathers. Their words on the passing of a loved one. His grief he gave to God. The broken pieces he offered up and prayed for the strength to continue. He posted the Canon of Repentance. He gave thanks for the example that his wife gave to him, the prayer rule that they had learned and kept together, and how much he had learned about his own faith in the process. He acknowledged the pain of his grief. Sometimes the prayers were mechanical, because he had no more strength or feeling left. He admitted that sometimes his prayers felt raw and full of disappointment. Just a numbness. A bitterness. That flicker of emotion that God Who can do all things could have healed his wife at the eleventh hour. His bitterness and anger and loss. And he gave all of that to God. He lifted it up and stated a final prayer with hope. He recalled to mind Christ crucified. Christ on the Cross. His Body broken and buried, and Risen for the sake of all of our souls. And he prays. He prays that her hope be his hope. That the remembrance of her be his strength. And he asked that we remember her, too.

"While it is healthy for me to lament the loss of what we lost in our marriage while she was alive, I am reminded that she is in the kingdom of heaven and that the kingdom of heaven is within me. I was talking to my brother-in-law about the prayers of the hours that always include both mourning and rejoicing psalms. Because you have to do both. You have to be in a state of bright sadness, realizing that this is the state of the present age and the foretaste are these miraculous glimpses we get into the other world to stir our longing. We pray the psalms because they give voice to our words choked by pain and sorrow. We pray them because the joy is too overwhelming at times to put into words. I pray because there is nothing else to do. These words are here, I step into them and am weeping in the kingdom of heaven."

May God give him strength, and heal his sorrow, and give him peace.

May your memory be eternal, my dear sister in Christ, Sarah.