Not much more than 10 minutes after I posted last night, a 5-year-old girl crawled into the bed her mother was in and kissed her goodnight. And her mother took her last breath.
Lanita always called her e-mails "The Journey of the Dancing Queen," and signed off with a quote like "Work like you don't need money, Love like you've never been hurt, And dance like no one's watching" or"Dance like there is no tomorrow! Each new dawn is a reminder that every day is a new beginning. Live it to the fullest." She was a bit hesitant at first to write about her fight, I remember an early note saying, because she didn't think she was a good writer. And she didn't have perfect grammar and punctuation, but that's not what matters when what you say comes from your heart and soul. Her e-mails were always funny and insightful, and, more recently, heart-wrenching.
Her husband sent out an e-mail briefly describing her last couple of days -- that she'd told them she was being fitted for a halo and had wings and what she was seeing -- and despite his saying that Lanita's writing skills didn't "rub off on him," it was beautiful. I'm sure there will be some very hard days ahead for him and the two girls.
Hopefully, I can go to the funeral. I believe it's going to be Monday, but I'm not sure what time. If it's the morning, I might not be able to, since we're pretty shorthanded at work anymore. But I'll do what I can. The support group will be there, of course, and we've been asked to help at the graveside service, with a balloon launch. There will be 300 pink balloons launched, for breast cancer, of course, and 41 white ones, one for each year of her life.
It sounds like it will be nice, but I hope this is our last funeral for some time.
Keep dancing.
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