Karen Darlene Greason

I find myself thinking about rememberance day, rather what it used to mean to me. I would stand up in silence, listening to the trumpet soar through the loudspeakers of any given school. Thinking about the men and women who fought for our country, not fully grasping the horrors they suffered. The idea of “horror” became a variable. What then would make one shake and wince at the beck and call of ones own shredded nerve endings? The idea of fighting an enemy in a foreign country for those safe at home, is one of great importance to remember. Those who did it, acted selflessly. Not many of us can say they endured a battle akin to those across the pond. There was one, though. She held no gun, nor helmet. She rode no boats, and sunk into no trench. Her battle was hard fought, as she succumbed to a stray bullet known as cancer after her greatest battle. Her life was hard. It was sad. You wouldn’t believe how fucking sad and how fucking hard it really was. Her demons pecked at her. They flew around her violently, tormenting her at every turn. My mother knew how to smile. She brought the best out of my sister and I when we were younger. It was only when I was older and wiser that I really knew how heavy that smile really was. It was armor. She was protecting us from them. Her battle continued until she could take it no longer. And she gave in. They had won. She decided to take her own life. But a light shone through. Something must have told her to get up. To fight through it, much like a wounded soldier might hear a voice of a loved one from hundreds of miles away as they are about to let the light envelop them into an eternal embrace. She reached her hand upwards as a higher power pulled her from the deep darkness that hungered for her life. Her fight had just begun. She met her demons once more. They asked for her hand, and as she reached out, she refused at the last moment. It was time for the light to hold her. To carry her through a world where the word “should” no longer had a place. That word implies an obligation, and in turn, possible regret. She began to believe in angels. Now, as someone who doesn’t believe in God or the Devil, I know all too well that demons do exist. Her angels were that which saved her from herself. From the dark thorns that attached themselves to her, and began to drag her down below. Her demons flew father from her, watching from a distance. They no longer had the strength to carry on and began to drop from the sky. The sky war clear. The grass, an emerald green. Her demons were no more. As hard as her fight was, it gave her strength to go with grace and dignity as cancer metastasized through her body. She died at around 4am on November 11th, 2004. As hard as it was to see her go, I need to remind myself now, to remember, that she had won her war. What killed her wasn’t what had tormented her for her entire life. I don’t know If she ever found comfort in that. It has taken me a long while to piece together which parts are important, which to be upset at, and which to forget. Her fight was important. I’m upset that she will never get to meet Leila. And I’ve forgotten what she looked like in the end. After cancer takes you, you’re gone even before you leave this world. It was in that genuine smile she gave before the cancer took her that let me know everything was going to be fine. She lives eternally in my mind that way. Her name is Karen Darlene Greason.