TRINA MCCRACKEN
Measurement of time in years is highly unlikely in heaven. But since I live on an orbiter of the sun, today is Trina’s birthday. If she were living in this world, she would now be 46 years old.
One of the things that I’ve never said to Jay Tormohlen or Mauri Macy is: “I know how you feel.” They are two of my friends who have also lost a child. How would I know how they feel when I can’t even identify how I feel?
Today is not the day I’m going to work on identifying my feelings. All I’m going to do is remember Trina. And my shared words will not be new. The following is the majority of a letter to friends from September 1993:
Friends have meant so much to us during the past few weeks. Your compassion has given us comfort and encouragement.
Trina’s death on August 27 did not come as a surprise.
I remember how unreal it seemed to me in February of 1983 when the gentle British surgeon I had just met excused Trina to the waiting room while he described my daughter’s medical condition and told me she would die from it.
That first surgery went very well and I remember going to church the first Sunday after she was home. During an opportunity to introduce guests, I introduced my parents and then said (even though she was not a visitor), “…and the beautiful girl at my side is my daughter, Trina.” The spontaneous applause from the congregation is a cherished expression of love.
I remember brushing Trina’s hair when the inevitable effects of her radiation treatment left me pulling handfuls of hair out of the brush.
I remember the boldness and depth of character that allowed a 13-year-old girl to abandon her wig and go to school with hair that was shorter than mine.
I remember praying that the light of Christ would overcome and destroy each of those numerous cells that threatened life. Although I had learned to accept the medical reality of the doctor’s diagnosis, I hoped and prayed for more.
As Trina lived a normal and meaningful life and as the years went by without recurrence, hope increased.
In June [1993] Trina went to see the doctor because of symptoms she was experiencing. I remember my four older children—Mel, Trina, Heidi, and Juli—coming to Newberg that evening. Trina told us the brain tumor had returned and she would be having surgery again.
On June 28 she went into surgery with a smile that displayed hope, peace, and joy. Shortly after surgery her smile was back and her recovery was quick. But the surgery had revealed that her condition was now beyond the reach of medical science.
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Trina has now been physically absent from our family for nearly as long as she was here. But I still don't know what to say to people like my friends Jay and Mauri and I doubt that I ever will.