Week 10

I’m emerging from my loneliest week of this global lockdown...dark, empty days which almost strangled my soul. Truth be told, last week was not much different than most of the last seven years of singular living, but the inability to anesthetize this loneliness with external activity sheds an imposing spotlight on it. 
Anesthetic. Is that what I want when my world reopens? I don’t have a plan, but the present lack of a meaningful social structure is not an option going forward. This is not an indictment on current friendships; it’s a need to address my lack of social interaction: weekend dinners, church connections, travel mates. (Yes, travel will return.)
I know there are others in the same lane; I’ve heard the conversation. This serves as a launchpad for discussion of another pandemic. 

I've stared at this box for months. 

Today I will purge...organize...consolidate!

After managing to part with another bag of Rob's clothes and tackle a box of papers I'd brought home from his office, I'm ready to let go of some more of Rob. 

But, how do you place a lifetime in a couple of drawers?

My plan: With cup of cinnamon coffee and stash of Lorna Doones in hand, I will read each note written during his illness one more time, thank God for the sender and place only a few in the keep pile.

 Seriously, it's proving impossible to discard so much love!

Funny, how I read each card through a new lens. No more paralysis...no more blur. This time your words permeate and supply new and necessary strength.

This journey of grief may morph, but it still wears at my soul. 

The first prayer note I pick up is from dear Eddie Whittenberg. He recalls some fond memories of our friendship and ends with "Keep the faith!" I can hear his voice.

Janine Morrell recalls some words from our Bible study of Esther: "Christ is calling us all to something we will need courage to complete."

Personal words of affirmation... Rob, "You are a good man!" Allen Potter... Rob, "Your calm, confident, wise demeanor is always wrapped in warmth and welcome." Cyndi LeForce...Rob, "I've loved every moment of our friendship." Tom Trigger.

I could fill paragraph after paragraph with the kind words so many of you took the time to share. I'm reminded of a great man's legacy, but more importantly, of a greater, ever-present God. 

Somehow I've managed to whittle down this massive pile of love and corral it into a small, tidy box of powerful encouragement.

I'm sure I will need to visit it from time to time and one day my children will open it to find the rich love of the Church at its best.

There is power in a handwritten note!

Even a couple of personal thoughts bring encouragement on the darkest of days.

I will mostly treasure the memories you thoughtfully shared with us, the men who were not afraid to tell Rob that they loved him, and the written prayers covering the smallest details.

Seeking to learn from even this, I'm reminded that any lengthy wisdom, accounts of my past suffering and the normal chatter that fills most letters may be wasted on exhausted ears. Handmade preschool drawings heal better than articles outlining alternative therapies.

Yes, simple, life-giving notes keep on healing.

Keep them brief, personal, and real!

It's okay to address the elephant in the room when life looks short.

None of us understand the whys.

We are all sad.

We can't fix the mess. 

This may be the last time we have an earthly conversation.

Always err on the side of love!

Tammy Rene Pierce

How I remember that Sunday after church when a darling teenager, beautiful dressed, ran across the parking lot and straight into my heart.  

Tammy Rene Pierce, my confident, wise, forever friend.   My treasure…

Tammy's frame may have been small, but her heart was huge. It had to be; Tammy's super-sized God lived there and she never missed an opportunity to teach me about his great love.

Tammy taught me equally big lessons about living well.

Acts of kindness really do matter. 

When I lost my four-legged friend, Tammy sensed my hurt and immediately placed me on her permanent mailing list.   I could look forward to cut-out dogs and hand-printed love.  I’ll miss my “Tammy Mail.”

Pray, pray, and pray some more!   

When life weighed heavy with struggles and grief, I knew Tammy's faithful prayers were the first to reach God.  Simple, persistent prayers offered with great love and firm belief.

Some days you have to tell it like it is!

Tammy rarely beat around the bush.  We called it the "Gospel according to Tammy" at the Moore house…  All were treated equally and very few escaped her matter -of- fact opinion and you know;  she was usually right.

Life's little pleasures should be treasured.

Diet Coke breaks are best with a friend, life is well spent  in a sewing circle, bath products in duplicate ease the mind,  and family never grows old.

Tammy Rene Pierce, you've taught all of us how to live with big faith and a kind smile, to soar above great obstacles and now, how to run with courage straight into the arms of Jesus.

Sweet Tam, if I might borrow your own words.  I love you very, VERY much, my special friend.

They slip in gently and hold my hand, my sisters with their huge hearts and beautiful embraces.  The pew can easily be the loneliest of dwelling places, but these women sense my heartache and faithfully fill the empty spot that once was Rob's. They come from different aisles on different Sundays with  common purpose: to love me through this season. Joyce Landorf Heatherley calls them Balcony People, cheerleaders even in the darkest of times.    I keep coming because they keep coming. 

I have followed Kara's journey for many months. Today's post, Today, few words are necessary, causes me to relive Rob's infusion days. I'm lost for words; watching one man's courageous battle still rips at my heart!  I'll never know if he realized my torment as he was poked and prodded, as poison designed to prolong his life ran through his weakened veins and as he was consumed with nausea and pain.  I captured only three photos on the chemo unit; I wasn't brave enough to aim my camera. 

July 11, 2013

We are full of hope this first day of the trial. We believe God can wipe out the cancer cells with one mighty command, yet, we pray this experimental cocktail might be part of His perfect plan.

August 1, 2013
Rob has battled through one round of horrendous side effects. Here he waits and knows what is to come.
 
September 19, 2013

All of the trials have failed. Rob is too sick.
We retreat to old chemo agents with a poor trajectory. Rob perseveres; he has a grand baby to meet.
Today, I'm reminded of our dear friend, Ryan Denison; he, too, braved those long hours with our family.  Ryan, I'll never forget!

My dearest Rob, you remain our hero.

Illustrator unknown

I packed a lot of lives with me when we left MD Anderson, along with hope for their recovery and remission...When I check their blogs or CaringBridge sites, I am quick to check the comments from others. What kind of support are they receiving? Words tell a lot. 

I cringe when I read about Aunt Susie's horrible side effects or see a link to some alternative treatment.

I hurt for my friends; they need love, not comments that will increase their anxiety, diminish their doctors' treatment plan and drain energy needed for their own beast.

As a result of her own cancer experience, Susan Silk developed a simple way to relate to others in crisis. The Ring Theory has served me well while comforting friends. 

Here are the rules. The person in the center ring can say anything she wants to anyone, anywhere. She can kvetch and complain and whine and moan and curse the heavens and say, "Life is unfair" and "Why me?" That's the one payoff for being in the center ring.

Everyone else can say those things too, but only to people in larger rings.

When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the center of the crisis, the goal is to help. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you're going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn't, don't say it. Don't, for example, give advice. People who are suffering from trauma don't need advice. They need comfort and support. So say, "I'm sorry" or "This must really be hard for you" or "Can I bring you a pot roast?" Don't say, "You should hear what happened to me" or "Here's what I would do if I were you." And don't say, "This is really bringing me down." 

Susan Silk and Barry Goldman    For more info

Now for written comments...

Keep them short! Remember, you aren't the only one leaving a message and it takes great energy to read each one. 

If you are praying, share a few of the specifics.

If you want to help in a tangible way, ask about that one thing you know you can provide. "Let me know what I can do" forces your already exhausted friend to think!  

Never begin any communication with "I need." It becomes about you and heaps unnecessary guilt. "But I need to do something." "I need to hug your neck." Think them, just don't write them. Surely, there is a friend in a larger circle to whom you can share your needs.

Never begin a message with "You should." Again, don't give advice!

Keep your words positive, but don't promise something you can't guarantee, like "You'll beat this!" Statements like"You've got to fight this" sound encouraging, but ask yourself if you are the captain of this ship.   It's usually better to refrain offering comments about after-life. Period!

Yikes,after all that, should I write at all?  YES!  Our friends need to hear our love you's  and that they are present in our hearts and prayers. We just need to pour comfort in and dump far away from them.