I awake, knowing 6 years ago to this very day our family's lives changed forever. The surgeon summons me to the post-op conference room to deliver a death sentence. Cancer is everywhere and this seasoned veteran is sure it's pancreatic. The next few minutes spin out of control. Calls to our boys... "I need you here immediately." And then I must tell my anesthesia-fogged husband the news. No doctor will tell my beloved that he must get his affairs in order; I can't take away hope just yet. Of course, I know that will come soon enough.
 I shall never forget the tear forming in the corner of his eye and my frozen sons. "Oh, God, give me your strength to make those final calls?  My daughter has a two-week old. " How, God? Why, God? "  I call my son-in-law; I think I might vomit.  
 What does one do on an anniversary day like this? I clean the garage while there is a short respite from the heat; I scrub until my hands hurt almost as much as my remembering heart. I look up a lot, not asking why anymore, but with a tear forming in the corner of my eye.

It's been almost three years since the Beast invaded my family's life...
Cancer.  As the third anniversary of Rob's diagnosis looms over me, I find myself battling the toughest depression to date.  
From the very beginning of this journey, I promised God that I'd let Him use my transparency for his purposes. I struggle with this as I prefer the closet. Who wants to be labeled: Stuck in Grief? 
Yet, too many of us stuff deep our private battles with pain, preventing our circle the privilege of real community and embarrassing others into quiet suffering. That's simply not God's plan for his children.

  Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. 

Galatians 6:2 NIV

I'm guilty as charged; the casual observer sees my functionality but not my daily paralysis. Friends laugh with me, but I rarely let them hold my buckets of tears. Is that your modus operandi, as well?
Truth is...my heart hurts and I think I'm in good company. If you aren't relating, we worn warriors cheer your tidy lives—but for many of us, life is more than messy. We trudge through emotional mire: impossible marriages, broken children, crippling fear and anxiety, chronic illness, devastating loss—it's a fierce battleground!

The good news—Paul reminds us:

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships,in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.2 Corinthians 12:9-10 NIV

It's my daily battle cry!

I am weak...so weak. I have no other place to run, but into the strong arms of my Savior.

Peter Blackburn says it better than me...thoughts from Psalm 84:6.

Valley of Baca

I do not choose
the valley of Baca -
place of dryness,
sadness,
depression,
place of tedious
sameness.
Yet,
without my choosing,
life
has a way
of taking me
there.
I do not enjoy
the valley of Baca.
I have no desire
to linger there
or to revel
in its desolation.
Yet my Lord
has promised
to be with me
all the way,
even when
I must pass
through this valley.
Because he is here,
even the valley of Baca
can become
to me
a place of springs -
refreshed,
renewed
from strength to strength
with him!

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.

In sickness and in health

Everyone loves a good love story. Recently my friend had brain surgery and her wonderful husband has been her primary caretaker. Scot updates their blog so we can all pray more personally for her recovery. In one of the recent posts, Scot wrote that one of the readers felt as if he was reading a love story. 
Oh, how right he is, a beautiful, tender account of a husband's adoration, periods of helplessness, and sacrifice as he supports his lovely wife.
I know; I've walked in his shoes.  
24/7 care of a soul mate in his deepest pain... Times when there was not a thing I could do, but kneel before him, hold his frail hands and storm the heavens for relief.
Moments when I thought my love-swollen heart would break in two as I moved to his pace, his needs.
Never again would I want to see my Rob suffer like he did, but I must admit, I miss taking care of my husband. Crazy! 
Those five and a half months weren't pretty at all; they left me spent beyond words, but caring for him was my greatest expression of love for Rob. So many details have turned foggy, but the intimacy in those hard moments remains crystal clear. 
Years ago, I worked in a long-term care facility. I was overwhelmed at the number of young people who resided there because their spouse had given up and walked away from their marriages. I always thought they had missed their blessing.
Oh, I know it's hard, the hardest thing I've ever done, but I'm forever changed because of it. Rob's cancer taught me how to love like Christ. I walk this new journey with a love and knowledge of my husband that will carry me until we meet again. And I see pain with new eyes!
I wonder if the writer of our traditional wedding vows knew first hand the "sickness" part. Did he see the joy that comes from pouring out one's alabaster jar? Did he learn mercy and patience and tenderness?
Gratefully, Scot's wife will heal in time and they will resume their "happily ever after," but I know they are writing a love story very few will ever live. 

    

Photo credit: Robin Moore

Life is but a mist, a breath, a fleeting shadow, a passing breeze.

  I know this first hand, don't I? 

I am learning to make each day count, realizing our days are numbered. 

A decade ago,  that term "making each day count" would have looked a lot different than it does today. Making the most of every hour, my day would have been defined by a weighty schedule of appointments and tasks.  But today, it looks more like a long slow drink. A cancer diagnosis does that to you. Rob's day grew to a slow crawl early in his illness; he could no longer expend energy on anything outside himself and even that took everything he had. I found myself counting days and even hours, anticipating that his strength would fail him; I began to soak in every sacred moment, collecting a lifetime of memories. As a result, my rhythm dramatically changed. I learned to sit, to pray, to listen, ignoring the clock.

I look around me in this new season, very mindful of the daily race. Albeit, sometimes unavoidable, I see the toll the fast and furious takes.

I'm still crawling, but God is teaching me that I don't need to catch up with everyone else. 

A long slow drink...

His creation looks more vibrant, His Truth more powerful, His people more precious...

A deeper joy.