Please find Part One here.
It’s hard to ask for and accept help. My grandmother nicknamed me “Little Miss Independent” when I was three, and my older brothers will tell you I never wanted anyone to hold my hand as a child. This problem has persisted throughout my life. Over the years, there have been many times when I waited too long to ask even my husband for help. I’m trying to let go of that pride and let people help me. It’s hard, but it’s good.
It is both humbling and moving to know how much people care about you. In It’s a Wonderful Life, Clarence shows George—even when George is in a deep dark pit—that it really is a wonderful life. George sees how much people love and need him; he gets a glimpse of the huge hole in many lives that would be created by his absence. Cancer is my Clarence. We have been blown away by the outpouring of love, prayers, texts, calls, cards, and support we’ve received from family and friends.
Only God knows. In addition to the traditional white coat treatment of chemotherapy etc., we’re pursuing the au naturel route of supplements, diet changes and the like. At the end of my last appointment with my neo-hippy doctor (although not a word had been spoken about God), as she was leaving the room she stopped and said, “There’s only one person who knows how your story ends.” And that’s true for all of us, whether we’re at the peak of health or battling cancer.
One thing is certain—every person has a 100% chance of dying. But no one wants to be pulled out of the game early, in the middle of a project. God gives, and God takes away, and it’s so important to remember that we belong to him. As I hear the latest stories of untimely deaths, they hit me differently now. We know not the day nor the hour, and ALL of us, no matter how healthy, could walk around fearing death for ourselves and our loved ones. At every stoplight, every plane ride, every 4th of July vacation, or hike in the mountains—we could worry that he’ll take us home. Let’s not live in fear, but view every day as a gift, every day as if it could be our last.
It is not my own suffering that scares me. I tremble at the thought of my children suffering, needing comfort, and not being there for them. As mothers, we would do anything to prevent the playground bully, high school heartbreak, painful marriage, or miscarriage that our kids might experience. But the truth is—I can’t and probably shouldn’t, try to prevent those struggles—even if I’m alive and well.
God speaks to us through the people in front of us. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared, angry, confused. But a few people have said things that I keep coming back to, which help me deal with the roller coaster of emotions. Our new parish priest had been married for twenty years when his wife died of cancer. When we asked him to tell us his vocation story, he said when his wife died, he knew he had to choose: be angry or be grateful. He chose gratitude, felt a calling to be a priest, got his daughter’s blessing, and entered the seminary at forty-two. Another good priest friend, when I emailed him to ask for prayers, wrote back and said, “God must love you and Mike very much to give you this cross to carry.” And so, we’ve come full circle, back to my friend telling me this cancer is a “gift.” I will try to thank God every morning for this cross, let myself be angry and confused, but I won’t stay there. I will choose gratitude.
God loves us with a “Never Stopping, Never Giving Up, Unbreaking, Always and Forever Love” (Sally Lloyd Jones, Jesus Storybook Bible). There are many paradoxes in life. And I do believe that both of these are true: this never-stopping love might allow us to suffer the very heavy cross of untimely death and separation, OR this love might bring complete healing, and this cancer could be a temporary cross. Either way, I cannot doubt God’s love for me. Only he knows how this story ends, and no matter what, he will give us the grace to get through.