Last week, a friend and I played flute and piano for a
dinner party - sappy melodies like “Chances Are”, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”,
“When You Wish Upon a Star”, and “Try to Remember”. The lyrics…
Try
to remember when life was so tender
That
no one wept except the willow
Try
to remember when life was so tender
That
dreams were kept beside your pillow
Try
to remember when life was so tender
That
love was an ember about to billow
Try
to remember, and if you remember
Then follow
I want to try to remember what happened a year ago….
October 22, 2012 was the day we traveled to Duke Hospital, placing all our
hope in a radical surgery that would RID my husband of his cancer. Our prayers
were that this would be his cure, that most of the cancer would be taken out
during the 12-18 hour surgery, and that the heated chemo solution circulating
in his abdomen would zap it all. My heart
races trying to remember this.
Five of my friends were there too. I think they knew more
than I did about the reality and gravity of John’s condition. They knew I would
need “help”. So, we sat, we prayed, we nervously tried to make each other laugh
- and then the surgery beeper went off. We knew if the surgeon wanted to talk
to us too soon, it was bad news. Remembering
this makes me feel sick.
The doctor described to us that when he inserted the small
camera to look into John’s abdomen, the room deflated. He said “deflated”.
Everyone helping with the surgery was hoping for the best for this young man,
45 years old. Yet when they saw his insides taken over by cancer, they all
uttered “oh no.” I remember their
compassion.
Worse than that meeting was telling John. When he woke up,
he looked at the clock and touched his abdomen. It wasn’t even noon. It should
have been the next day. He felt only a small incision. It should have been
hundreds of staples and stitches. Calmly, he listened to the doctor.
Supportively, I told him I loved him. Then it was silence. Stillness. Drained
faces. Tearless eyes. I remember knowing
that this was our reality – losing John.
How would we tell our kids who were texting me, asking
“how’s it going, Mom?” I can’t remember what I said. The only thing I knew to
tell them was that they couldn’t do the surgery because the cancer was
everywhere. Rachel mentioned gap year, Jake asked what I was going to do with
my life, and we all just cried. Maybe its
better that I don’t remember exactly what I said.
There was talk of doing more chemo but mostly John wrapped
things up at work, wrote the 3 of us love letters, taught me how to pay bills,
and visited with close friends. Those days were long and sad, quiet and painful.
I remember that my heart hurt all day long. People would want to visit, but couldn’t
stay long. I asked our hospice nurse what I was
looking for, how long, and whether he would make it to Christmas. I remember that she said “young men don’t last
long in hospice.”
God numbers our days. I wish in John’s case it would have
been longer. I will never get it or agree with it. I will remember those very hard days. I will remember the support of
family and friends. I will remember every single meal you made. I will remember
the cards, the cash, the checks, the gift cards, the emails, the texts, the
calls, and the hugs. Perhaps I was not welcoming of them last year. I would
guess that sometimes I had a blank look on my face or that my hug was not very
tight. But I remember a lot of it. And I am thankful for you.
When people ask me now, a year later, how I am doing, I really don’t know what
to say. I am trying to “try” to do this thing. I get up in the morning. I run,
I bike, I eat well, I work, and I get out. We are visiting colleges with Jake,
Rachel is doing well, we have a wonderful church intern living with us, and we
welcome friends into our home all the time. Staying busy is what is getting us
through - I guess. Retail therapy too. I
would like to NOT remember my credit card bill a year from now.
My friends, I try to remember last year,
to remember John, to be thankful we made it through, and to be honest about how
hard, yet how doable it all is (and was) today. Remember John.
Remember how full of life he was. Remember how he got sick, but how he NEVER
lost hope. Remember how he cried on our couch the night the elders asked him
how they could pray – and John said “I just worry for Kristin and the kids.”
I know you are praying for us and thinking of us and
remember this time of year with us. Thank you. It is difficult. But it is
doable – and that is called grace. It is because of grace that I write. And
run. And perform. And teach. It is because of grace that Rachel is in college
and thriving. It is because of grace that Jake has the desire to think to the future
about college and beyond. I remember
grace.
We are coming up on ONE YEAR WITHOUT JOHN. What? Maddening.
Staggering. But we are doing it and we are taking time to remember what God
did, what He is doing, and what He will do. Try
to remember with me all of these good things, even though there are bad things
too. Let’s just remember. Maybe it is what gets us through. And maybe then
others will follow……follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow.
(Cheesy ending….sorry.)
