Try to Remember

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.)