Today I start taking the contrast stuff for the CT scan scheduled for tomorrow. Today I went to dinner with some friends and started crying as soon as dinner was over. Today I feel sadness thinking that the things I’ve loved doing and being and loving may be elusive.
I can kind of joke about the cancer. Sometimes. When I’m strong. Though tonight I’m not wallowing in fear and anxiety, I am sad. As a believer in Jesus, I have often talked about being convinced of my eternal home, and I don’t disbelieve this now, I don’t think. The concept takes on deeper meaning and questions when looking at what could be devastating news tomorrow or the next day. There have been lots of days where I kinda wished heaven was my home because this life had become so painful. Obviously, it’s easy to say things when the gun barrel isn’t staring down your nose. I believe that those fears will work themselves out when the time comes.
My beautiful daughter-in-law suffered a terrible stroke about 5 1/2 years ago. She has a heaven story that I believe to be true. In some ways, I envy her experience because it would remove my fear, as it has hers. She, in spite of her aphasia, speaks of something too vibrant and beautiful for words, even if she had control of hers. I put a lot of trust in M’s experience when my faith falters. M remembers having a choice to come back to be with her three boys, one of whom was a small infant. My heaven experience won’t be like that. Mine will be permanent.
I remember watching my dad suffer through his bone cancer. After a point, he was done with this life. He wanted his beautiful wife to be safe and secure, but he also realized that her comfort was out of his control. Only cancer could have made him ready to leave her. And it did. This is the kind of life, existence, that causes me sadness. I suspect this will be my passing plan. I really don’t want my kids to have to experience that. I don’t want them to hurt because I’m gone. The life I have lived these last years have been so sweet; I cannot imagine something better.
I am unable to look at photos of my kids and grandkids. My heart nearly breaks with love and affection and joy. I may well be their first experience with death, as my dad’s was for my kids. It’s how life works; the old ones move on and the new ones take over.
I don’t want to be that old, that sick, that sad that my body is failing me. I don’t want to be watched as I die. I almost wish I could be like an old cat so that when it is my time, I could wander away to someone else’s yard and let go.
There are not the answers in this life that we wish we could have. The lack of fairness, and the intense lack of mercy we have for each other in such tumultuous times – these disappoint me and I feel abandoned by God, which is not to say that I believe I am abandoned so. After so many years of depression, seeing what a lie it was helps me today to see that my feelings don’t usually match reality. The real trick is learning to sit in the hurt and not let my emotions dictate my reality; to hold myself through my pain. I question my ability to hold myself through this cancer reality.
Also, how am I going to receive results from a CT scan without having a chance to speak to the doctor before the surgery. This time crunch has me furrowed. Do I want to know the results before surgery? Do I want to receive the call that the surgery is cancelled because there is too much for the surgeon to address? Yesterday I could believe that it won’t be that bad. Tonight I am not that strong. Here’s to hoping that my reality will be better than my place of fear.