Nancy mentioned to me some time ago that she started a draft for a blog post. We never found time to work on it together, but I stumbled across it today. These are her thoughts, with very little editing on my part. I trust that her words will touch those who need to hear them.
Nancy's Thoughts
There is only one thing harder than accepting what is; living in denial of what is. Acceptance is a lot of work, daily facing the reality of what is, feeling the pain, and staying connected to who I am and who God created me to be.
As I struggle to accept what is happening to me, I look in the mirror and reality strikes me hard. I wonder is that really me dying of cancer? How can that person be me? How can this be happening to me? I look in my children’s faces and realize that they are going to lose their mother, and my husband is going to lose his wife, and this is how my life is going to end. But it helps to know that Ken and the kids can - and will - take care of each other.
Gratitude always lets fresh air in the room. My whole life I have dreaded the thought of when I would lose my mom. I am so blessed that she and my dad are alive at ages 90 and 89. My loving and faithful parents have watched over their 6 children, always available to encourage us and cheer us on to live, love, and grow. I wish I could continue doing this for my children.
Before all of this, I readily accepted the many good times and blessings my family and I have had over the past 58 years. But looking back, It seems my prayers of gratitude were slightly obligatory and somehow only half-hearted, lacking the deeper sense of appreciation from the vantage point of today. Often when I think I am accepting the reality of my diagnosis, the gravity of my future smacks me as I grieve new awareness of my losses.
This past January, it was time to face the fact that I will never drive a car again, so we sold my car. In early May, Not long after, I realized that I will never ride a bike again, and so we considered selling them. Thankfully, our awesome neighbors were already interested in them and so they bought them. Now we see Jason and Janelle riding past our house with happy faces and their dog Callie running along beside them. I thought Ken and I would be riding these bikes for years to come, into our old age with bad knees and all.
June 3, the day the doctor called and recommended we stop the cancer treatment, our son Andrew wrote a poem that put many of our feelings to words.
Between
The clock ticks loudly now, and much too fast.
Her moments slip away so soon, it hurts.
Nothing seems to last.
We linger, too, and unbearably so.
Eons pass, her time expands and contracts
Around our sorrow.
Here we wait, hardly breathing, suspended
Between the past we loved and a future
We can’t comprehend.
I often feel like I will wake up from this and find it was just a bad dream. But I want to accept this part of my journey knowing that God is good, and that I can trust in His sovereignty. God cares for me, and He loves me, and He loves and cares for my family. I can be still and know that He is God.
In God’s economy, He doesn't let an ounce of our pain go to waste. Our tears are not futile. They have a purpose. God knows each of His children intimately, and every tear we shed has meaning to Him. He remembers our sorrow as if He kept each tear in a bottle. In the end, He will share His joy with us when
He will wipe every tear from their eyes.
There will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain,
for the old order of things has passed away.
He knows. This has always brought me comfort. For the many people who suffer and might think that no one knows or cares, He knows. He cares. God is a tender-hearted Father, a God who feels with us and weeps with us. His promises are a source of comfort to us.
The Lord said, “I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering." -- Exodus 3:7
When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in his spirit and greatly troubled. And he said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus wept. -- John 11:33-35
May 6, 2021
After my brain surgery, we had our first follow-up appointment at Froedtert’s Hope Clinic for cancer patients. It seemed to take forever to make our way down the many halls to get checked in. As we were walking, I was thinking of how many people there were in the halls and waiting rooms we passed by, all with cancer. I felt pretty sad and in denial that I was now part of this group.
Over the weeks and months of doctor appointments, I was able to pick out the people that were probably there for the first time; they still walk with the most normal function. Then there were the others, those being pushed in wheelchairs by worn-out caretakers looking so exhausted, waiting for even just a little relief to come. Oh, how I did not want to be in these waiting rooms. How I did not want to be the one in the wheelchair, and I didn't want Ken to be the vacant-eyed spouse pushing my wheelchair.
At the Jan and Feb appointments, we checked in and then took the opportunity of walking around the hallways for exercise during the 20-minute wait since it was nice and warm inside. Those days are over now. Here I was feeling good having fewer deficits and enjoying the ability to walk around and get some miles in. I wonder what the other people in the waiting rooms thought of me knowing that this was a very temporary stage, knowing I would soon be like them, in a wheelchair within weeks.
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| May 6, we find the necessary transition to a wheelchair emotionally difficult yet somehow welcome |
Well, this last week I couldn't walk the distance to the Hope Clinic, so Ken got a wheelchair from the front desk. I felt a deep sadness rising in the core of my body and soon I was sobbing in the elevator.
So how am I doing? I am losing my left side rapidly. I can no longer do my own self-care, I can't walk unassisted, and I can't use the stairs. I feel like the expiration date on my body might be getting close. While I love life, I think the time to stop trying to preserve this body will soon come to an end. After all, I have terminal brain cancer. It's going to take my life.
I have peace about the surgery, radiation and chemotherapy treatments I have done so far, but I don't want to spend my last three months fighting cancer or battling the side effects of chemo. I want to make the most of each day, enjoying the beautiful place we live, and having coffee or tea on the porch with anyone that stops by with fresh baked homemade cookies! Or if you want to make dinner, we can eat, play a game of cards, and talk about what God is doing in our lives.
Trust in the LORD with all your heart,
and do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make straight your paths. -- Proverbs 3:5-6.
So teach us to number our days,
that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. -- Psalm 90:12
Now that I am seeing how few days I have left, such that I am numbering them in months and weeks, I am hoping I'm not forgetting anything. Whenever I start to worry, I think about how nice it would be to have a checklist to go down and check things off. Kind of like when we pack for camping and double-check the list to be sure we packed salt and pepper and matches. Then I remember that I only need to live in this moment and just do the best I can. I certainly don't want to waste today crying about tomorrow!
Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart.
The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away;
may the name of the Lord be praised. -- Job 1:21
For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son,
that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. -- John 3:16
God loves you and me and wants us to have eternal abundant life.
There is only one thing harder than accepting what is; living in denial of what is.
Note
There is so much sadness and so much to grieve in this process, but Ken and I are doing our best to make every day count. Please please let us know if there is something you would like to talk to us about.
Recent Photos
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| Matt and Mom sharing a moment together |
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| The Brian and Rebecca Kirk family came from Pennsylvania to visit and say goodbye to "Aunt Nancy" |
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Matt, Tim and I went to the beach without Nancy for the first time.
It's amazing how much relationships add to life, even at the beach. |
