So, i'm home alone with my thoughts and my computer.. not always a good combination... last night was a hard night. I worried about Frank and his family stranded at the airport for over 6 hours; they were finally able to get on a plane and got home very late their time. I'm sure the kids were exhausted.. there's no place to rest at an airport. I miss them all very much... they helped us cook, clean, go shopping, laundry and change my dressings. I've got an area of infection and I need to change the bandages at least twice a day...
sometimes I have this overwhelming feeling of sadness when everyone's gone. Trying to find light at the end of the tunnel is hard when there's so much pain. sometimes I wonder if it was worth it all this pain. Trying to figure out what to do once I'm done with all the treatments is another barrier I have to overcome. I'm not sure if I have to energy and stamina to plan that far ahead. Do you ever walk around in the dark, groping the walls, trying to find the switch to turn on the light so you won't stab your toe? sometimes I feel like that.. walking around in darkness... even though my conscious, rational mind KNOWS that I am very fortunate and blessed with so many things and so many people, my feelings don't always catch up. And I'm groping the walls to try and turn on the switch, so the light will flood the room.. to wake up from this nightmare of constant pain and lack of sleep and dread to what tomorrow may bring. some of you will probably criticize me for sounding ungrateful and for being so dark.... i'm sorry to disappoint you... but this is the reality of my journey through cancer. it may be from the pain, from the meds, from lack of sleep, or frustration from not being able to find a comfortable position.. it may be from being anxious about what chemotherapy may bring or how it would make me feel.. or it may be coming from feeling detached from the real world... from missing being part of a team that makes a difference in a child's life.. maybe it's coming from fear that after all is said and done, there is still a question that didn't get answered.. what did I do that made a difference to anyone... the fear of the answer: nothing...
so, on this Sunday afternoon, where is the hope in this journey? Frendell, when he came home after a very long and exhausting day last night, came to bed to take a nap. Poor guy had no chance. I had been at home alone since Frank, Candy & the kids left for the airport @ 10a.m. and I wanted to talk to someone.. and he'd already used up more than his 25,000 words that day, but I wanted to hear how his day went. So, after a short nap, he sat next to me.. and listened to my melancholy heart. Poor husband, so not melancholy but choleric and sometimes phlegmatic... when I asked him that question, where is the hope in this journey? his answer gave me pause and made me cry. He said that many times we look for the light at the end of the tunnel, and usually that light translates to some comfort level for us... it doesn't matter what that comfort may be. He gently reminded me that the hope in the journey is just knowing that God is with us through it all... pain, tears, quiet times, sadness, nausea, separation, loneliness, blood tests, lack of sleep, more blood tests, infections... God is there and He is holding us close to Him, whispering words of comfort and peace, whether or not we feel it. It gave me pause... and even though the tears fell silently, it was enough to give me hope for the night and today, I remember that as i sit here quietly alone on a Sunday afternoon. I can hear people walking right outside my window.. I can see the sunlight through the slats of the blinds... and I have to remind myself the the hope in the journey is that God is sitting here next to me and my computer, giving me a hug and telling me that He is with me, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much I miss everyone... even though Frendell is still an hour from coming home. So, I offer you the same hope.. that whatever you're doing this Sunday afternoon, God is there next to you, offering you the same comfort and peace He has offered me... I will take it, will you?
Dear Glady,
ReplyDeleteSurrounded by loved ones who had gone through the same ordeal, I can somehow feel your pain. Yet I know that what pain I can ever relate to, can never approximate the raw roller coaster of emotions felt by real people who are going or had traveled the same path like yours.
My auntie just now had only a few months to live because of a stage 4 ovarian cancer, while my cousin is contemplating combination chemotherapy for her advance non Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Truly, we live in a world of pain and suffering.
When words cannot find expression, and tears had become the silent language of the soul, then what is left to offer is a clasping hand of solidarity that says we are one with you. Glady, Rommel and I are one with you, and we continue to pray for your full recovery.
This I know is true- the time will come that God shall wipe away the tears in our eyes, when there shall be no more pain, for the former things had passed away.
Let me share to you this beautiful poem from that timeless devotional, Streams in the Desert by L.B. Cowman:
Oh, every year has its winter,
And every year has its rain-
But a day is always coming
When the birds go north again.
When new leaves sprout in the forest,
And grass springs green on plain,
And tulips boast their blossoms-
And the birds go north again.
Oh, every heart has its sorrow
And every heart has its pain-
But a day is always coming
When the birds go north again
It’s the sweetest thing to remember,
If your courage starts to wane
When, the cold, dark days are over-
Then the birds go north again
Ariel, thanks so much for your comforting words and the poem. I read that book several years ago and loved it.. thank you for reminding that this too, shall pass. It's funny that the analogy used is that birds go north again. When i first moved to Chicago, that was very obvious during the fall when the Canadian geese would fly south for the winter. Due to global warming, it's been happening less and less and in fact environmentalists are trying to figure out what to do because they end up staying here more and more each year. Could it be that as time is coming to an end, the days of our suffering will also be more and more... I will take courage in the knowledge that spring is around the corner and that someday our tears will be wiped away. I'm sorry to hear about your aunt and your cousin as well... and I will keep them in my prayers too. Please know that I appreciate you and Rommelyn and the support and friendship that you extend across the oceans. I hope to see you both sometime this year. Take care and many thanks again..
ReplyDelete