|Papa & Isamae|
THE LULU CHRONICLES
My worst fear has been realized. I am losing my husband. The chemo has failed. The experimental drug has failed. Good nutrition has been ineffective. There is nothing else left to try. The cancer has won. Or so it thinks.
I find myself in a bizarre place like a room with a slanted floor filled with uncomfortable furniture, ugly paintings and bad lighting. Try as I may I cannot find my way out. The windows are boarded up and everything about this room makes me queasy. I want to go home.
In his book, A Grief Observed, C.S. Lewis journals about this strange room, this horrible place of waiting. As he worked through the grief of losing his wife to cancer, he writes how he “just hung about waiting for something to happen. It doesn’t seem worth starting anything. I can’t settle down. I yawn, I fidget, I smoke too much.”
Well, I don’t smoke but I do find myself eating too much. Emotional eating. Mindlessly eating. I find myself folding clothes, getting distracted and then starting to unload the dishwasher, getting distracted again and going to lie down on the couch. Dishwasher door left open. Clothesbasket left half full. Waiting. Wandering. Bumping into walls and uncomfortable furniture.
You know that awkwardness when you’re at the airport seeing a loved one off? You embrace, chat, and shift from foot to foot. You had hoped they’d stay, but you know, in the end, they must go? That’s where I am, this awful interlude to what comes next.
My darling Hubs has only a few weeks at best. We’re done at Mayo. Hospice has been called in. As I watch him vanish bit-by-bit right before my eyes, I want to beg him to stay. But I love him too much to ask. He’s tired. He’s fought the fight valiantly. Oh, how he wanted to stay. How he fought for months and months to be here, to be with me and our family. But now, his body is just too weak and the cancer too mean. It is time. He wants to go home.
Cancer thinks its won. Cancer thinks its ravished and destroyed. Cancer thinks we are afraid. Cancer is a fool.
It has not won. Its greediness has been turned against itself. Its presence and invasion has unwittingly summoned the Great I Am. Our Great God penetrates this horrible waiting room. His Glory fills it with soothing light. His Arms bring comfort as He reprimands the disease with the same Mighty Voice that so long ago commanded the storm to be still.
Angels have begun to rehearse their song. And in the quiet of the night, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my sweet husband has begun to hear his name being gently whispered from Holy Lips.
No, cancer has not won.