Just Breathe

Oh, my heart. It hurts!

I was just reading a caringbridge post from a friend of mine from church. Her adult son has cancer and is told he has only a few months left to live. I've been following their story and it hits home.

When I read her talking about their journey of all the triumphs and trials, I remember my teenage-hood clouded with anxiety and grief as I watched my own father die from cancer as well.

There's nothing like waiting for someone close to you to pass. There's nothing like watching them and taking care of them in the years, months, and days before they pass. There's immediate shock when one dies so suddenly, taking every strength you have just to catch your breath. Not having a chance to say "good bye". Your heart being ripped out of you so fast, you're not sure if you're going to survive. But when you have to watch and wait and talk to them, knowing that they are not going to be here anymore very soon. It's like the oxygen is getting slowly sucked out of the air. You panic. You hold your breath. You are left helpless.

Both are just as traumatizing, but so very different.

It takes it's toll on you when you watch and wait. I call it "pre-grieving". You are already grieving them, with no release, no "moving forward" with that point. You just are. You're stuck. Some for days, some for months, and some for years. Stuck in this "pre-grieving" state.

As their health deteriorates, your prayer starts to change. You go from "Lord, please, give us time!" to "Lord, please, give them mercy and bring them home to You where there is no pain, no suffering, and no tears."

Only when they have passed, can you even start any amount of the healing process. You find solace in the fact that they are no longer suffering any more. You look as if you've been drug through dirt and you have. You have been stuck in this "pre-grieving" phase and now... it's done. The fear of their absence is finally upon you.

And you breathe.

"You are so strong" they say.

No, I'm not strong. I'm crumbled into a pile of ashes that feel stomped on by every person who brings up what kind of fork to use for their pasta that arrived so late! Everything seems so futile at that point. But you keep breathing.

"You are so strong" they say.

No, I'm not strong. I'm mad. I'm angry. Why? Why did this have to happen? Why can't I have him anymore? What have I done to deserve this? Why does anyone have to die? Why, Lord?! Yeah, I'm talking to You, WHY?!   .... more tears. more groaning. more breathing.

"You are so strong" they say.

No, I'm not strong. It is He who is strong. He who made the heavens and the Earth. And now He has my loved one, sitting next to Him, at home where we all belong.

with no more suffering. no more tears. no more pain.

and you breathe.

You breathe in the promise that you will one day be reunited.

You breathe in the memories.

My heart still aches from this pain. It depends on the hour whether the ache is at it's greatest, or it's least. But it's always there. Faithfully always there.

But I try not to let it haunt me anymore. I let it remind me of the bigger picture.

I honor his life by standing on my crippled legs and singing "Blessed Be Your Name".

Why?

Because I am a child of the Most High God.

I am His bondservant.




You can read my friend's story here. Join us in prayer for the Bickford family.