It is mom's 1st Year Canciversary. One year ago today, we received the devastating news that the biopsy on her pancreas was positive for cancer. Terminal cancer. The memory replays like a bad movie. The ferocious punch to the gut, the frozen numbness as we tried to process the doctor's words, and the hard sting of tears swallowed deep. It is not a day we ever want to celebrate.
But after much consideration, there is something else we do want to celebrate. And that would be the triumphs we have experienced during the past year, despite living with this unrelenting cancer diagnosis.
In his book, A General's Spiritual Journey, Lieutenant General Hal Moore shared this quote:
When you walk to the edge of all the light you have, and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown, you must believe that one of two things will happen: There will be something solid for you to stand upon, or you will be taught how to fly.
I believe that sometime during this past year of testing and trial, mom has learned to fly. At times she has soared above the horrors, other times she has flown right through them. But each crisis was faced with a steadfast will to walk with grace and dignity. And plenty of humor.
Maybe we're all just a tad bit morbid, but we've learned to laugh at the most socially unacceptable moments. At funeral homes, and in the hospital. While mom was throwing up and when she was hallucinating from her first dose of marinol. Emily Post is probably rolling over in her grave at our lack of etiquette.
But really, mom started it all. One year ago, she made us laugh even while our hearts were breaking.
It's true.
After we got the news of the biopsy results, the nurses got her ready to check out of the hospital. We waited quietly, shell-shocked really, for the orderly to bring up the wheel chair to escort her out. When the young man arrived, he wheeled in one of those Big-Butt (pardon me), but really big (huge) wheelchairs for my 130lb mom. She obediently slide into the seat and tried to position her legs onto the leg rests. She looked like she was trying to ride an elephant. A snort escaped from her lips, which she tried to subdue, but then couldn't. She looked up at Dad, me and the orderly and said, "You think it's big enough?" We laughed, and the tension was broken. Mom was still there. Cancer or no cancer, she is still the same loveable, goofy, no-nonsense, laughter-loving person she always has been. And that began our journey. Of course, I think the orderly was traumatized for life, but no matter. You can't spend all the time crying...
So, today, in honor of this year, we Celebrated the Triumphs with a delicious bite of creme brulee,
and then an afternoon at the spa (we're hooked, what can I say?!)
But, the real celebration begins in two weeks. Mom, Dad, Leroy and I booked a Cruise to the Caribbean! How's that for spontaneous? We leave two weeks from tomorrow! Mom really knows how to celebrate!
We can't end this day without celebrating the faithfulness of each one of you. Your unwavering love in the face of these trials has carried us through the fire. You may have brought a meal, offered a shoulder to cry on, prayed unceasingly, listened with your heart, cleaned house, ran errands, sent cards, encouraged through a smile... you have all been the Hands and Feet of Faithfulness. And we know, without a doubt, that you have bridged the gap for us so many times when we were too weak, too numb, or too afraid to speak. You are our Blessing,
May God be Glorified through all the Triumphs of this past year. He sustains even when we don't understand.
And that's Grace Enough for Today, Love you all, Jane
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