It was Easter.
We were singing about the joy and hope that we have because Jesus is risen.
She was so young. I wondered as we sang how much differently she understood the message and the words of the songs? When you are told you have cancer, I would imagine that there is a fair amount of wrestling to be done. I imagine there is an aspect of God’s character to be revealed that doesn’t seem very tidy, or understandable, or even safe. I imagine that in order to sing the kinds of songs you sing on Easter, you would have to work it out a little bit. The rubber meets the road.
As I reached my hand out and squatted beside her, I told her my name, and she told me hers.
Cynthia.
I tried not to show how desperately I was caught off guard. That was my mom’s name. This was no blaze‘ meeting for sure. God had my full attention.
We chatted for a while, and then, I knew her family needed to be headed off, but I have been struck by Cynthia ever since. I have prayed for her often, not knowing much about her actual type of cancer - or the depth of things she has endured as an almost 12 year old girl.
Tonight, I did some research. I found her caring bridge page. I read about her diagnosis. I quickly "googled" to find out all the things I didn’t understand. Epithelioid Sarcoma. Pirogoff’s Amputation. Just the sound of those things is overwhelming. And what I read after that, well, I will be honest... I had a mixture of feelings and tears streaming down my cheeks.
She and Maddy are the same age. They have birthdays just two weeks apart. I thought how if I were her mom, I would give anything to trade places with her.
I wondered what it would be like to have her perspective on life and death right now.
I wondered what things would change in my life if I had a diagnosis like that. I wondered how her parents were enduring - if they were having a hard time loving “all-in” when they know the statistics of her disease. I prayed that they wouldn’t pull away from her from pain and fear - although, wouldn’t you have to wrestle with that? I can’t imagine what it would be like to love all of my kids well if we were faced with news like that. I could see myself wrestling - KNOWING that none of us have the guarantee of tomorrow, but also knowing that time seems to be stacked against her with the illness.
I don’t know. I guess with my mom, I just loved her - without fear. I was pretty well “all in” all the time because, at 17, I didn’t have the reality grasped in my mind that one day I would wake up and she would leave the earth without “warning”. I was young, and I heard the words, and I read the sheets, but something inside me just didn’t believe that she wouldn’t get well. And, for the most part - she and I had each other. Sis was at college - and we did life, day by day - just the two of us. But, I think that helped me to love her in a way I couldn’t have if I had known her exact time. I think it helped me to hold her tightly and love her without fear - right up til the end.
As I was still pondering my new friend Cynthia's diagnosis- and all the details I could scrounge up, I saw that another friend of mine had posted that her mom was in the hospital. I dug a little deeper and after I read her last few weeks of Facebook updates, my heart sunk.
4 brain tumors.
Lung cancer.
Just going to make her comfortable.
More words filled my mind that are weightier than the paper can hold. Comfortable? Something never sits right with me about that word in the midst of the others. It isn’t a comfortable process. It is painful. Medicine can dull the pain, but it is not comfortable. It isn’t comfortable for the family either. It isn’t comfortable to watch your mom (or loved one) in pain. It isn’t comfortable to watch the medicines take their toll on her mind and her abilities. It isn’t comfortable to know that you can’t do anything about it. It is a lot of things, but it is not comfortable.
This friend of mine, whose mom is in the hospital is actually the older sister of my best childhood friend. I spent many nights at their house. I had my first s’more in their living room. I had my first GIANT waffle cone at Sesame Place with their family. I watched “Thriller” at their house and was scared to pieces! I almost crashed their computer and my sweet friend got so angry with me. I thought she would never forgive me for pushing a button while the hourglass was still on the screen. She did forgive me, though.
I got to share the Gospel of John with my friend, and watch her become interested, at least for a time, with God and His Son. And then, they moved away - and we lost touch, and, well... It is so blurry now. I don’t really remember all the details. They just moved and it seemed like forever far away, and we lost touch. Now my heart is aching that I don’t know them better. That I hadn’t kept up with their family more. That I hadn’t had more of an eternal impact in their lives.
I know they appreciate nice thoughts and positive feelings, and sweet sentiments from friends. But, those things will not offer the kind of comfort they need right now. There is One who is the Comforter. There is One who can hold them in peace in this time of grief. The very One that knit them together in their mother’s womb... And I am afraid they don’t know. I am afraid their mom doesn’t know the Comforter. I am praying that God will be near to them - and that He will reveal Himself through this time of intense pain. It hurts so badly to watch your mom battle cancer. Indescribable. Painful. I cannot imagine having to walk that road without Jesus. I just cannot. He carried me through on the truths that He will never leave me or forsake me. He knows me, and He desperately loves me - with all of my sin, and with all of my flaws. He is always there. He is always good. He will never leave. And there is something more to come...
Tonight, I am so thankful for the book of John. I am so thankful for the Way, the Truth and the Life. And I am desperately praying that she will know Him if she doesn’t already before her days are complete on the earth. I am praying for my sweet childhood friends to hear and receive Truth and comfort - and find true peace that passes all understanding. I am praying for my friend Cynthia to press in deeply to the Lord and find shelter in the shadow of His wings. I am praying that He will hold her near - and that rather than grow in fear, she will grow eager for the day that she will be wrapped up in the arms of the One who calls her Beloved - regardless of how and when He chooses to heal her. She may have many more years on the earth, but I pray that she will live each one as if it could be her last - making the most of every day she has, and teaching others to do the same.
And, I want to learn from her. I know that she has many things that she could teach me.
I am not walking in their shoes. Please don’t read anything I have said as judgement - or as if I believe I can imagine what it is like to be one minute in their shoes. I absolutely can not. One thing I learned when I lost my mom is that everyone’s story is uniquely theirs. Everyone’s pain belongs to them alone. No matter what you have been through, you cannot begin to imagine the depth of someone else’s pain. All you can do is cry with them, and offer them your shoulder and your arms, and your silence. So, please don’t mis-read anything I have said. I have simply thought aloud tonight because my heart is just aching. It makes me desperate to be in the arms of Jesus and away from this world that is filled with pain and sorrow and hurt and frailty.
My simple prayer tonight...
Oh Jesus, be near to my friends. Be so very near. You are the God of miracles and hope and peace. Show yourself mighty in these lives I am begging you, my God and my King. In the most powerful name of Jesus I ask these things,
your Beloved Daughter.
