From Chemo-Therapist: How Cancer Cured a Marriage, Familius, April 2014:
“On the way home David leaned back in the passenger seat, glancing over at me as I drove. “Why would God allow a little boy to have cancer?” he asked quietly, and I just shook my head in response.
“If I could go, and Jacob could stay, I’d go in a minute.”
“I know you would,” I whispered hoarsely as I patted his leg. The ramifications of his declaration were too painful to ponder. David would die for that little boy he loved, I had no doubt, just as he would give his life for me or for any one of his children. That was the kind of person he was. I reached over to hold his hand and we rode in silence the rest of the way home.”
Sometime during that night, David’s heart stopped, and I thought mine had broken in two. I’d lost my best friend, the man who had become the wind beneath my wings.
David didn’t live to see me sign a book contract for the book that had been his idea in the first place, Coupon Crazy, a book he encouraged me to write. He had to have been pulling some strings up there for Chemo-Therapist to also become an upcoming reality.
It was a bittersweet moment to approach a Barnes & Noble bookstore yesterday and spot this in their window:
I wondered at the overwhelming sadness I felt as I wandered the aisles of the store that now displayed my book. The heaviness of grief still descends upon me at unexpected times, and in unexpected places. David did not live to see this.
He also did not live to hear the terminal diagnosis bestowed upon his beloved grandson, and for that I am grateful. Because now we are losing eight-year-old Jacob. Jacob is dying.
Each morning I wake up wondering if this will be the day we say good-bye. Some nights I can’t sleep and I drive past my daughter’s house at 3:00 am, looking to see if the lights are on and she needs me. I help where I can; baking the occasional loaf of banana bread, cleaning now and then, and taking the other grandchildren away for an afternoon so Jacob can sleep in peace. But there is so little I can do in the face of this. I cannot take the pain away from my daughter Elizabeth and the son-of-my-heart, Ben. I cannot help Jacob through this lone journey. With pain, with trouble breathing, it is his mother he asks for.
I rise early every morning and spend a good hour searching for answers to the hard questions. Questions like “Why would God allow a little child to suffer?” and “How can we bear to live a life without him?” I pray. I read devotionals. I cry. I sit in silence and listen, and then I pray some more. Some mornings, I fall to my knees, only to return to them by nightfall. I am reminded of last July, when for a few weeks God took away my writing so that I would learn to be still, learn to hear HIM. I search for God in all of it.
I think about the little boy who has been a gift to us; his quiet demeanor, his giving spirit. I contemplate what he has brought into the world by his very being, despite his short time on earth. How his little body has fought this cancer for more than two and a half years. I think about the tremendous strength in those thin limbs that now tremble with weariness, that tiny heart that has stretched so many other hearts. One day a posting on his Facebook page reached 16,000 viewers. 16,000 people saw that posting, and nearly as many people were praying for him. 16,000 hearts were touched by a small child! Most of us will be lucky to touch that many people in our lifetime. Yes, I see God in all of this.
And I am writing. And writing. My work-in-progress is a chronicle of grief; Refined By Fire. By working my way back through that first year of widowhood, I can clearly see how God walked with me down the path of loss. My prayer today is that my daughter and her family feels HIM too.
“I have refined you but not in the way silver is refined. Rather, I have refined you in the furnace of suffering.” Isaiah 48:10