Category Archives: Adult Children

Sadness and worry

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This morning began with a bang. Actually, I should say a crash. Nate lost his balance in the bathroom while I was still sleeping and went down between the sink cabinet and the tub. The weight of his fall pushed his shower chair up against the tub faucet so hard it severed a pipe joint there. Amazingly, he didn’t hurt himself, except for a slight cut on the top of one foot.

Nelson had been up since well before seven and heard the crash before I did, racing in to help his father. I thought of the many times Nate had helped his children get up after little-kid falls, comforting them and giving them the universal parental encouragement: “Hey, you’re alright!” Usually it was true. Now the roles are reversed, his child is helping him up, and the “You’re alright” part is not true.

By the time I arrived, Nelson had Nate back into bed, and everything was calm. Scripture certainly speaks truth when it says, “Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10)

As we sat together and I held Nate’s hand, I said, “I’m so glad you didn’t hurt yourself.”

He responded, “Oh, I’ve got strong bones,” apparently forgetting his bones have cancer and are extremely frail. I nodded and decided it was me that needed recuperation, not him. He seemed fine.

All eleven of us are coping with Nate’s cancer in different ways. Nate is struggling immeasurably, yes, but the rest of us are struggling some, too. My brother came this afternoon to go through files, both Nate’s personal stuff and his law office records. There are still missing pieces to the puzzle, and Nate can no longer tell us where to find them. We did this file-work in the basement so as not to upset Nate.

Thankfully, we found everything we needed, but the process was stressful, at least for me, partly because we needed to hide in the basement and partly because I’m not a numbers person. I can’t imagine handling all I’ll need to handle. The Lord gave us Lars, though, who is a numbers person, and he’s volunteered to take over for me. Although he says it will be “easy”, I know it will add a measure of stress to his life, too.

All of us are trying to handle the strain of cancer in our lives. None of our kids have complained about that, but every so often I see one or another of them sitting quietly just thinking, not reading, not talking, just staring at nothing. There’s a lot to think about.

As for me, I don’t know what to think. Yesterday while running an errand, I passed an elderly man standing on a corner in the rain with a bent cardboard sign reading, “HUNGRY. HOMELESS. GOD BLESS YOU.” An all-consuming sadness came over me, and I burst into tears so overpowering I had to pull my van to the curb. Having grown up in the Chicago area, I’ve seen many homeless people but have never wept like that.

The only thing to do was to get some groceries and bring them back. As I handed the bag to him, I looked into his eyes and ached all over for his misery. Since I was feeling miserable, too, it seemed we shared a valuable experience in that brief encounter. He thanked me four times and said he was going to find immediate shelter (from the drizzle) and eat whatever I’d put in the bag. “It will taste so good!” he said. His smile showed a half-dozen missing teeth, and I promised to pray for him. Back in the car, as I brought his plight to God, I wept all over again. I still can’t figure it out.

I worry about Nate, wondering when he’ll fall again, and I worry about the kids, hoping they’re talking it through with each other. I worry about myself, hoping I don’t come up short when the needs increase and I have to be stronger than I am today.

But God was ready for all this worry and sadness. He had us find another one of Mary’s Scripture rocks today, just in time.

“The God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.” (1 Peter 5:10)

End-of-life issues

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Why is it so hard to talk about end-of-life issues? For people who believe in eternal security with God through Jesus Christ, discussions of death and dying ought not to be shunned. And yet, we do that.

After Nate’s 14th and final radiation treatment today, we met with his doctors and signed off. They’ve done everything they can for him, and our questions have all been answered, at least to this point. Saying goodbye was not sad, though, since it means we no longer have to drive from Michigan to Chicago and back, five days a week. Nate was thoroughly exhausted after today’s treatment but was pleased Lars had chauffeured us and shown interest in inspecting the massive radiation machine worth $3,000,000.

We made it back to our Michigan front door just as a Hospice Home Care nurse was arriving for our official sign-up. Pat and her team will help us navigate the next phase of our journey. She was efficient and experienced, plowing through a stack of paper work quickly. Although she addressed her presentation to Nate, he sat facing her with eyes half closed, worn out from the morning.

Toward the end of her explanation of services, she said, “Now we come to the hard part, the living will.” Pat waited patiently for the words “living will” to sink in. Then she said, “The question is, if you stop breathing, do you want us to resuscitate you by using a respirator?”

Nate didn’t have to think very long. Without saying a word, he shook his head “no”.

I rephrased the question and then said, “Are you sure?”

Again he didn’t say a word but with a somber expression nodded his head “yes” and reached for her clipboard and pen.

Sitting with us and listening to this question and their father’s answers were Lars, Linnea, Klaus, Louisa and Birgitta. “I’ll need two witnesses to sign as proof that Mr. Nyman’s signature is his wish,” she said. At least I think she said that. My ears were ringing and my vision was blurring.

Lars and Linnea stepped forward to sign under their dad’s curvy signature. As I became weak on the sidelines, both of them demonstrated great strength under enormous pressure. As for me, I was lost in the picture Pat had just described.

All of us cling to life. If things are going well, we eagerly want that to continue tomorrow. If things are going poorly, we hope tomorrow will be better. For us, the days are not getting better, and no one is telling us that they might. My new question is, when can we start talking about heaven? When will it not seem like I’m pushing Nate away to talk about his leaving us?

We moved through the remainder of our day with a busy dinner hour, the two grandbabies providing our entertainment, but I kept one eye on Nate. He’d lost all facial animation, all spark, even when little Skylar, just learning to talk, pointed to him and said, “Pa-paaaa!” with a lilt in her toddler voice.

Tonight, sitting on the edge of his hospital bed and holding his hand, I thought it might be time to crack open the door to eternity. As we do each evening, we quoted Scripture together. John 14 was on my mind, a message of comfort spoken by Jesus to his best friends:

“Let not your heart be troubled: you believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there you may be also.” (verses 1-3)

Nate closed his eyes, repeating only a word or two with me, but he made no objection and didn’t furrow his brow. I think the time has come to lift the ban on talking about his going away and shine a spotlight on his brightest hope. The truth is, he will go there soon, and there is no better place for him to be.

Sweet, not bitter

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Today was an old-fashioned work day, the kind most families have on fall Saturdays: taking down the screens, washing windows, putting up the storms, cleaning house, doing laundry and running errands. Several of the guys also installed a hand-held shower nozzle for Nate, since climbing in and out of the tub is no longer possible, and we did a thorough vacuuming (Mary did), since Jack the dog was pronounced flea-ridden. Despite the “normal” nature of a chore-oriented day, for us it was super sweet, because all 13 of us (plus 3 in utero) were together on task. Nate was in the middle of all of it, keeping up with the ceaseless activity from the comfort of his lazy-boy.

He seemed better today than he’s been in a week. The doctor believes his radiation treatments finally began benefiting him last Wednesday. Not that this is a reprieve from what’s still coming, but it’s a mini-interlude of better energy and, Nate thinks, better breathing. It’s very possible the radiation has shrunk the tumor in his lung enough to increase air flow, which has made him more comfortable, less panicky.

The best part of today was when we gathered around Nate, the star of our family show, for a group photo. As we set up the picture with our two sweet grandbabies in the line-up, I thought of the three new babies who won’t be with us until 2010, and ached to think Nate may not be in that picture. Nevertheless, we grinned and giggled for the cameras during this bittersweet moment. What good would it do to dwell on the “bitter”? Thinking about the “sweet” was what we all wanted to do.

During the afternoon as we worked, the cranberry chicken in our oven smelled better and better, promising a delicious evening meal. It had been prepared ahead of time and brought to our door by others, which made it twice as tasty.

Each evening we have a “small group” meeting during dinner. Since sitting in hard-backed chairs is too difficult for Nate’s aching back, we gather around his chair in the living room with plates of food on our laps. During the last three weeks, many glasses of milk and cups of coffee have gone overboard on the forty year old carpeting, not to mention blobs of lasagna and wayward peas. We pick up the chunks and ignore the rest, focusing instead on each other.

Now that all of us are together, our “small group” has become large, with a meandering circle of easy chairs, dining room chairs, folding chairs, stools and one very important lazy-boy. Before we eat, Nate enjoys looking around the group and choosing someone to say a prayer over the meal, once in a while choosing himself. The Spirit leads those prayers, and the words hold power.

Come to think of it, there is much more powerful praying going on around our house than ever before. Recently, while up during the night helping Nate to the bathroom, I glanced into the next room and saw Louisa bent over her Bible with her journal underneath it, pen in hand, studying, thinking, praying. It was 3:15 a.m. To see this was a sweet blessing.

When my phone ding-dongs with a new text, sometimes it’s the kids sending what they just prayed for us. Other times it’s a Scripture verse that lifts and encourages. Bibles are open throughout the house as we search for this or that promise, and our Scripture rocks sit on the window sill above the kitchen sink. God is near, and it is sweet.

“Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things.” (Philippians 4:8)