Sweet, not bitter

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)

A day of losses

Nelson and Hans accompanied us today, a pleasant variation for Nate and me. The wet, stormy highways made me thankful I could ride rather than drive. After two hospital appointments, our plan was to drive the mile to Nate’s office to visit his many friends there.

My sister had arranged for a wheelchair, but once at the curb in front of his office, Nate gathered his strength and wanted to walk his once-daily routine. We slowly entered the lobby, passers-by unaware of the significant event unfolding.

Emotionally-charged hugging began before we even got to the elevators as the security guard rushed from her place behind the counter to throw her arms around Nate. She patted him as if they were the closest of pals, telling us how much she loved him. Nate seemed to love her right back.

Stepping off the elevator on the 13th floor, we walked through the thick glass doors with Nate’s name included on the list of lawyers there. What were his thoughts? Three weeks ago, when he left the office to meet me at the doctor’s appointment that fateful day, he never dreamed he wouldn’t work again.

One by one people emerged from their offices to shake Nate’s hand, most putting their arms around him at the same time. It was “old home week,” and I watched him take it all in. Several were holding back tears. One labeled it bittersweet. Everyone knew the painful truth.

The conference room barely held us all, every eye on Nate, but we quickly fell into an easy banter. If anyone was shocked at his having become a shadow of his former self, no one let it show. I looked around the room and thought of the great differences in the many personalities there, politically, religiously, culturally and in age. Somehow this group had managed to work side by side for 19 years in a happy crowd of humanity that appreciated each other for what they had in common.

In a tender gesture, many of them wore Christmas neckties and necklaces. Nate’s legendary collection of holiday ties had allowed him to wear a different one each day in December. He appreciated the joke and mustered a smile.

Later, standing behind his desk surveying the monumental work Rob and Tom had done in his badly cluttered office, he was quiet. Again I wished I could have read his mind. When we left, I believe he knew he’d never be back. He didn’t say anything negative, but surely he was struggling with the many losses… his office, his files, his clients, his co-workers, his career, his identity, his routine and even the security guard. Although he’s had losses of some sort every day, this day was overloaded with them.

Later, back at home, Nate ended his day with the comfort of a hot bath. But one more loss was added to the day’s total when he had a fall getting out of the tub. It took three people to get him up, but we were thankful a badly bruised knee was the only damage. All of us, Nate included, are wondering what tomorrow will bring… or what it will take away. I marvel at his stoicism and refusal to complain.

When Nate was finally settled into his hospital bed for the night, his face flush with the effort to get there, we read today’s comments on the blog, as well as many encouraging emails. Quite a few of the messages mentioned Nate being a testimony of God’s faithfulness. As we prayed together he said, “Oh Lord, I’m not worthy to be a testimony of you. Please make me worthy.” When I peeked at him, a single tear was running down his cheek.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are Mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, nor will the flame burn you, for I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.” (Isaiah 43:1a-3a)

Happy anniversary… or maybe not.

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Last night I was tidying up Nate’s night stand. Next to the half-glass of Gatorade was a rainbow assortment of Post-it notes, his long-term method of staying organized. Most were ready for the trash and none had any interest to me, but I peeled them up for him anyway. Stuck to the table-top at the bottom there was one that interested me. It said: 11/29/09, 40, carok.

Nate was noting our upcoming anniversary, our fortieth, reminding himself to be prepared. But what about the word on the bottom of his Post-it? I figured it was probably something in Russian. Nate has always studied languages and enjoyed a college minor in Russian. He speaks it fluently and loves practicing his vocabulary words. All of us know a smattering of Russian as a result of his consistent practicing on us.

This morning, on the way to radiation #11, I tucked his anniversary Post-it into my purse. As we waited for treatment, I handed it to him.

“Our anniversary,” he said, smiling.

“Yes, but what’s that last word?”

“It’s ‘forty’ in Russian.”

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Lately, we’re holding hands a great deal. Today I studied his hand as I held it in the radiation waiting room. His wedding band has never been off since I slid it on during our ceremony at Moody Church, in 1969. Since that day, he’s always been fully committed to me, protecting, providing, participating.

Forty years ago, each of us made vows to the other that were meant to be honored “til death do us part,” and it looks like death is about to part us. The official rending began last night when a hospital bed arrived at our house around 8:00 p.m. The flight of stairs to our bedroom had become a mountain Nate could no longer safely climb. A near fall and frequent stumbles, even though others have been “under-arming him” both directions on the steps, had motivated us to request the bed.

But last night as I put my head on the pillow in a room twenty feet from Nate’s new main floor “bedroom”, our physical separation settled hard on me. He was needy but was too far away for me to hold his hand… or hear his breathing or feel his chest move up and down. My bed was lonely, a sad foretaste of the future. Will we be together to commemorate our fortieth? Or will he be far away in another realm entirely, out of sight and out of touch?

As I tucked Nate in tonight after a busy day that wore him out, I asked how he liked his new bed. Too tired to speak, he just nodded approval. After I bent down to kiss him, I said, “I love you.” Too tired to reciprocate, he winked at me instead. In forty years, I can’t ever remember him winking at me. It was youthful, cute and loaded with meaning, and it made me kiss him again. He’ll never miss me like I’m going to miss him.

“Love bears all things. Love endures all things. Love never fails.” (Parts of 1 Corinthians 13:4, 7,8)

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