Looking Back, Part 2 of 2

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Yesterday I shared three things I wish I could go back and do differently in reference to Nate’s 42 days of cancer. Here are six more.

My hope is that these will be of practical help for anyone currently traveling with a loved one on the difficult journey of terminal illness:

4.  I wish I’d taken many more pictures of Nate before he got so physically depleted it was awkward to do so. With only six weeks of cancer, we had only three of acceptable picture-taking time.

5.  By the time I realized I didn’t have all the answers about our shared paperwork and tax stuff, it was too late to get them. Confusion began to pepper our conversations unexpectedly, and we weren’t sure if what he was telling us was accurate. His help with answers to my brother’s questions about his law practice (and there were hundreds) was non-existent after day #25. It would have been a blessing to all of us to have concentrated on these questions almost immediately.

6.  I regret not asking Nate, “Is there anything I’ve said or done that is standing between us and needs to be settled?” Of course I would need to have had thorough preparation by the Holy Spirit to be ready for his answer and the difficult discussion that might have followed. But this is a good question for any wife (or husband) to ask any time. It might be especially important as death is on the horizon.

7.  Pulling out old photo albums would have been a rewarding way to use precious together-moments. Counteracting the darkness of terminal cancer, family pictures would have prompted laughter and light-hearted remember-when’s. During those moments when neither of us knew how to cope, it would have been a welcome lift from miserable circumstances.

8.  When we say goodbye to any loved one, whether it’s after a shared meal or a week’s vacation together, we usually make it a point to say thank you. When we’re about to say goodbye because of death, thank you’s are doubly important. I wish I’d thought back to the endless kindnesses Nate had shown me, then talked about them, thanking him again and again. It would have made for sweet conversation.

9.  As soon as we discovered Nate was not going to live much longer, I viewed him as fragile and touched him accordingly. Looking back, it would have been lovely to have had more husband-wife time in private during the early days. I didn’t realize how quickly there would be other eyes and ears in the room helping us, but also watching and listening, making intimate moments impossible.

More and more I find myself looking forward, but I hope this look back can be useful to someone who’s still in the middle.

“The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forevermore.” (Psalm 121:8)

 

Looking Back, Part 1 of 2

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I’ve always admired people who are future-focused, particularly older people. I remember Stuart Briscoe saying, “I’m in my 70’s now, and most of life is behind me. My continual temptation is to think backwards, but I’m fighting that. God still wants me to look to the future.”

My Aunt Joyce was another example of being future-focused. She called from California one day when she was 91, concerned about my mom’s health. Half way through the conversation she said, “I apologize for talking a little funny. I’m bleaching my teeth.” I loved that she was still looking toward the future.

Grieving the death of a spouse virtually always includes a long period of looking back, because in our sorrowful state, going back to those last weeks and days somehow keeps us emotionally linked with those we so recently lost.  Besides, looking forward is scary, while looking back is familiar.

Although I’m not focusing backwards with the same frequency or fervency I once did, from this vantage point I see it was healthy and healing to do that. It was part of what helped me accept the sad truth. When my mind said, “I just can’t believe he’s gone!”, looking back told me, “It’s true. He’s gone.”

It’s been 17 months since Nate died, but I had to stop to count them up, unlike earlier days when I always knew. Now, when I mentally revisit Nate’s 42 days of cancer, his death scene, the wake and funeral, it’s not as difficult, not as sad. As a matter of fact, when I look back now, one of the things I do is analyze how we did and didn’t handle things well.

So, for families currently living through the heartbreaking days of terminal disease, I share below what I’ve learned (three things today, the rest tomorrow):

1.  We knew of Nate’s impending death for 42 days, and we got to day #27 before we first talked about heaven. It was day #30 before Nate mentioned his fear of the pain that might come just before the end. I wish I would have broached these subjects earlier, especially the topic of heaven. Talking over the delights of what awaited him, as well as leaving earthly suffering behind, would have lifted his spirits.

2.  I didn’t realize how quickly mental exhaustion would overwhelm Nate’s ability to converse and think, or to want to be part of his bustling, noisy family. He sequestered himself far more rapidly than I thought he would, at a faster pace. Even while sitting in the midst of us, he wasn’t always “there”.

3.  I wish I’d known how quickly physical fatigue would overtake him. The day we scheduled his last visit with our pastor, he was too tired to participate in the conversation. Nate’s last visit to his law office came within a hair of being cancelled. He wasn’t sure he could stand long enough to ride the elevator to the 13th floor and didn’t want to use the wheelchair. He made it, but it took every ounce of stamina he had left. Had I known, we would have gone earlier.

Tomorrow I’ll share six more suggestions for those of you who are walking the difficult path of terminal illness.

“No one knows when their hour will come.” (Ecclesiastes 9:12)

Staying Power

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When Jack and I were walking toward the beach today, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the ground. Springy-green shoots are poking up everywhere, a lovely sight after such a cold, snowy winter.

It’s a wonder how dead-looking patches of ground come alive right on schedule according to God’s dictate of the seasons. Some plants have to make their way through piles of soggy leaves that have blanketed them since last fall. Others actually wiggle their way out from under rocks or sidewalks.

But today we saw the ultimate in perseverance, two tender shoots making their way up through an unforgiving hunk of asphalt. Seeing such a display of wonder made me turn around and head home for the camera. I admired those little plants and hoped they would grow into lush day lilies with roots pulling nourishment from the soil beneath the asphalt.

We all know families who seem to be steamrolled by circumstances as rough as that asphalt over soft greenery. Some of these people give up in despair, but others never lose hope and make it through with determination and pluck.

But because determination and pluck are boot-strap resources that do have a limit, it’s best to garner our stick-to-it-tiveness from a source other than ourselves. God offers to supply whatever we need to wage war against negative circumstances.

A pertinent hymn we sang as kids went like this:

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources
Our Father’s full giving has only begun. (Annie Flint)

I love those words, because when we’re living in the first three lines (exhausted, failed, the end), suddenly the last line gives us a happy ending. Not only is God willing to pick up the slack for us, he’s just getting started. With him there’s always more. Such knowledge is enough to pull us back to our feet to go another round.

People who live like this, triumphing over struggles by taking advantage of God’s supply, are heartening to the rest of us, too. Although they aren’t usually aware we’re watching, we are. And we find ourselves saying, “If God did it for them, he’ll do it for me.”

This morning just before Jack and I left the asphalt-plants, I noticed something strange. The greenery appeared to have been given a haircut, the unmistakable calling card of a deer. These baby lilies lived through a harsh winter, made it up through hard asphalt, and now have endured being nibbled on.

It’ll be interesting to watch what happens next.

“In [the Lord’s] hand is the life of every living thing.” (Job 12:10a)