The hospital bed in the middle of our living room was surrounded by sofas that served as seating for those who came to say goodbye. Hospice workers came and went, addressing Ian’s “comfort” needs that changed drastically with each passing day.
Pastor Glenn arrived on Monday to pray with us, again. This time, he gently told Ian that while we continue to pray for a miracle, it was time to consider that God was preparing a place for him.
But Ian was not ready…
Even Jesus asked God to “let this cup pass from me” before going to the cross.
Pastor Glenn later reassured us that even if Ian wasn’t ready to leave, God had him – his child – by the hand and would not let go.
Six days after returning home from our Hail Mary attempt at the naturopathic treatment center, the good Lord dispatched his Angels for our precious Ian.
Continue reading “A Smile to Remember”
Dave was walking a bit ahead of me as Rosie pulled him quickly towards the park she enjoyed so much. He was a good 20 to 30 feet ahead, and this provided an opportunity for the emotions that were simmering inside me to explode like a mishandled pressure cooker.
“Why, Lord? Why Ian?” I cried out. Questions I asked often in those very early days.
“Lord help me,” I cried out audibly, but not loud enough for Dave to hear. I wiped away tears that surged and receded violently like tsunami waves.
Rosie stopped to sniff around and soon we were walking as a group again. I’m sure Dave didn’t notice my sad condition because happiness was altogether elusive back then.
We reached the center of the large open field as my thoughts swirled. I had a severe ache inside my soul. I missed our boy so much I thought I might die. As tears began to well up in my eyes again, I diverted them towards the ground hoping to spare Dave the trauma.
When I looked down, at my feet was a little yellow flower. I plucked it from the earth. This was not just any little yellow flower.
Continue reading “Our Little Yellow Flower”
Facebook Post: March 23, 2017
You bought this longboard very shortly after we got the news about the cancer and the challenging treatment plan you faced. One of the first questions you asked the doctor was if you could still surf. The doctor said there would be times when you probably wouldn’t be up to it because you might be too weak. He said, though, that it would be a good idea to stay active.
Well, that’s all you needed to hear and you made sure that the doctor repeated that statement with me in the room! I told the doctor he should probably define “active.” We all laughed, somehow, on that dreadful day.
Continue reading “We Feel You…”
The voice over the car radio promotes a Champagne Brunch. The word Champagne sticks. And, it festers. Champagne. Champagne. Champagne Ponds…on the Big Island. Where we took turns swimming to literally keep our sanity while you lay nearby in bed at the naturopathic treatment center – fighting for your life. Fighting for the chance to one day swim in the Champagne Ponds. Our salty tears forever mixed into the Champagne Pond.
Champagne Brunch. I change the channel on the car radio.
I walk by the television and hear World Surf League commentators analyzing the pro-surfers in the line-up. I didn’t even know the contest was “on”. Our lives once revolved around WSL events – like other families’ lives might revolve around baseball or football. And, when John John hit the line-up, it was time to stop the presses. Drop what you’re doing. An adrenaline rush for JJ’s #1 fan. You paced the living room floor and yelled at the TV if the judges didn’t get it right.
I hear the WSL commentators, but I have to keep walking.
I run into the store. Just looking for one thing. A quick in and out. There she is struggling with the zipper on a piece of luggage. Two young sons hover nearby. Actually, they hover right over her. Perhaps trying to be helpful. Perhaps not. She’s engrossed with the suitcase. The boys are being mischievous. Just little boy stuff. She’s oblivious to their wonderful presence. Just caught up in her task. I wish she’d notice how adorable they are. How wonderful. How precious. She continues to struggle with the zipper.
I turn my gaze away from the woman I don’t know; the woman I can’t stop thinking about for hours.
Continue reading “Grief Stalks Me”
The Gift of Lorna and Keene
Ian had been diagnosed with a rare cancer a few months before I got a text from my old college friend, Lorna. We had also worked together for several years at the phone company but had lost touch for many years – decades, actually. A mutual friend, however, had heard that Ian was undergoing chemo and radiation treatment and suggested that Lorna contact me since her son, Keene, had recently battled cancer as well.
It was truly good to hear from Lorna after so many years. We texted back and forth, but when I realized that Keene didn’t win his battle, my heart dropped and it broke. Cautiously, I asked Lorna what kind of cancer her son had. A rare cancer she told me: rhabdomyosarcoma.
That’s what our son had.
I then asked which of the two types of rhabdo – embryonal or alveolar? Lorna said it was alveolar, which is the deadlier of the two.
That’s what our son had.
Continue reading “Old and New Friends”
One year ago today, we got the best news possible. The doctors said that Ian’s first evaluations were “remarkable.” The cancer cells were no longer visible on the MRI. It felt like a miracle, and words can’t express how overjoyed we were with the news. I can remember Ian’s large, slow-motion fist pump when we got the news over the speaker of my cell phone! The doc advised that he’d have to continue the 10-month chemo treatment plan to be sure we killed every last cell of the aggressive cancer.
While our prayers were not answered the way we wanted them to be last year, I remind myself this morning that our prayers were likely answered about a dozen years before that…
Below is a post that I made on my personal Facebook page a few months ago (before I started this blog) where I shared about the gift of time that I believe Ian was given.
This post and many of my early FB posts were written directly to Ian…
This is one of my favorite pictures of you. It’s just so … you! You were on a Big Island trip with your classmates – maybe in the 5th or 6th grade. Your extra-large looking forearm makes me think of that funny episode of the King of Queens where Doug and Carrie get that portrait and Carrie’s arm looks enormous and Doug has rabbit-sized front teeth. That was one of your favorite episodes of that sitcom. You would laugh and laugh and laugh, nearly jolting out of your seat.
You had a very sweet childhood filled with lots of laughter. But at around the age of 10 or 11 we had a quite a scare when a quickly growing lump on the front of your right thigh appeared out of nowhere. It doubled in size in about a month and the doctor decided to have it removed, although he expressed no serious concerns about it initially.
Continue reading “Thankful for the years…”
I understand that some level of grief will likely be a part of my life for – well, forever. So, I do what I can to find a way to move forward as best as I can.
I’ve joined a variety of grief support groups, which have been helpful. I’ve started this blog as an outlet for my thoughts and emotions. And, I’ve connected on a one-to-one basis with others who walk this same painful journey.
Recently, though, I received good counsel from a highly unlikely source: me. Rather, the other me … the Sherrie of years ago, the mom before she lost one of her sons to cancer at the age of just 23.
Continue reading “LIVE!”