I know I have not posted in a long time. I have unfinished posts waiting to be published. I just have not been here in the blog world. I have instead been present in the REAL world. Which is a good place to be.
But today I just had to share. I read the following words on a Caring Bridge page for a little girl (who I do not know, but have prayed for) who has been battling a brain tumor that just won't stay away. Her mother's posts are unbelievable testaments to grief, hope and above all else, faith in her Savior.
Her words today are in response to the fact that they just finished the last chemo treatment for her now 6 year old daughter. And now they wait. The cancer that appears to be gone right now, will come back again. It has done it before. This cancer has a 0-5% survival rate. Yes, that is right. Her daughter will not grow up. She will not ever become the amazing adult that we all envision our child to become. Someday in the near future her daughter will be fighting cancer again, and will likely not live through it.
How do you live with impending grief like that?
These words that she speaks at the end of her most recent post hit me like a ton of bricks. Not only in response to how it applies to their situation, but I also don't think I could have heard words that are more appropriate to my situation.
Like me, she is grieving the loss of a child who is still alive. But unfortunately, our situations will have a much different ending. I have hope for the future with my daughter. This mother's joy lies in the here and now (and ultimately in eternal reunification in heaven). This mom has numbered days left with her daughter here on earth. Yet what she says should be words that we all write upon our hearts.
"So that is the ugly reality of the disease. Even with last doses of drugs, there is the not so subtle angst of the unknown. I could leave it there, ask for pity and forever morn that life will never be the same. Because it won't. But here is what I am painstakingly finding. Joy can come again. Jesus can interlace moments of peace and deep joy amidst our biggest heartaches.
I still struggle with this journey we are on. Don't know that I ever wont. But it reminds me to live a little more reckless for the things I believe in, and to hold loosely that which can't last. And to realize that our journey might look altogether different than someones else's. And rather than look enviously at theirs, find how we can live fully in ours."
from post titled the last dose... at Kate Mcrae's Caring Bridge