Monday, December 06, 2004
Prognosis - road trip
I have five friends. In order of appearance, Michele, Bob, Tara, Laura and Jonathan. Together, we are the core of "the kool care group", a bible study from the early 90's. Bob & Michele got married (I was their best man), but later divorced. Michele got breast cancer a few years ago while she was in her early 30's. Bob & Tara (brother and sister) lost both their parents in the space of a year. All in all, there has been some drama in our little circle.
Last week I heard that Laura was in the hospital. Information trickled in and I gathered that she has a pretty aggressive cancer in her liver, kidneys and ovaries, but was going to be released on Saturday after a 5 day stay for tests and scans. It sounded serious - very serious. In one respect, I wasn't ready for who I was about to see in the hospital bed. Laura has always been an easy laugher and a bit "jolly" around the mid-section if you get my drift, and always uniquely "LuLu". When I peeked around the hospital room door, I saw what I can only describe as a shadow of Laura. She was so thin. Then, she smiled and spoke. "Ah, there's the Laura we all know and love", I thought. Only her outer shell had changed. I didn't get to visit nearly as long as I had hoped because they were releasing her, so she could rest at home.
I'm certainly no doctor, but it looks serious to me. Very serious. Don't get me wrong though - I believe in hope and miracles and God can do anything He wants, but the image I saw in the hospital bed forced me to consider the possibility that we may not have Laura with us for too much longer. If there is hope, then let's hope and pray for God's hand in her life. But if God is showing her the finish line, then finish strong Laura! Celebrate your life for what you've been given.
It makes you think about your own life and what if it were you in the bed surrounded by loved ones. Hypothetically, what if you were told you had 6 months to live? I'm not jumping to any conclusions with Laura, but that's what went through my head afterwards. Would I scramble around trying to postpone the inevitable? Would I use the time to throw "Bon Voyage" parties? Would I spend it in quiet solitude? Would I smile at the prospect of going home? Would I cry and shake my fist at the ceiling? Would I be scared? Would I bother going to work to wrap things up and train a replacement? One thing I think I'd do, even if it turned out that I could postpone it indefinitely. I'd make a road trip and see the things I really want to see.
"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition." I suspect I'd use the time to get right with God and my fellow man. Not that I need a profound amount of damage control, but there's some cleansing I otherwise put off. I'd like to set up an annuity, but I keep thinking there's time. I'd do some confession too. I'd tell my deep dark secret that haunts me to those who need to hear it.
Why bother? Just so people knew what made me tick. Why not do it now? Easy, fear and shame. Even now all these years later - fear and shame. There's also the matter of those left behind who would have to deal with the fallout.
One thing I wouldn't do is forgive anyone that I haven't already forgiven. The reason is that there shouldn't be anyone out there who still needs my forgiveness. If you think you do - consider yourself forgiven. I wouldn't seek forgiveness from anyone either. I suspect I'd get that, "oh just because you're dying and you don't feel forgiven, you need to me to say it again?" speech. Save it.
Last week I heard that Laura was in the hospital. Information trickled in and I gathered that she has a pretty aggressive cancer in her liver, kidneys and ovaries, but was going to be released on Saturday after a 5 day stay for tests and scans. It sounded serious - very serious. In one respect, I wasn't ready for who I was about to see in the hospital bed. Laura has always been an easy laugher and a bit "jolly" around the mid-section if you get my drift, and always uniquely "LuLu". When I peeked around the hospital room door, I saw what I can only describe as a shadow of Laura. She was so thin. Then, she smiled and spoke. "Ah, there's the Laura we all know and love", I thought. Only her outer shell had changed. I didn't get to visit nearly as long as I had hoped because they were releasing her, so she could rest at home.
I'm certainly no doctor, but it looks serious to me. Very serious. Don't get me wrong though - I believe in hope and miracles and God can do anything He wants, but the image I saw in the hospital bed forced me to consider the possibility that we may not have Laura with us for too much longer. If there is hope, then let's hope and pray for God's hand in her life. But if God is showing her the finish line, then finish strong Laura! Celebrate your life for what you've been given.
It makes you think about your own life and what if it were you in the bed surrounded by loved ones. Hypothetically, what if you were told you had 6 months to live? I'm not jumping to any conclusions with Laura, but that's what went through my head afterwards. Would I scramble around trying to postpone the inevitable? Would I use the time to throw "Bon Voyage" parties? Would I spend it in quiet solitude? Would I smile at the prospect of going home? Would I cry and shake my fist at the ceiling? Would I be scared? Would I bother going to work to wrap things up and train a replacement? One thing I think I'd do, even if it turned out that I could postpone it indefinitely. I'd make a road trip and see the things I really want to see.
"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition." I suspect I'd use the time to get right with God and my fellow man. Not that I need a profound amount of damage control, but there's some cleansing I otherwise put off. I'd like to set up an annuity, but I keep thinking there's time. I'd do some confession too. I'd tell my deep dark secret that haunts me to those who need to hear it.
Why bother? Just so people knew what made me tick. Why not do it now? Easy, fear and shame. Even now all these years later - fear and shame. There's also the matter of those left behind who would have to deal with the fallout.
One thing I wouldn't do is forgive anyone that I haven't already forgiven. The reason is that there shouldn't be anyone out there who still needs my forgiveness. If you think you do - consider yourself forgiven. I wouldn't seek forgiveness from anyone either. I suspect I'd get that, "oh just because you're dying and you don't feel forgiven, you need to me to say it again?" speech. Save it.
