I was twenty seven or so when we first found out Mom had cancer. I remember the day vividly. I was at work and relatively new at the job. Mom had found the lump six months earlier. A mammogram showed nothing so the doctor told Mom to wait six months and they would recheck it. I told Mom she needed to get a second opinion. You don't wait six months when you have a noticeable lump. But no, Mom trusted the doctor. At the six month check up the lump had grown and she was sent in for a biopsy. I received the call in the office. During the biopsy cancer was found. Her left breast was removed along with quite a few lymph nodes in her armpit. The cancer was aggressive and had spread. I was numb. I can't even begin to picture how that day felt for her.
Mom went on to battle cancer for another eighteen years, ten of those on medication but with no signs of active cancer. By November of 2012 we were given the news that Mom had only a couple more weeks to live. The cancer had come back with a vengeance nearly five years earlier. By this point the cancer had spread to her bones, her liver, and unbeknownst to us, her brain. She had been admitted to the hospital with another bout of pneumonia, her chemo options had run out, and she was sent home to die.
The first thing you need to understand is that Mom and I were the "matter of fact type". We didn't mince words and we made an agreement to be honest with one another even in difficult times. We had always spoken openly about what her cancer prognosis meant. She had taken care of business. Her funeral had been planned down to every detail. Her funeral arrangements were made and her urn had been chosen. She had known from the beginning that she was going to die. We did not discount that God was the Great Physician and He could heal her if it was His will. At the same time, we both felt that God had a bigger plan and healing might not have been a part of it.
So, here it is. The end is in sight. EMT's brought her home by ambulance and carried her up the stairs to where she would spend the rest of her life. She was sick, confused, and in incredible pain. Pain she had endured for years.
I know people loved her and only wanted the best for her. Visitors would come and talk about plans for when she got better. Family would call and tell her to keep up the good fight. After the visits from friends and family, she would tell me how confused she was, She would ask why she felt like she did. Was she going to get better? What was wrong with her? And I would sit down and explain to her again how she was dying. I was the voice of reality. I was the one telling my mother that the end was near. That she had fought the good fight but that it was okay. I understood her body was tired of fighting, tired of pain. I loved her and I was ready to let her go.
Some people accused me of cruelty. I was insensitive and mean. How could I say such awful things. Why couldn't I just give her hope in her last days. What people don't realize is that they were the ones being cruel. I know they didn't mean it. They didn't understand how their false hope was cruel, but it was. You see, my mother's pain was beyond excruciating. Every day was a measure in suffering. Death was not a punishment, it was a release. And, on the other side of death's door, her Father was waiting for her. His arms were reaching out waiting to embrace her. Her healing was meant to happen in heaven, not on this earth. Only through death would her pain be relieved.
My mother lasted over a month. She was a stubborn woman and she wanted one last Christmas. By Christmas week she had become relatively unresponsive. She was no longer eating or drinking. She would wince in pain when we moved her but that was the only response we had really had. Then on Christmas day, Mom suddenly sat up in bed. The kids and I had been gathered in the room and we were shocked to say the least. She sat there for a moment, told us she loved us and then laid back down, never to awaken again. Three days later she took her last breath.
There is a point here. When a diagnosis of cancer is given, we fight. We do hold onto hope and we wage the battle of our lives. Many will win that battle. At the same time, we have to be able to recognize when the time to fight has passed. We need to be able to do the loving thing. We need to assure the one's that we love that they have fought a good and worthy battle. That we are proud of them, and yet, we know that it is time to let them go. We have to give permission.
When the pain becomes to much, it is selfish to continue to hold them to their earthly ties. Love lets them go.
My mother danced her way into the arms of her Father on December 28, 2012. No more pain, no more sorrow. I miss her but I know she is well taken care of. I can see her in my mind, transformed. Her face youthful and radiant, her voice raised in song, barefoot and dancing......
Mom went on to battle cancer for another eighteen years, ten of those on medication but with no signs of active cancer. By November of 2012 we were given the news that Mom had only a couple more weeks to live. The cancer had come back with a vengeance nearly five years earlier. By this point the cancer had spread to her bones, her liver, and unbeknownst to us, her brain. She had been admitted to the hospital with another bout of pneumonia, her chemo options had run out, and she was sent home to die.
The first thing you need to understand is that Mom and I were the "matter of fact type". We didn't mince words and we made an agreement to be honest with one another even in difficult times. We had always spoken openly about what her cancer prognosis meant. She had taken care of business. Her funeral had been planned down to every detail. Her funeral arrangements were made and her urn had been chosen. She had known from the beginning that she was going to die. We did not discount that God was the Great Physician and He could heal her if it was His will. At the same time, we both felt that God had a bigger plan and healing might not have been a part of it.
So, here it is. The end is in sight. EMT's brought her home by ambulance and carried her up the stairs to where she would spend the rest of her life. She was sick, confused, and in incredible pain. Pain she had endured for years.
I know people loved her and only wanted the best for her. Visitors would come and talk about plans for when she got better. Family would call and tell her to keep up the good fight. After the visits from friends and family, she would tell me how confused she was, She would ask why she felt like she did. Was she going to get better? What was wrong with her? And I would sit down and explain to her again how she was dying. I was the voice of reality. I was the one telling my mother that the end was near. That she had fought the good fight but that it was okay. I understood her body was tired of fighting, tired of pain. I loved her and I was ready to let her go.
Some people accused me of cruelty. I was insensitive and mean. How could I say such awful things. Why couldn't I just give her hope in her last days. What people don't realize is that they were the ones being cruel. I know they didn't mean it. They didn't understand how their false hope was cruel, but it was. You see, my mother's pain was beyond excruciating. Every day was a measure in suffering. Death was not a punishment, it was a release. And, on the other side of death's door, her Father was waiting for her. His arms were reaching out waiting to embrace her. Her healing was meant to happen in heaven, not on this earth. Only through death would her pain be relieved.
My mother lasted over a month. She was a stubborn woman and she wanted one last Christmas. By Christmas week she had become relatively unresponsive. She was no longer eating or drinking. She would wince in pain when we moved her but that was the only response we had really had. Then on Christmas day, Mom suddenly sat up in bed. The kids and I had been gathered in the room and we were shocked to say the least. She sat there for a moment, told us she loved us and then laid back down, never to awaken again. Three days later she took her last breath.
There is a point here. When a diagnosis of cancer is given, we fight. We do hold onto hope and we wage the battle of our lives. Many will win that battle. At the same time, we have to be able to recognize when the time to fight has passed. We need to be able to do the loving thing. We need to assure the one's that we love that they have fought a good and worthy battle. That we are proud of them, and yet, we know that it is time to let them go. We have to give permission.
When the pain becomes to much, it is selfish to continue to hold them to their earthly ties. Love lets them go.
My mother danced her way into the arms of her Father on December 28, 2012. No more pain, no more sorrow. I miss her but I know she is well taken care of. I can see her in my mind, transformed. Her face youthful and radiant, her voice raised in song, barefoot and dancing......
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