On Just the Other Side

 

On just the other side of every* cancer diagnosis is a retired farmer who never smoked a day in his life, who wasn’t exposed to asbestos and who avoided all the things you were supposed to avoid.  He thought he’d have at least another good 10 years.  But the doctor’s words cut that time frame much shorter.  And now he longs to make as many preparations for his wife and the life she will face without him.  He longs to spend time with his family – to see his grandchildren – to listen to their voices and see their faces.

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis is a spouse who gasps in the oncologist’s office.  After the shock wears off a bit, she goes into battle mode.  She will fight with everything she has for just another month, another week, another day.  Her heart is breaking, but her will is not. 

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis is a daughter who cries in the shower so that she can spare her family some of her grief.  She hasn’t hid all the tears.  Her kids have watched her break down so many times lately.  Her husband has stepped up and done more household chores.  There’s a bit of a dark cloud hanging over the whole family.  She cries through every church service – especially the music.  She hasn’t worn eye makeup since the day of that phone call.  She is available for every doctor appointment even though she can only call in due to regulations.  Her mind is full of so many thoughts.

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis is a son who is too far from home.  He waits as patiently as possible for news about treatment options, news about prognosis, news about the results of the latest scans.  He wants so badly to be with his family – to help them and to carry some of the burden.  But all he has are prayers and phone calls.

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis is a daughter who can’t really believe this is happening.  She’s sure that it can’t be as bad as what it sounds like.  She’s sure that her Dad will have several good years yet.  Because it is inconceivable to her that her Daddy, the strongest man in the world, could be dying.

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis is a woman who gets a text that her friend’s dad’s cancer is stage four and it is spreading.  That woman doesn’t know what to do – how to help.  But she does something.  She drops flowers off not 10 minutes after she gets the text.  She texts back as quickly as possible every time her friend messages her.  She sends a small gift and a note of encouragement.  She sends a bouquet.  She listens to her friend tearfully processing what is happening with extreme patience and gentleness.  She offers to bring a meal.  She prays.  She checks in frequently.  She’s available.

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis is a son in law who is instantly ready to help.  He drives his wife to the hospital for visits.  He hugs his mother-in-law.  He sits and talks with his father-in-law.  He mentions it to his coworkers, his friends, his acquaintances so that they might pray.  He is patient with the pain his wife is going through while simultaneously trying to encourage her to not lose hope.  He is intensely tuned in to what his children are feeling when they consider losing a grandparent.  He is mindful that there is so much that will need to be done while others focus on just enjoying the time together.

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis is a granddaughter who loves her Grandpa dearly.  She wants to spend time with him even though she is shy of the emotions swirling lately.  She values his sense of humor, his kind attention to her, his encouragement of her accomplishments.  She loves his laugh.  She longs to bring a little scrap of joy to his day.

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis is a grandson who cries himself to sleep when he thinks about Grandpa not being there to take care of his tractors.  He cries too when they get in the car to leave the farm.  Because the days there are numbered and the farm has always been a place of joy and happiness and love.  He doesn’t really know how it all works but he asks his teacher and his class to pray.  Because his Grandpa matters to him more than he can even put into words.

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis is extended family who long to do something.  But there is little to do other than pray.

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis is a church family in shock.  This kind of thing shouldn’t happen to someone so good. 

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis is a doctor who has seen every reaction under the sun.  He sees the very technical information on the chart and in the report.  But he also looks in his patient’s eyes.  And he offers what hope he can.

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis are acquaintances who share stories of hope.  They knew someone who battled lung cancer – someone who overcame it – someone who is in remission.  And they give a gift of sharing those stories perhaps not fully realizing that those stories shine like stars in a dark sky.

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis is a farm sale.  The years of collecting and delighting in all those red tractors are coming to a close.  The two tractors that were being fixed up, sitting in pieces in the shed, will need to be fixed up by others.  The equipment will have to be sold.  The sheds will have to be cleaned out.  The treasured possessions will need to be auctioned off.  And none of it matters as much as the money it will bring in to care for those left behind.

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis there is a family who is suddenly shaken awake.  They never really knew how much time they would have left together.  And though this is not expected they realize that the joy of health and togetherness was never going to last forever.  So they take what little time they have left, they wrap it in love and intentional time, and they soak it into their very bones.  They seek out the joy by sharing funny stories of what happened that week, they share so many pictures of what is going on in their lives, they call each other so frequently, they get together as often as possible, they check in, they pray together, they text all day long.  And they discover life the way it was always meant to be lived.

On just the other side of every cancer diagnosis is a God so loving that He foresaw all this pain and did something about it.  A God who will redeem every moment that is lost to cancer.  He has planned for this and is not surprised by any of it.  He sees what they need each day and fills those empty places.  He whispers of hope beyond a grave, of so much more to come, of plans that are greater than all we could ask or imagine.  And He draws near, offering comfort and peace.  He reminds us that we belong, body and soul, in life and in death, to Him.  He is with us here and on just the other side.

*every.  No, these are not true of every single person or every cancer story.  But each of them is true of my Dad’s cancer story.  And I realize now that I walk this road that there are others who have walked here before.  There are other farmers who have received a cancer diagnosis.  There are other families who have wrestled with the things we are wrestling with.  We are not alone and I share this hoping that if anyone else ever one day walks the road after us that you will find comfort in these words.  And for those whose paths will be different, perhaps a gentle awakening for you to cherish every single moment for the beautiful gift that it is.