Wednesday, September 13, 2017
End Of The Road
What does it mean when we come to the end of the road? What does it mean when we hear, "Just take me home." At what point do we let our loved one rest? When do we say enough is enough? My dear friend is coming to the end of her journey. It hurts. It makes me sad. I think about her boys and her husband. I think about the urinals she collects and has all over her bathroom. Her smile just lights up a room. But I know she is so tired. She is holding on for all of us and at WHAT TIME do we say, I love you and its ok...I'll be ok. The kids will be ok. Our first instinct is to call every major cancer institute and book the first flight to the nearest clinical trial location. We get on the computer and we research the latest drugs...when what we really should be doing is lying next to our loved one and holding them tight. Then the guilt. Did I try hard enough? What if that drug worked? Will we ever know? Oh the guilt. But what most people on the outside DON'T know...is the person we are fighting for, the person we love...when its time, they aren't the same person anymore. The journey has taken a toll on them. The words we share aren't whispers of love like it was. Sometimes in the middle of the night for about 5 seconds you may share it...but now when our heads hit the pillow our eyelids close so we can dream of how it once was and dream of the hope that when you wake up in the morning, maybe it was just all a bad dream. The truth is, letting your loved one rest may be easier than watching them go through more pain and poking and prodding just to selfishly allow us 1 more month, or 2 more weeks with them on earth. I say all this with tears pouring down my face because one day, I will be the one making that decision for Tony. When is enough enough and have we come to the end of the road? There comes a time in our lives where we have to say good bye. Its never when we want to, its when they need to. They get tired, and worn out, but trust me, they are only saying, please remember us how we once were. Remember the good times, remember the laughs, remember the stories, and smiles, for we aren't far away, just a memory. For now it is time for God to wrap his arms around me and bring me home.
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So, yeah, I'm crying now. Thanks for that. :)
ReplyDeleteHere's what's been on my mind lately--we're all gonna die, right? It's the inevitable circle of life. But most of us have no clue when. If there's any blessing in this thing called cancer, could it be that it gives us a window of time in which we can make the decision to do and say the things that truly matter, while the rest of the world hustles along deluded that there will always be more time to do/say it later? If cancer forces us to live each moment as if it might be our last, maybe that's God's grace wrapped in disaster? This isn't a battle I've fought personally--yet, at least. So forgive my naivety. Just looking for a silver lining...
I remember the drives to Dana Farber every week thinking each time there's hope. We made the best out of every trip.. stayed in 5 Star hotels the night before treatments and ordered soup from room service! We Enjoyed different things around Boston when Lou felt up to it. Even got snowed in for 3 days but we knew it was likely so we had a hotel and just spent those days holding each other.. loving each other and laughing. I remember when he had lymphedema in his bicep so bad that after radiation they wanted him to do range of motion excercise so we made it into a slow dance routine.. Lou loved dancing. But then that day came when the trials were making him so sick.. he was just a shell of himself.. we spent several days in the hospital and his doctor said it's time to stop Lou. I remember how I felt. Pain and sadness but relived. How could I be relived? I watched my love my soulmate become a shell. Sick all the time. My kids heartbroken. My son asking me why are they killing him with chemo just let it be over. Hearing Lou on the phone from the hospital breaking down in tears that it was his time to be in heaven with his father. That 2hr ride home just us in silence. The hope no longer there.. This journey is awful. It forever scars us. We second guess all our decisions. But I know in the 14 months of Lou's journey we made everyday count. We stop sweating the small stuff and did our best to enjoy our lives. Our family and each other. Lots of love ❤️ ❤️❤️
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