Six Months And a Thank You

Today marks six months.

Six months since the worst day of my life.

A day that began with watching Ed heave over a bucket yet again.

A day when I drove Ed to the lab for bloodwork, hoping to find some kind of answers for his intense headaches.

A day that included a CAT scan and the radiologist saying, "I see a mass and need to do a MRI immediately."

A day when Ed buried his head in the pillow and appeared barely coherent when responding to my questions. (Ed remembers almost nothing about this day; I tell him I have enough memory for both of us.)

A day when I answered the telephone and heard our doctor explain the MRI results. "A brain tumor. Probably cancer. Very serious. Appointment with a neurosurgeon as soon as possible."

Telling Ed about the doctor's call. Not knowing if he even understood or was aware of what I was saying.

Gathering our children together and telling them that Dad has a tumor, maybe cancer.

Our eight-year-old asking, "Is cancer something that you just get sick from or something that you die from?"

Calling both our families.

The children gathering around the bed, placing their hands on Ed, and praying for their dad.

Lying beside Ed reading a Psalm aloud. Feeling intensely, overwhelmingly alone.

The last six months have been full of hard things. Ed's brain surgery. The confirmation of the glioblastoma diagnosis. Chemo. Radiation. Strict diet changes. But not as hard as that first day.

There may be even worse days in the future. A quick perusal of the news shows that there are many people who are grieving tremendous losses. Pain, grief, loss, death - all part of living in a world that has chosen to reject God and been cursed with sin. "For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now." (Romans 8:22)

In the last week, three friends with brain tumors - an eleven-year-old boy, a twenty-five-year-old beloved teacher, and a friend of my parents -  were told that there is nothing more that can medically be done to halt their cancer. We grieve with them. It hurts to know that, without a miracle, our family too may face that reality some day.

We are entering a season of thankfulness. It can be hard to be thankful when facing pain and grief. But I look back on the past six months with thankfulness for you.

We have been so supported by your prayers. You have prayed for us when I have felt too weak to pray. Because of you, we have felt God carry us through these months. Because of your prayers, we have had months full of joy. You've sent us Scriptures that were a drink of cold water on the days when I couldn't pour myself a glass. You've shared your stories of God's faithfulness on your worse days.

You've given us hope. A hope because of Jesus.

Thank you. And if your prayer list can hold more names, please pray for Ambrose, Jess, Mark, and their families.

"Fear thou not; for I AM with thee: be not dismayed; for I AM thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness." Isaiah 41:10 (A Scripture shared at Ed's anointing service.)