But it is true. One year ago this morning, Andrew and I were holding hands and crying, waiting for a surgery we hoped and trusted would bring an eventual end to the symptoms that had become everyday life living with Cushing's Disease. He, waiting with the keen wisdom of a dying patient who sensed better than the rest of us the weight and struggle that was to come and me, with the smiling optimism of a hopeful wife just wanting her husband back. Stay positive, shoulder the sadness, carry the burden of fear, he will be home in 3 days and well on the road to recovery. I can remember wishing he wasn't so fearful of the surgery because it was the surgery that was going to make him better. I would tell myself that this "irrational" fear was part of what we had been dealing with for years because of Cushing's Disease, and this too, would eventually all be gone. I don't think that at all anymore. He was fearful because there was much to be afraid of. I just didn't know it yet, but he did. It was me who had the irrational emotions. He at least, seemed to be in touch with his. I was pushing mine down, trying to be positive; there was no fear inside me, only hope. I was determined that hope would spring eternal out of this supportive wife and mother. "Perfect loves casts out fear", so I will love him perfectly (humanly impossible) and there will be no fear (hmmm...). If I show fear then everyone, including myself - and especially my kids - will know how bad it really is. Hours later, out walks the doctor. "Everything went as well as expected. I am 99.9% sure we got all the tumour. I took a layer of good cells too, to be sure, but his pituitary gland remained in tact. It all went well. Everything looks good. He is in recovery right now." Good. All is good. Thank you Lord. "All things work together for the good of those who love God, who are called according to his purpose" (Rom 8:28). That's what we are promised right? So everything will be good. Good.
The roller coaster of the next weeks brought me to my knees more than once. It brought our families to their knees. It brought our communities to their knees. We were loved on by people we didn't even know. We were surrounded by angels and armies unseen, to be sure. Complications. That's what it could be called. Complications from surgery. A massive pulmonary embolism straddling both arteries at the heart. The heart. His heart. The centre of his life. A blood clot blocking the flow of life giving blood and oxygen to his heart, to his life. To our life. To my life. To life.
A life that would never be the same again. Not because of death, but because of a life that conquered death. A life and a love that overcame death, produced a miracle, and catapulted us into His grace. Not that we are new to His grace. Far from it; we are lavished in it each day. We are washed in it. I've been doing laundry as I write this. I could think of myself as one dirty sock getting washed from the dirt, grime, and stink of everyday use. Getting soaked, tumbled, twisted, turned, churned, spun faster than my brain can take, rinsed and spun again. All to get clean. All to wash the dirt away. Just like the everyday dirt that Grace washes away. What a gift. We might not like it in the midst of the twists and tumbles, but clean is aways good. Grace is always good. Good. "All things work together for the good of those who love God, and who are called according to his purpose" (Rom 8:28). That is what we are promised. And it is good.
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| Arriving at Disney World, July 2013 |
"For that day, and every day since, I'm thankful he said 'Yes'."
Me too, my love. Me too.
