The "C" Word

Disclosure: These are the true feelings of my current life situation.  Please, don't judge me, as I promise not to judge you.  What I say may not be used against me, given that I'm listening to heart cripplingly sad music, feeling a bit lonely while the house is so quiet.

When my Grandma died, we didn't know that it was going to happen.  One minute we knew she was sick, but that it was treatable, and the next she was gone.  I was so angry. Hurt beyond belief, and felt that there was this hole that could never be filled.  As time went on, of course, the hurt was no longer always present.  I can smile when I think about her, and know that she truly was the best Grandma I could have ever had in the world.  I'll admit though, that there are times I break down into a full blown sobbing mess, but I've learned to work through it & take my feelings to utilize them for personal growth.

I thought that, maybe if we had known, it would make it easier.  Get to say our goodbyes, hear her voice & soak it in.  Last goodbyes seem so vitally important when the they get ripped away from you.

Now though, I'm not so sure.  Getting more time to say goodbye still means you have to say goodbye.  Don't get me wrong, I'm really thankful that we get to know we can have closure.  It means we get to brace ourselves.  But who are we kidding when we think getting time will make it easier?  Especially since I truly live by the cliche "Live each day like it's your last."  Or my other life's cliche "No Regrets"  Because I remember how it felt to lose my Grandma so quickly.  Not that I had a single regret when she died.  We had a good relationship, and there were things I wish I had said but I know she knew them already.  I was terribly sad that she didn't get to see Hannah after she was born, and it tore my heart to pieces to see Andrew so forlorn when he lost his best friend.  She was such a figure of our lives, such an important piece to the family puzzle, losing her meant losing myself in a way.  After adapting to her being gone I was never who I was before.

Cancer changes everything you thought you knew about death & loss.  There's this horrific feeling of guilt, that knowing what his diagnosis is-knowing cancer will invade every last second of every last day until he succumbs to it's awful grasp-knowing all of this & having so much anger at it's painful grip on him..well what should you feel?  Knowing it's terminal, knowing it will physically & mentally hurt worse than anything he will ever feel again, what can you feel but the dreadful hope that he will go peacefully before it gets to that point?  Cancer is a hateful thing.  It leaves you with thoughts rattling through your head you never thought in a million years you'd have.  To hope for him to be at peace sooner, rather than later. To hope he can be walking into those heavenly gates before he's hurting so badly even the largest dose of medications cannot help.

Of course, there's always faith.  That the cancer will be gone, that a miracle happens in our midst.  But staying optimistic is ultimately more hurtful than being a pessimist.  I've seen the progression of this disease.. The tentacles of it's vileness reaching out.  Giving him side effects that make the current level of cancer seem secondary.  Soon though, I know deep in my heart, that this is his final time here, and whatever hope we're intended to have just can't pull it's own weight when the word "terminal" is used in the same sentence as "worst possible form of brain cancer."


What angers me most is, he was SO healthy.  They say "Oh, he was so full of life" and they may be right, but that saying should actually be coined as my Grandpa's own personal tagline.  He ran circles around us.  Not one, not two, but maybe three or four circles a day around us.  Not just mentally..physically he could probably actually run around us! Yet, there he is, after a lifetime of right choices, being told that he has something so randomly ironic.. Healthy life, worst brain cancer possible.  Go figure.

Of course, I've had to sort through all of these feelings while simultaneously trying to protect him from someone so despicable that she's not even worth more than one sentence in my blog.  (Ok two, because I ramble) To quote my Aunt: "I can't wait for the day when hearing her name means nothing at all"

My kids have been so strong through all of this.  They have so much love in their hearts, and so many good memories.  If there's one thing I hope they know deep down, is that they had one of the most rare types of relationship a person can have.  They have a whole vault full of memories of their Great Grandpa.  Not very many kids get that, and they were so blessed to have such a beautiful relationship with him.  He's given them so much.  And the gifts he give them will continue even when we have to say goodbye.  I don't know if they'll ever truly realize just how much they are who they are because of him.  But I hope they do, because knowing that is what still makes me smile, even now as I write this.

I think what I will take most from all of these reflections is this: As one who will eventually leave my current body & move on:  Live a robust life, and throw yourself into it daily.  You never know what might show up in the least likely of places. You never know who's lives you're going to touch.  And most certain of all, whatever your ultimate life's blueprints are, however it works out, don't wait till the end.  And if you do get a timeline, never just give up because you know it's ending soon.  Fight for every last ounce of life you have.  The people around you do need you, and they're soaking up this time for a reason.  Whether it be years from now, or tomorrow, even when you don't think it,  you're truly needed.

Why?

It's simple....

You.
ARE.
Loved!