**Kleenex Alert** I wanted to share this throwback blog-post from October 2, 2010 as my dad & mom stepped into the ring with cancer...
Three Good Things...
When I saw this video this morning,I cried... and I cried... and I cried. ****tissue alert*****
This has been quite an emotional week for me. Not a day has gone by that I haven't journaled in my mind. But I'm also journaling in my heart. On Tuesday, I sent my dad and mom off to Denver, without me, to step into the starting blocks of dad's long awaited transplant. While I sat there with them at their dining room table, I was flooded with all the emotions again, of the past 10 months. I could see in each of their eyes, the heaviness of their hearts. In each note that I took, detailing my list of things to look after while they're gone, in each phone number that I wrote down "Just in case"... I felt a certain sadness. A certain grieving. A certain... uncertainty about the days and weeks to come.
When I hugged they good-bye for the last time in who-knows-how-long... my arms didn't want to let go. Somehow, just knowing that the next time I see them both, our grasp will be tighter... although our hearts may be weaker... it broke my heart inside.
My dad received a phone call as we were sitting a the table... my dad listened quietly as the caller was complaining about their job and particularly complaining about how bad their day was... my dad gently spoke these words... "How about we trade places? I'll come live in your shoes... and" & then my dad'swords stopped.
My dad received a phone call as we were sitting a the table... my dad listened quietly as the caller was complaining about their job and particularly complaining about how bad their day was... my dad gently spoke these words... "How about we trade places? I'll come live in your shoes... and" & then my dad'swords stopped.
Obviously, the caller on the other end fo the phone wasn't "getting it". Quite possibly, they were being self-centered, scared-to-death, even to the point of insensitive in the midst of the realization that cancer was threatening to shorten my dad's life.
My dad's eyes looked sad, yet peaceful. After a brief period of listening to the caller on the other end ramble and complain, dad said, "I'll tell you what. Here's what I need you to do... from now on, I want you to find 3 Good Things in every day, and every time you call, I want you to tell me 3 Good Things. I need to that from you."
The caller on the other end, must've responded with an, "I just can't."
Dad calmly replied, "Yes you can... I need you to. Just look for the good... for me."
So here i sit, wondering how on earth can I be so joyful, yet so RAGING MAD at the same time towards this person who has NO CLUE how to empathize with a man who is battling cancer, who is about to lay it all on the line and risk his own life, so that he might live and beat this bully called cancer.
On the way home on Tuesday night, I cried... and I cried... and I cried. I hate when I get like that-- feeling as if my dad's going to die and the depths of my heart feel ripped to shreds. But I suppose that it's all a part of the grieving process when one goes through something so traumatic as a transplant of any type. Letting go of all of those tears, felt healing, yet so much uncertaintly lingers in my heart of hearts. Perhaps, this is the first day of My 100 days. When I find myself in the blank space document of 100 Days of Me. Where I pour out my heart, my tears, my frustrations, and my prayers to God.
Monday is Race Day. In two days, they will begin the intense chemo treatments. In two days, my dad will begin to know what it is to rest completely and fully in the Lord. In two days, our world will change. And in the next 100 days that follow... we're expecting a miracle from the Lord.
The caller on the other end, must've responded with an, "I just can't."
Dad calmly replied, "Yes you can... I need you to. Just look for the good... for me."
So here i sit, wondering how on earth can I be so joyful, yet so RAGING MAD at the same time towards this person who has NO CLUE how to empathize with a man who is battling cancer, who is about to lay it all on the line and risk his own life, so that he might live and beat this bully called cancer.
On the way home on Tuesday night, I cried... and I cried... and I cried. I hate when I get like that-- feeling as if my dad's going to die and the depths of my heart feel ripped to shreds. But I suppose that it's all a part of the grieving process when one goes through something so traumatic as a transplant of any type. Letting go of all of those tears, felt healing, yet so much uncertaintly lingers in my heart of hearts. Perhaps, this is the first day of My 100 days. When I find myself in the blank space document of 100 Days of Me. Where I pour out my heart, my tears, my frustrations, and my prayers to God.
Monday is Race Day. In two days, they will begin the intense chemo treatments. In two days, my dad will begin to know what it is to rest completely and fully in the Lord. In two days, our world will change. And in the next 100 days that follow... we're expecting a miracle from the Lord.
I know, that God may choose differently than our selfish requests and yearnings. I know that even if God has a different path for my dad's life... HE WINS!
Love lives here... in my heart. And my love will somehow help me to let go of my grip~of my need to know~ of my desire to figure everything out~ and I know in my heart that LOVE will WIN! Love Lives on Forever~ no matter where we end up. Love prevails, no matter how the "plan" plays out.
Perhaps the next 100 Days are my chance to Testify to Love. *by Avalon
Love lives here... in my heart. And my love will somehow help me to let go of my grip~of my need to know~ of my desire to figure everything out~ and I know in my heart that LOVE will WIN! Love Lives on Forever~ no matter where we end up. Love prevails, no matter how the "plan" plays out.
Perhaps the next 100 Days are my chance to Testify to Love. *by Avalon
With every breath I take,
I will give thanks to God above
For as long as I shall live
I will Testify to Love.
More to come...
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