I remember having this specific thought, almost word for
word, ten years ago this month: This is a sucky situation, and the only way out
is worse. In September of 2009 Dana’s cancer took a hard turn, landing us in
the hospital for a month. We came home to hospice in October which is when I
began embracing the reality of the situation we were in. In late November I
started reading to Dana a chapter-ish a day of the book of Revelation, one of
Dana’s top 10 favorite books of the Bible (or in reality, one of her top 66).
We were both buoyed by the book’s message of hope. But as we approached the end
of the book I had a haunting thought: What’s going to happen when we reach the
end of this book? That last verse has a pretty final sounding “Amen.” On
December 22, 2009 Dana was a little more alert than she had been. We had had
some Christmas carolers from Centerville Christian Fellowship (some of the dearest folks in the world) singing to us from the front yard while standing in the snow. Dana laughed at hearing Pastor Wes singing way off pitch.
Later that evening, given her more engaged state, I decided to read two
chapters out of Revelation, chapters 21 and 22, which included talk of Jesus
wiping away our tears. This struck me in that we (we being me, Mama Sue, and
many wonderful caregivers) had wiped away many of Dana’s tears in the recent
months, partly from emotion, and partly from spontaneous tearing from
medications. Those two chapters took us to the end of the book. The next
morning, on December 23 at 9:10 am, the task of wiping Dana’s tears was officially
taken over by Jesus.
At that moment of passing, I didn’t know how I was going
to get to the next moment. But I did. And then I didn’t know how I’d get to the
next moment, but I did. And soon those moments began to pile on top of each
other. I eventually made it through the first day, then the first night, then
the first week, then the first month, then the first year. And now, here we
are, 10 years later.
There is only one answer for making it to this point: God.
His presence. His grace.
I’d like to mark the 10-year anniversary by doing something
similar to what the psalmist Asaph of Psalm 73 did. After writing of his tumultuous
journey with life and faith, he wrote: But
as for me, it is good to be near God. I have made the Sovereign Lord my refuge;
I will tell of all your deeds. I need to tell of a few of God’s deeds.
In these 10 years, I have, in order of appearance: dug
through the mud of grief, met Jessica, married Jessica, travelled with Jessica,
had Reade, had open-heart valve repair surgery (both in the same week, Reade and heart valve surgery), had
Rachel. Then, Jessica was diagnosed with breast cancer, beat the breast cancer
holistically, beat the breast cancer again with surgery, lost Jessica’s cousin
by a rarer cancer, lost Jessica’s grandfather by 94 years of a great life, and
most recently, lost Jessica’s (and my) dear friend Kristin by an aggressive
colon cancer.
There is an irony to this active decade. During my first
year of widowhood I articulated the thought that I am okay with simply gutting
it out for the next 30 years, 30 years being my remaining actuarial life span;
I’m okay with watching other people experience love, enjoy Christmas, and revel
in other good things. I had experienced those things and was content with simply
being an observer. I had great family love, both my own family and Dana’s
family. While this mindset seemed brave at the time, in retrospect it was
likely a process mechanism to protect myself. Thankfully, God had other plans.
And miraculously, He prepared me for those plans.
In fact, over these past 10 years I think one of the
biggest miracles God has performed, or greatest "deed" to use the words of the
psalmist, is helping me not live protectively, at least not knowingly. I think
our default inclination after loss is to protect our heart to minimize risk. It
is no small accomplishment to say that today as a husband, as a dad, as a
friend, I am all in.
I have full appreciation for the mercy God has shown me through
His consistent reminders of His presence, what we in this journey have called
God Stamps---weirdly coincidental sightings of rainbows and deer and other
confluences like heart clouds that can only be explained by divine direction,
comforting moments letting us know that “God’s stamp is all over this journey, ”
a direct quote from Mama Sue during Dana’s hospice portion of the journey. For
me, however, it took awhile to warm up to the idea of God’s presence being a
comfort. In my most honest moments while in the epicenter of grief I’d find myself
saying “God, your presence is great, but I’d rather have Dana’s.” But His
presence is real, and it’s the biggest money-back guarantee we have from God:
He is with us. In fact, it’s expressed in one of His Son’s most famous
nicknames, Immanuel (which means, God
with us).
A true gift of these God Stamps over these past 10 years has
been experiencing the thinness of the veil between here and There. A big
booster in this gift was the “conversation” I had with Dana when I wondered how
she would comfort me in my pain (If you’d like to take a look at that, see post
here). I’ve tried to live in the reality of this thin veil. This has kept
me in proper perspective as we continue to navigate loss. In fact, in the eight
years that Jessica and I have been married both of our families and some dear
friends have experienced crushing loss. And in these losses, God continues to
mercifully remind all of us of His presence with God stamps, adding to our
stamp collection of rainbows, deer, ladybugs (see our dear friends Chuck and Sue Bost) and a heart cloud. It’s abundantly evident
that these past 10 years are not about me and recovery, but about God and His
presence.
In the most recent loss of our friend Kristin, a good
friend of Jessica’s from graduate school at USC, we’ve added sunflowers to the
God stamp collection. The sunflower was Kristin’s life symbol, and at her
memorial service the church was filled with sunflowers. All of us close to her
since her passing have been experiencing curious sunflower moments. For me it
was in October when bike riding on a trail a few days after Kristin’s passing.
I was thinking about her and her service (I was to be involved) when I passed a
trail walker wearing an In and Out Burger t-shirt…in Ohio! I then thought “It
would be nice to see a sunflower right now.” Within a minute, I passed a garden
I’ve passed dozens of times this summer on my rides, and there, as big and bold
as ever, a huge sunflower…in late fall…in Ohio!
This past December 23, the actual 10-year date of Dana’s
passing, I took a random incoming call at Atrium Medical Center, where I’ve
been working since March as a patient representative (long story for another
post). The caller was a Middletown Journal writer asking for a patient’s
condition. The caller was Rick McCrabb who was the Middletown Journal reporter
who wrote about the rainbow story that happened when Dana and I began the
battle of her recurrent breast cancer in 2006. In the 10 months I’ve worked in the
hospital position and in the dozens of incoming calls I field every day, I had
never taken a call from a reporter for a patient condition update. I shared the
connection with Rick and he was as wowed as I was. Unbeknownst to me, throughout
that day, Jessica had experienced several sunflower moments, similar to the one
I experienced on the bike path in October. We later concluded that Kristin and
Dana must have met for coffee and were letting us know.
On Christmas Day, while we were driving to Preble County
for some family Christmas time, Jessica was texting Kristin’s husband Bob to
check in with him and share about her sunflower sightings on December 23. She
looked up from her phone to gather a thought and her eyes landed on a big ol’
metal sunflower in the middle of a yard. Yes, it was yard art, but we’ll take
it! Later that day at my sister Beck’s house we were sharing about these
sunflower sightings, and the call from the Middletown Journal rainbow writer.
My niece Maggie, an artist who has been posting a sketch a day
for the past year as a personal challenge and who has been oblivious to our
journey with the sunflower, asked if we happened to have seen her Christmas Day
post that day. We hadn’t. She showed it to us. It was a sunflower, potted in
loose dirt in a red Radio Flyer wagon, She explained that sunflowers have
represented light and hope to her. She shared how she equivocated on sketching and
posting an item that is not traditionally associated with Christmas but something
compelled her regarding its appropriateness for Christmas Day. It was a God
Stamp moment. Jessica then posted that story, sharing Maggie’s sketch and her
sunflower sightings. Within a few hours, Kristin’s brother Bryan who lives in
Germany, posted the photo you see below of our “sunflower” in a red Radio Flyer
wagon.
You can’t make this stuff up! I love it when God shows
off and I hope this encourages you as much as it has me. I am witness to the
fact that His presence is real. I am testimony to the fact that His presence
brings hope. I am evidence of the fact that this hope brings lifesaving refuge
and miraculous redemption. Those are just a few of the great deeds of God that
have become the monikers of this past 10 years: His necessary refuge, His merciful presence, His
palpable hope, His exhilarating redemption.
Thank you for your prayers, your support, and so much
else.
Barry
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