But there was also the uncertainty. How do you even begin to prepare for such an unimaginable loss? You see it coming as you’re standing on the tracks, a freight train bearing down. But you’re frozen in place, mesmerized by the light.

And you know this rather large thing is going to hit you. And you know it’s going to hurt. Significantly. But you can do nothing to move off the tracks. Or to change the trajectory of the train.

How do you keep hope alive and yet balance it with realism? I remember thinking ahead to Christmas plans that fall. Sun River, a mountain resort village just twelve miles from our hometown and medical care, was an option since we couldn’t be with our kids. “Wouldn’t it be fun to go to SunRiver for Christmas this year?” I said to my husband.

He didn’t make it to Thanksgiving.

Derek Thompson wrote a piece titled “The Secret Life of Grief” that helped me understand what I was experiencing:

“Having time to watch a loved one die is a gift that takes more than it gives.”
Thompson went on to explain what he meant:

“To suffer a loved one’s long death is not to experience a single traumatic blow, but to suffer a thousand little deaths, tiny pinpricks, each a shot of grief you hope will inoculate against the real thing.”

It’s called anticipatory grief. And, oh, how it helped me to be able to name my mess—to know that the uncertainty, the approaching freight train, the mesmerizing light are common among people watching a spouse, child, or parent fade a little more with each passing day.

I got to exchange one hard traumatic blow for those thousand tiny pinpricks of pain as I slowly leaned into the inevitable, as I surrendered what I couldn’t control to God and allowed Him to envelop me in His peace.

This thought from Nanea Hoffman:

“Sometimes grief is a friend you wish you didn’t know but that you have to spend time with because love brought them along to the party. And the party was worth it.”

The party was absolutely worth it.

For those who still have our most prized, irreplaceable loved ones with us, how might we best spend the time with them … while there is still time?

Marlys Johnson is a cancer widow, author, speaker & blogger. We first met her through her work coordinating St. Charles Medical Center’s Survivorship Program and her beloved husband, Gary – a CHN Support Volunteer for many years. Her passion for helping others navigate life’s challenges inspires us every day and we are delighted to share her insights.

To read more of Marlys’ work – and discover her love of all things outdoors – visit her blog Renew | Repurpose.

The post The pain before the pain appeared first on Cancer Hope Network.

the truth is
we do move on
after pain
we take the breath
that must be taken
we open
our hearts
our eyes
to the
new pure day

The post truth. appeared first on Cancer Hope Network.

Both loved to travel and they began accepting assignments around the world. Two daughters (one born in India and the next in Thailand) soon joined the globe-trotting family.

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“We’d lived in seven different countries before Vera was diagnosed,” Rodney recalls. “With friends and family spread across Africa, Asia, Singapore and the US, we found it helpful and rewarding to share her experience online and via social media. We got a lot positive feedback and it was very uplifting.”

Like many lung cancer patients, Vera’s symptoms were easily missed. A healthy non-smoker, when she first went to her doctor, he diagnosed allergies and suggested an over the counter remedy. Sadly, her late diagnosis meant that the cancer had metastasized to her brain.

“We were fortunate to live in Houston at the time. They have one of the best cancer hospitals in the world and we were able to go into several clinical trials and a course of immunotherapy. The expert care and wonderful support system around us allowed Vera to live the last three years of her life to the fullest.”

Accepting help

“Nothing prepares you for these kinds of situations. You think you are strong and you can do it for yourself. But you need a lot of help. Use the support around you.” Rodney encourages caregivers to cut themselves a little slack. “There’s no dress rehearsal. You will make mistakes. You have to learn very quickly from those and move forward.”

“We were very blessed to have wonderful hospitals and doctors and friends. But cancer is very complicated. It’s not the same for everyone and people struggle with what to do. And if it’s very aggressive, you have even less time to figure out what’s going on.”

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Giving help

He sees it as his mission to provide the practical information that caregivers need. “I can tell them things that even a doctor won’t tell them. I can tell them that I went through this with my wife and I truly understand what they’re going through.”

He knows the ups and downs of life as a caregiver all too well. “Just do the best you can. Trust your judgement and move forward. Don’t regret what you have done or not done. You did the best you could in the situation.”

For Rodney, the grieving process began when Vera was diagnosed – and intensified after she passed. “My style of grieving was that I was caring for her when she was sick. We had a pact that we would stay strong no matter what. We did that as best as we could. But after she passed away, a lot of things changed. Talking does not prepare you.”

Rodney recently remarried – a decision he knew Vera would approve. “We never had the ‘moving on’ conversation. We didn’t feel the need to discuss it and kept our focus on the present. I know that if I’d asked her, she’d have told me ‘You need companionship. Go and find the girl you will love and cherish for the rest of your life.’” That worked for them – but he recognizes different approaches work for different couples. “I have a friend whose wife was giving him a to-do list of instructions about what to do when she was gone – and others saying that their spouse should grieve for a certain period of time. Each couple has to find what works for them.”

Learn more about volunteering as a cancer caregiver mentor.

Rodney sees his work as a volunteer as a continuation of the love he and Vera shared.
“Vera would want me to do this. I know deep in my heart that she would want me to be a volunteer because she would do it herself. It’s also part of my healing. Volunteering is an opportunity to honor her memory – to talk about her and tell people how brave and wonderful she was.”

The post A different kind of love story appeared first on Cancer Hope Network.