Nine Years

I started to write this blog post two days ago, on September 29. Pretty soon it will become clear why I chose not to.

I'm one of those people who remembers where they were on significant days...I even remember what I was wearing and maybe what we had for dinner. Recently most of us recalled where we were and what we were doing on September 11, 2001. Others have vivid memories of natural disasters like earthquakes, tsunamis or fires. Some recall all too clearly the loss of a loved one. I have recollections of days not nearly as impactful as that.

Nine years ago, on September 29, 2002, we had just enjoyed a great lunch with our whole growing up family. I had a Caesar Salad with Grilled chicken and our waiter's name was Rex. I might even have bribed our college boys with such an outing if they came and heard their Daddy preach a really awesome sermon. I may or may not have done that before the date in question and even since. This day's particular sermon would turn out to be very apropos, we just didn't know how much. The sermon compared discipleship with military service, two areas of life in which my husband has accumulated quite a bit of experience. He made observations that often such service and commitment can be frightening and contain assignments we may find daunting. Nevertheless, we should press on, trusting God for the grace and strength to carry out each "mission."

After our great lunch we settled in for a rare Sunday afternoon nap and were soon interrupted by a call from oldest boy. He was in pain, probably a sports injury or the result of some stunt. Turned out he had been for several weeks, he just wouldn't come home from college to see the doctor. We told him to meet us at the nearby ER since we had good insurance and an X-ray should uncover the problem and get him back to school shortly. No need to wait for Monday and miss classes. We jumped in the car and expected to be home quickly. Since the boy in question was now a man, Dad went back to the exam area with him this time. Imagine my surprise when midnight came and went and I sat alone in the cold ER waiting room. I was reading with shock a Newsweek article about an uninsured college student diagnosed with cancer. I remember remarking to myself how glad I was we had good insurance on our college boys. I also remember noting that the nail polish on my left big toe was chipped, that my shorts were a bit too short for a woman in her early forties and that the hem was trying to come out of my navy blue T-shirt. It was then that the big doors opened and a doctor and my sweet hubby beckoned me to join them. I choked down worry....I entered the exam room to find college boy clearly enjoying some pain meds and a video game while standing in his sock feet wearing a hospital gown. Then I heard that ugly, ugly word, Lymphoma. The earth trembled, the walls closed in and suddenly I couldn't hear anything. I tried hard not to cry or be sick. I didn't want to frighten Nintendo boy. The next couple of weeks were a blur filled with many, many doctor's appointments, surgical procedures and treatment plans. The journey, the "mission" lasted a long seven months of chemotherapy, radiation and several hospital trips and now that wonderful boy is a great man, healthy and serving faithfully in Hospital Administration. It was very hard. We were sustained throughout by other "soldiers" and our able Commander and we are all different, in great ways, for having participated. Sadly, every September 29 for the years since that fateful day, I have felt those tremors, aftershocks if you will, recalling the sights, sounds, smells, and my chipped nail polish and too short shorts! Some years it was harder than others. Sometimes hubby would mark the day with a card, flowers or some time alone to reflect. A faithful friend who was there all the way would sometimes call or send an e-mail. There have been a couple of scares along the way, fearing cancer had returned. This year, however, the day came and went without any fanfare. No one reminded me and I decided not to mark it either. I just noted when I wrote in the date on a check, smiled and moved on. I don't know why really. Maybe time actually does heal or maybe there are just so many other big things going on now. Whatever the reasons, I am glad. The aftershocks have diminished, and tears flow only when I recall the event in detail such as this. God was a faithful friend then and continues to be now and that's really the best part of the story. Guess I'll soldier on. The missions await.