One Year Ago

Last August, as I lay sunning myself on the beach in San Diego, I received a call from my mother, who has never made it a habit to call my husband's cell phone...especially when we're on vacation. I instantly heard the distress in her voice. She had just learned that her 36-year-old "baby boy" had cancer. The sense of dread was real.

The next couple of weeks are a blur in my mind - countless phone calls, new information, speculation about the future.

However, one year ago today, August 15th, is a clear marker on this journey. That was the day when all testing had been completed and Jeffrey was to receive a comprehensive report about the nature and extent of his cancer. Our whole family planned to have dinner together at Mother and Daddy's to hear what was going on. In the wee hours of the morning, his wife, Dawnn, had to rush him to the hospital because he was in severe pain and his breathing was labored.

Later that evening, as each family arrived at my parents' home, Daddy (who had been at the hospital for the better part of the day, and was with Jeffrey as he received the "news"), told us, one by one, that the cancer was already distributed throughout Jeff's entire body...liver, kidney, lungs, breast, back, skeleton, etc. Though the doctors had not yet given an official prognosis, we all knew what it meant...at least ultimately.

Jeffrey has been gone from us for 2 1/2 months now. The nine months between his diagnosis and his death were excruciatingly painful...both for him and for those of us watching him waste away. Jeffrey submitted graciously to his suffering. He didn't complain, he didn't wallow in self-pity, he didn't isolate himself in depression, he didn't become bitter and angry. No. He "cowboy'd up," so to speak, and "took it like a man." He fought hard; he never gave up; he endured every treatment, every side-effect, every pain, and every weakness, with a quiet courage.

His primary concerns were not for himself, but for his wife and his children. He wanted them to be taken care of financially. He wanted his daughter to know her Daddy had loved her. He wanted his boys to become manly men of integrity and grit. And he took the time to make his wishes known.

This is a "new" experience for our family and we find ourselves quietly avoiding that first get-together. Though no one really speaks of it, we all know we dread the reality and finality of his absence, and that being together will bring it front and center again. But it has to be done. Right? Right. It's been talked about, but no one has been brave enough to make it happen yet. It won't be long. We might as well not wait until a major holiday...from what I understand, each one is heavy with the realization that "this is the first _____________(pick your event) without Jeffrey." I suspect that the presence of his children will lighten the atmosphere and keep us from becoming too gloomy. At least I hope so.

This wasn't exactly an uplifting post, was it? But it reflects the place that my heart and emotions are on this day. Thanks for listening.