Sunday, March 15, 2009

Sunday Reflection

A good friend of mine, who has two beautiful young children, lost a spouse to cancer a few years ago. I see this friend, who is doing a wonderful job raising the young ones, a fair amount. I admire what this person has done and continues to do - picking up the pieces, pushing forward and being strong, and instilling good values in the next generation.

Sometimes, I see myself in my friend's shoes. What if I didn't have Dori? What would I do? How would I fare? Would I be that strong? Other times when I see my friend, I feel a tinge of guilt. Why is Dori still here, and why did my friend have to lose a spouse?

The only answers I have are rooted in my faith. God knows better than I. He won't give anything I or anyone else can't handle. Life is short. Life is a test. Life achievements are great, but pale in comparison to what comes next.

Sorting out this survivorship conundrum rationally isn't easy. Some might say it's foolhardy. Welcome to my little world of cancer survivorship and death.

Most, if not all, of Dori's leukemia fears have subsided. She's worrying about other things now. Her hair, she said today, looks almost like it isn't "cancer hair anymore." I'm with her. I don't think about dying as much as I did. We've moved on in many ways, but we stay connected to Dori's cancer fight in others. We read blood cancer blogs and the LLS e-mail updates; we fund-raise during the year; and we reflect on our good fortune in conversation.

I thought about some of this in church this morning and some on yesterday's jog. Had I not been sick recently, I would have run the Tom King Half Marathon yesterday morning in a downpour. Instead, Dori and I reflected on where we were last year - some good and some unsettling.

So I ran six brisk miles yesterday afternoon in a soothing mist and light fog. Hills are looking flatter again, and my speed is returning. I logged 21 miles last week, on top of about 14 the week prior. Seattle is back in my sights.

1 comment:

PJ said...

Nice reflection, Jim.

My cancer hair's just about gone, too.