Okay, for those who actually read this blog, you may find this post incredibly morbid. Sorry.
Since my little brother’s cancer diagnosis, I have had to think a lot more about mortality. As a Christian, and someone who believes in a fixed future, it is rather easy to come to grips with my own eventual death. I would like to have children, travel, write, die without a lot of pain; but if is not to be so I can’t do anything about it.
The death of those I love is not so easy to think about.
I want the best for them. I never want my little siblings to suffer pain. I want my parents to live to record ages, and have lots of money. I want them not to have to struggle, or worry, or weep. Even when I know these things may not be for the best, and will most likely not happen, I want them.
And then my little brother: who loves Bob the Builder, who brought his hammer with him to the hospital when he was diagnosed, who didn’t cry- at age three- when they couldn’t find the vein for the IV the first day, who showed off his heart monitors and “lines” like they were the latest fashion, who always wants to paint, who wants me to read to him (Darling, I’ll read till my voice gives out), keeps getting bad evaluations. They don’t say, “We’re gonna beat this,” to him any more.
He’s only four!
He’ll have been diagnosed for one year on Monday, and that is a year we would not have had most of without the treatment. The cancer was a quarter of his body weight when he went in. Oh, I really don’t want to lose him. I really don’t. I rage against this possibility.
We don’t think about death till it stares us in the face, now. In this culture we don’t look death at all. The link below is to a photo essay of gravelly ill people, pictures taken before and after their death.
Here it is. Life and Death.
Oh, my Lord and my God, have mercy, give me the strength to deal