I've always heard phrases like " it's all about the journey, not the destination." and "take time to smell the roses.", but I've never really put them into practice.
My motto is more like " run at 110% 24/7 or until completely empty and frustrated".
I learned this past summer how to enjoy the journey.
Here's the tale.
In July, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Stage 4, very advanced, and with a very limited prognosis. I still can barely believe it. She spent a week in the hospital with family there every day, completing the diagnosis and starting treatment. There were complications along the way, and one one particularly bad day, I was very much at the end of my ability to process anything more.
I was leaving the hospital for the night. I said my goodbyes, and walked outside, where my love was waiting for me, just to spend a little time with me and to help me decompress a little. We walked around the side of the hospital and onto the beautiful walking trails that go all over the hospital campus. As I started to tell him about the day, one in which we really thought we were losing her, I completely broke down. Faced with the very near reality of losing my mom, I was wracked with guilt and fear, guilt that I hadn't spent enough time with her when I could have, and fear that she would not live to see her grandkids grow up, or to see me get married someday, or even just to have another Christmas with the family.
I lost it. I must have bawled like a baby for 20 minutes. A few people walked by, and though I'm sure it's not unusual to see a woman crying outside a hopsital, I imagine they must have wondered. I was completely wrecked.
As I calmed down a bit and we started to walk back, he gave me what may be the most simple, yet the most profound advice that anyone has given me so far in this journey with a loved one through cancer.
"You don't know how much time she has left. It could be a few months, and it could be years. The thing you need to do now is simply to spend as much time with her as possible. Make your memories. Then no matter what, if she is around a little time or a long while, you have no regrets. And no regrets about time that's already gone by. Make the most of what you have now."
That's a paraphrase of what he said to me, but it's really the soul of it. Smell the roses, in other words. Don't live with the regret of the past. Make a more beautiful future with what you know you have now, which is just today. That's what I have for now.
So that's what I did. I did what I needed to do to make sure I spent time with her, as much as possible. Sometimes that's a quick visit, and some days we spend the whole day together, crafting or shopping or having lunch. It's been so wonderful. To have a mom as your friend when you're an adult is a very precious thing, I can talk to her about anything and she's always there to support me. I hope I've become a little of the same to her.
I'm happy to report that what was a very bleak prognosis in July has now turned into talk of remission. She was never supposed to have gone into remission. The chemo was only intended to buy as much time as possible, to make her as comfortable and as happy as possible for as long as it could.
The last CT scan she had, the doctor had to actively search for any of the tumors that had completely overtaken her liver. He finally found a tiny one and said "oh, THERE it is!"
My mind is still blown over this.
And it's funny, cause when all of this happened, I kinda figured it was the last straw. God had given up on me and on her for good. If you read my blog or you know me, you probably know that I've been having a hard time lately with understanding how it is that God loves us when terrible things like this happen. And in July, I just threw up my hands and thought "I had it right all along. We are alone in this."
And when I got the text from mom in September that her doctor told her she was in the first stages of remission, I cried yet again. I remembered that God has a hand in the lives of men, that He has not left us alone, and I realized that He would go to such great lengths to win back his one silly little wandering child, me.
Did He give my mom cancer? No. But he used what was happening with her to show both her and I that His love is very real and very present.
And that, my friend, is the journey. As we approach another Christmas, one in which my mom will participate, I have a very grateful and overwhelmed heart to welcome the season with.
Appropriate that next week is Thanksgiving.
Appropriate that through heartache, I've learned a bit about joy.
And appropriate that those grandkids get more time with their grandma. And that I get more days, and more memories, with my mom. I intend to make some very good ones.
