Fight Club

The other day I promised to tell you about my love letters.  I have written and re-written about them at least six times.  The concepts churning in my heart have gone in a dozen directions and nothing seemed complete.  I had the sense that I had yet to take the end-of-quarter exam, although the week had ended.  I actually took notes about Sunday through Saturday and the incredible love that I was shown.  I was surprised by the extraordinary examples and blessed to note the ordinary examples.  

Then came Sunday, again.
  

The morning started out as usual. I have started making it a habit of not only attending church, but going early for a class as well. I am the "baby" of the group, which I love, and the people have proven themselves to be genuine. 

The church I've been attending is seven miles away so I decided to multi-task by calling my dad on the way.  My parents have been on my mind heavily lately, for various reasons, and it had been a few days since I checked in with them.  Mom answered Dad's phone and told me he'd have to call me back.  He had spent the whole night awake, in pain.

The previous week we had been together in Arkansas to support my grandmother as she went through a fairly difficult heart surgery.  When I left, grandma had just been moved out of the ICU and everyone else seemed well.

Days later I called my dad for an update on Grandma's rehab progress. "Little Girl, I can't talk, I hurt too much.  Can I call you back later."  Uhhhhhh, okay.  I called Mom.  She informed me that Dad had suddenly started experiencing pain that he had decided must be kidney stones.  The pain passed quickly and he returned my call.  Days passed.  A few bouts of pain and 1,100 miles later, he was home safe and returned to his normal routine.

This time, on Sunday, Dad didn't call back.  Hours passed, the day uneventfully slipped into evening here as I wrestled with my own internal challenges.  Bedtime came and mom called, effectively signing me up for a club I never requested membership too.

"Collene, your dad's pain never went away this morning like it has the other days.  I took him to the ER in Flagstaff this afternoon.  They're running tests, but they've ruled out kidney stones."

The doctor had suggested to Dad that he may have pulled a muscle in his lower back... Uh, if you've ever met my dad, you know that he doesn't go to the ER with a pulled muscle.  He was insistent.  "I'm 64 years old.  I've pulled muscles, this isn't that.  Try again".  A CT scan and some blood work were ordered.

We should know something in 30 minutes, they say.  Thirty minutes later the nurse arrived, announcing that it would be about 30 minutes before the doctor would have results.  Dad teased her that her time was up already, she needed to give him answers now.  She knelt down next to him and with her face on her folded hands said, "I'm so sorry, you must be in so much pain.  The doctor needs to talk to you, but he needs more time." This was the first indication that his "pulled muscle/kidney stone" wasn't going to be so simple.

The doctor returned, with pictures.  My daddy's bones are full of holes.  His hips are both fractured, his ribs and spine are splintering off into pieces that free float in his abdomen.  This man has been fighting forest fires all year all over this entire nation.  How is this possible?

Sunday night he was admitted to the hospital with bone marrow tests ordered for Monday morning.  The night took forever.  Monday morning came and went, there was some disagreement among the doctors... Finally, after reviewing his tests, a new doctor assigned to his case decided a bone marrow test is too risky.  He believes my dad's spine could shatter, just from the needle.  A lymphatic biopsy is ordered along with additional blood work and more scans.

Monday drags on.

One brother was unreachable, working in Africa.  Another was not directly contactable, a member of the USMC, located in AnUndisclosedDangerousLocation (it's a real place, trust me).  A third had no cell and no power, living in New York with his new pal, Hurricane Sandy.  The rest of us, desperately cling to each other, from every corner of this country, for encouragement and even a few laughs...

Monday night the doctor finally returned.  Even without the biopsy results, it is obvious: My hero, my rock, my adviser, my daddy, Superman himself- has rapidly growing, Stage IV, metastasized, incurable cancer.

I hate this club I've been forced to join.  This morning when I woke up with tears already (still?) streaming out of the corner of my eyes, I realized that I am changed forever.  I thought I knew Grief, but yesterday, Grief started unpacking his boxes to stay.

Yet, already this club has it's comforts.  So, so many of my friends and loved ones are members here.  I no longer watch them from across the fence. They've already started to show me around.  My five days of love letters look puny in comparison to the flood of specific love evidence that has already filled pages of my red tattered journal since Sunday.  Yes, God is still good.  Yes, He loves even me.

Three things were already in place inside my heart before this week and for now, this is all I have:

#1- The recurring words on my lips, as I waited for news on Monday, were actually lyrics to "Don't Stop The Madness", another Tenth Avenue North song:

All I hear is what they're selling me: "If God is love there can't be suffering, have a little faith and prosperity." 

But, oh my God I know there's more than this! If you promised pain, it can't be meaningless. So make me poor if that's the price for freedom...

Do whatever it takes to give me your heart and bring me down to my knees Lord.

#2- I had already been reading in Romans 8... (you might remember this day).  A few verses before those (vs 18) it says this:

 "I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."

#3- I had a conversation, completely unrelated to this situation, on Monday morning... My friend, who embraced Grief years ago, gave me these words of wisdom:

"Shake hands with Sadness, he'll visit often and stay for a short while.  However, when Grief knocks at your door, welcome him and embrace him, for he has moved in to stay."  

Finally, if you don't know my dad, you need to understand this about him:

He has just rallied.  He plans to, in his words, "get the pain under control, start a treatment, talk to a few more specialists, cut some firewood, do a few chores around the house and get back to fighting fires."  I don't doubt that. With is excellent health, physical strength and spiritual and emotional fortitude, he will have longer than most with his diagnosis.  If you pray, please do.  This is likely to be a long race...

 Always a firefighter.

Always his "Little Girl"