I’ve been brought to my knees. Countless times over the past year. In fear. Humility. Frustration. Weakness. In sorrow. To pray. Beg. Plead. Implore. Ask for mercy and forgiveness. A bit of kindness. A dose of compassion.
When I can’t stand this any more, I don’t. I go down.
I’ve arrived at this place through brokenness and love. Not just for E. But for our family and friends. All that I hold dear and want to preserve. Ultimately it has been this love that has inspired me to fold. Cave. Crumple. Collapse. Yes, you read that correctly. Inspired. For I will do anything for love. Even that.
Ironically, it is on my knees that I find the relief that I seek so desperately. Here I am free to surrender all. Rest. Find peace. An illusive whisper these days.
It’s a peculiar thing this Cancer journey. My heart breaks for E. For us. And all the other Big C pilgrims who know this road all too well.
I am down on my knees today. Not for E and me this time. I’m here because of a recent story in the news. A tragedy beyond words.
Last Sunday, while participating in The Ride To Conquer Cancer a young boy, barely sixteen, and by all accounts the sweetest, died. A family’s worst nightmare. A mother’s heart shattered. A sunny day gone dark.
A young boy and his family doing something so good for a noble and worthwhile cause. I can relate. Three years ago our oldest daughter embarked on this extraordinary ride, for the same reason. Just like this boy, she was on a sacred mission to do her part, to help the cause. To do something charitable for others she did not know. Altruism at its best. I admired her courage and strength. Her loving and caring heart. Her passionate desire to help. At the time, cancer had not yet crept into our lives. It was something that happened to others. Not us. Not this close. Nor this personal.
Just like this tragedy last Sunday morning, bad things happen. Often to good people. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe it’s not meant to. I can understand this mother’s pain. Profoundly. My heart aches for her, and with her. This is the inconsolable loss. It’s unimaginable. Inconceivable. Incomprehensible.
The very moment I knew I was pregnant, my imagination flooded with all the possibilities. I not only pictured all the good and wonderful things that this child would do and enjoy. A life of dreams fulfilled. Adventures embarked. Accomplishments achieved. But my heart, so loving and tender for this newborn child, also saw the fragility, the tenuous and gossamer nature of humanity. The randomness with which things happened. Both good and bad. This heedless Russian Roulette vulnerability to our earth walk frightened me. We’re all susceptible. No matter what.
Ultimately, all we want as parents is for our children to be safe and to joyously experience the cycle of life as it should be. Say farewell to us. Not the other way around.