I can't sleep. I'm so tired after a long day of working in the yard, but sleep just will not come. Instead, I'm having a series of panic attacks. Tonight my friend and coworker is slipping away. I hate cancer. I know I overuse the word hate, but as ugly as hate is, cancer is uglier.
I have prayed for her, and will continue to pray. But, as I pray, I can almost audibly hear God say, "No, not healing. Just ask for peace and comfort for Suzy. I will comfort her."
I have seen too many lives lost to cancer. It doesn't just take a life. It drags it out slowly like some medieval torture machine. When it's over, the victims family and loved ones have the look of battle worn soldiers. You almost expect them to walk in on crutches, bandaged from head to toe. But there are no bandages that can hold a breaking heart, no crutches to prop up a weary soul.
The first cancer victim I knew well, was a much loved Sunday school teacher. My friend Ivy and I would go to her house on Saturdays where we would bang on her piano, swing on her porch swing and flirt with her nerdy son. She had a beautiful yard filled with flowers and she made us cookies and ice tea. When she died, her husband closed up the house and let all the flowers die. We never saw that family again.
My Aunt Eloise was a quiet lady who loved children. I know I must have been an irritating and obnoxious child, but she laughed at all my jokes. When she died, I remember sleeping on the floor at my Aunt Fay's house, listening to Eloise's husband, my Uncle Odis, sobbing loudly, in the next room. He was my daddy's brother, and a 6 foot 5, WW2 hero, wounded in battle and left for dead. Now, cancer had taken his wife. Years later, it would take his life, as well as his daughter's.
Family, high school friends, the list goes on forever. All we can do is pray and try to prop up all those affected. And maybe try to get a little sleep.
I have prayed for her, and will continue to pray. But, as I pray, I can almost audibly hear God say, "No, not healing. Just ask for peace and comfort for Suzy. I will comfort her."
I have seen too many lives lost to cancer. It doesn't just take a life. It drags it out slowly like some medieval torture machine. When it's over, the victims family and loved ones have the look of battle worn soldiers. You almost expect them to walk in on crutches, bandaged from head to toe. But there are no bandages that can hold a breaking heart, no crutches to prop up a weary soul.
The first cancer victim I knew well, was a much loved Sunday school teacher. My friend Ivy and I would go to her house on Saturdays where we would bang on her piano, swing on her porch swing and flirt with her nerdy son. She had a beautiful yard filled with flowers and she made us cookies and ice tea. When she died, her husband closed up the house and let all the flowers die. We never saw that family again.
My Aunt Eloise was a quiet lady who loved children. I know I must have been an irritating and obnoxious child, but she laughed at all my jokes. When she died, I remember sleeping on the floor at my Aunt Fay's house, listening to Eloise's husband, my Uncle Odis, sobbing loudly, in the next room. He was my daddy's brother, and a 6 foot 5, WW2 hero, wounded in battle and left for dead. Now, cancer had taken his wife. Years later, it would take his life, as well as his daughter's.
Family, high school friends, the list goes on forever. All we can do is pray and try to prop up all those affected. And maybe try to get a little sleep.
