Beauty in the Brokenness

Mark took Josh to chemo one day, and they followed it up with a trip to the gym. Mark commented on how strong “chemo boy” was. Josh was still pushing himself to keep strong, and he was able to lift a significant amount of weight. I think that psychologically it helped him feel better and offset some of the less-than-pleasant side effects of the treatment. One evening that week, Mark took charge of the kids so Brenda and I could go out for a girls’ dinner. I would finally be able to voice my concerns with another woman who’d already experienced and gotten through her husband’s cancer diagnosis. I sat at the small table in one of my favorite restaurants, with delicious hard ciders and gourmet food spread out before me. I looked openly at Brenda and felt the emotions I’d kept locked in my heart start to break through. I began to feel the depth of my pain. I was grieving that my husband’s body was no longer healthy—it had been invaded, and our future was uncertain. But, still I wasn’t able to discuss any possibility that Josh might not survive this. I loved this man. He was a part of me. To even consider that he might not pull through this was unthinkable. I was, however, very willing to express my feelings of being overwhelmed. The ability to communicate my grief was a true gift. I was grateful for the bond that Brenda and I now shared. No one wants to be a member of the cancer club, but it was comforting to have an informed friend who was willing to listen to me. Brenda gave me the compassion and opportunity to let the tears flow. As I spoke, could tell from the expression on Brenda’s face that she had considered the “what if Josh dies” scenario. She had dealt with those “what ifs” years before. I saw the worry in her eyes, and I knew she was wondering how I would manage our future without Josh. Still, I wouldn’t go there—not with her, not with anyone. I was determined to remain positive. I focused on what needed to be done and carried on as if Josh would pull through. We would go on with our lives as if nothing changed. That was my focus, that was my mantra, that was all I could think about. Avoid considering any other outcome and push forward. Never mind that my husband had a deadly type of cancer that almost no one had survived. Never mind that his body was getting weaker with this round of chemo. Never mind that he could actually die, and I could be a widow. Never mind that this wonderful man could physically leave this Earth, and my children might be fatherless. Never mind that I might go to bed alone and wake up alone. Never mind that I might never kiss this man, or go on dates, or laugh, or get mad, or make love to him again.