Category: Travel

Paradox…

Even though I highlight how hard it was for me to make those trips out to see my sister, Lynette, I would be remiss if I didn’t also say, I wanted to see her too. It’s a funny paradox that I could fight so hard internally to not do something, when it’s also something I truly wanted to do. How is that so? I suppose it’s the complex nature of being human. So, at this point in my story, I made the necessary steps towards another trip to the East Coast. I hopped on a plane to spend one full day at the hospital with my sister. I didn’t plan to see any of the family this time, just Lynette. Just one day with my sister, …in case it was the last chance to see her. One day to say the ‘last things’. One day to create final memories. One… Day…

I put a lot of expectations on that trip. Without having anything concrete to grab hold of, I prepared for the worst. I packed my bags not knowing if I’d see Lynette, being improved or writhing from another nauseatingly painful headache. Would she be awake to talk with or would she be quiet – the quiet that leads to eternal sleep? What was I getting into? What emotions would my heart be confronted with over this fast weekend? Maybe I could just put my best face forward, push aside the biggest ‘what ifs’, and walk boldly into the sterile environment of the hospital. … And that’s what I did. 

I arrived in town late in the evening and had an Uber take me to my hotel room, one that a dear family friend paid for with his reward points. I settled into bed, exhausted and unsure of what to expect. I was in a beautiful comfortable space, but the void of being alone was deeply felt. I sent a few quick texts to my family back home and grabbed a book. Could I read long enough to doze off? Thankfully, it worked. I fell asleep that night and when I woke, I got ready for the big day ahead. When I arrived at the hospital, I called Shaun, my sister’s husband, and found my way to Lynette’s room. 

The Next Right Thing…

My memory becomes fuzzy at this point. Was she awake or asleep when I walked in? Does it matter? The early part of that visit lives in my memory as individual disjointed pieces – Pieces that don’t necessarily fit into any order. Pieces that come in and out of focus and therefore blur the lines of precision. What I remember might not be the exact reflection of what took place, but it’s what’s stayed with me and how it’s become nestled into my life story.

Taking this trip was my ‘next right thing’ (see previous post). Walking into the hospital was the ‘next, next right thing’. Walking into my sister’s room with a deep breath and a resolve to carry on, was the next right thing. A prayer, ‘Lord help me’. I lift up the corners of my mouth into a smile and walked forward. I entered the room and greeted Shaun with a smile. I made it. I did it! I was here with my sister. I think the room was dark when I arrived. She was still sleeping, about ready to wake up. I chatted with Shaun about how she was doing and how my trip was. As she stirred, Shaun went to her side to say ‘Good morning’. He was always sweetly attentive to Lynette. She groggily greeted him while I tried to busy myself with looking somewhere else. I didn’t want to intrude in what felt like an intimate moment. Yet, I was there… in the room. I couldn’t help but be a witness to the relationship built over years of marriage – good, easy times and working through difficulties together. This is intimacy that time and commitment builds. This is intimacy that looks at the other and sees her as a person in need of help and him as a person who can help. There is trust in this interchange, deep trust.

As she got herself more awake, we said ‘hello’ to each other. Shaun ran downstairs to get her a coffee treat from the food court and she prepared for breakfast. It was good to see her eat. Isn’t that funny to say? Yet another thought we don’t expect to think. It was good to see my sister eat. Having an appetite was a good sign of how she was feeling. Yet, I could see how the weeks in the hospital and this illness had taken a toll on her, mentally and bodily. She was slower to move, slower at speech. Her left side still wasn’t ‘working’ and she was sleepy. Another memory of my sister that I’d rather not have. Another data point of the weakness that comes when a body and mind are fighting for health and survival. 

Lynette’s will to remain alive was strong. For a person who seldom seemed to follow after the latest medical advice, she knew with this disease, she must seek every option available – medical and natural. The day I traveled out to see her was the same day she had her first chemo and radiation. She was deemed stable enough to start treatments. I wasn’t expecting this at all! I still wasn’t sure how this would affect her health and our visit, but there was a glimmer of hope. 

After breakfast Lynette slept for a good part of the morning. She ended up feeling really nauseous and since that had meant pressure on her brain in the weeks earlier, I was bracing myself for the worst. Would she be in this pain that doesn’t end all day? All day on the one day that I’m here to see her? Would this be the memory I take away with me? Luckily, it wasn’t. 

Actually, I had forgotten this part until I reread the Facebook Prayer Posts that her husband faithfully made daily during this time. So, when my mind was jogged about the nausea, the memory came back. The worry and fear is tangible again as I write this out. I was scared. I just didn’t want to see my sister in such pain. It’s hard to see someone you love be in pain, especially when there’s no way to soothe that hurt. It’s something you can endure when you know there’s an end to it, like when my kid has a headache and I know 30 minutes after taking some pain medicine he or she is likely to feel mostly normal again. But this intense pain was one that seemingly had no end. This pain was one that in the past meant surgery again and again. I’m no medical professional. I’m only a sister hoping to see my sister hold on long enough to beat back this disease, this cancer.  I am a bystander. I can observe, I can do my best to comfort, but I couldn’t take it away from her. I could only pray and trust that her nurses and doctors could give her something that would make her feel better. 

Thankfully, she did get relief from the nausea and it became clear that it was more likely to have been due to her first chemo and radiation treatments from the day before rather than from tumor growth and pressure. Phew! What a relief. But, unfortunately for her, she was also going to have to have a lot more chemo and radiation in her future. The nausea subsided and Lynette fell asleep. I spent a good portion of the day in a dimly lit hospital room quietly talking with Shaun while Lynette slept. She slept most of the morning and afternoon. Then she was taken away for her second radiation treatment. When she returned she slept some more.

At this point, I was feeling impatient and jealous of the sleep. I wanted time with my sister, conscious time. I wanted to talk to her, laugh with her, and cry with her. I wanted to connect with my big sister and all I ended up doing was watching her sleep. This wasn’t fun. It didn’t feel meaningful. I was bored and anxious – anxious for the dwindling hours I had left to visit with her. Unless I spent the night, I had to leave when visiting hours ended. I wanted more time! Internally I was struggling with feelings of being deprived of the hours with my sister. Doubts about whether I was wasting my time and all the things that went into this trip assailed me. What was I doing? What was the purpose of all this? If I could’ve thrown a mini tantrum, I just might have. 

Birch-Tree-Pillars…

This was not turning out to be the trip I wanted it to be. I was tired, uncomfortable, and still felt scared deep inside. What was I scared of? Well, losing my sister. Losing that person who’s known me all my life. Losing all the shared memories and random conversations. Losing that person who tells me things like it is without apology. Losing a person who’s a strong pillar in my life. She was an anchor for me at times and at other times a rudder. Yes, that might seem extreme, and I don’t mean she was ALWAYS those things, but she certainly was a person who helped guide me from time to time. She pointed me to Jesus and logical sense. I miss that aspect of our relationship. The metaphorical “pillar” she left behind is embedded in me now and it won’t be going anywhere, but it also won’t be growing and changing anymore. There are other internal “pillars” growing up and shifting around the “Lynette pillar”. But hers is now stationary and set. It’s not living and active anymore. That’s a hard truth to accept and also hard to express. 

If I close my eyes, it’s like I can see a mental picture of a forest of pillars, meaningful pillars for my life. They look like the brown-spotted, white trunks of birch trees – tall, slim, strong, beautiful, close together. But her ‘birch-tree-pillar’ has turned to gray stone. It’s now a bit more of a monument. The other ‘pillars’ in my life are still growing. They still remain rooted when the wind blows, but they bend and shift as the seasons dictate. There is room for flexibility in my growing forest of birch-tree-pillars, but not hers. 

This makes me ask, what are pillars in my life? What makes something stick internally? Are these metaphorical pillars always people? Can they be maxims that I live my life by? Are they experiences? Do I see Jesus as a pillar or is he something else? Something grander, something stronger, something more stable and more true? So, I close my eyes and see that forest of birch-tree-pillars. I search for a tree that’s thicker or taller than the others, as I assume a Jesus-pillar would be. I can’t see one. I look for an object, maybe something made of stone that’s pillar-like and big, strong, imposing… I don’t see one. I feel ashamed. Where is my Jesus-pillar in this forest? I know He’s as important as my sister, as the church I grew up in, as my family, and all the things I’ve learned and held onto in my life. Indeed, he’s more important. So, where is the pillar of Jesus? Why can’t I find it?

In a quiet panic, I drill my mind to think about what defines pillars. Maybe there’s something I’m missing. I ask AI to tell me about  pillars in the Bible. I know there must be an answer, but I can’t seem to find it. Everything comes up dry. I take a break. I re-engage. Nothing… Isn’t Jesus a pillar? A support? A person who is reliable and central in my life? Yes, He is! So, where is my Jesus-pillar in this mental picture? Wait…maybe He isn’t a pillar. Maybe He is something else. What is it that the Bible calls him? What does the Scripture say about him in architectural terms? I pray, “God, what is Jesus in these terms?” Then it comes to me. “Cornerstone.” Mark 12:10 says, “‘The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.”.Jesus is called the cornerstone. 

Jesus, My Foundation and Cornerstone…

A peace settles over me. Wow, I couldn’t find Jesus in my forest of birch-tree-pillars because He isn’t one.  That’s okay and actually right! He isn’t a pillar. He is THE CORNERSTONE. This fear that I somehow was being told by my mental picture that Jesus wasn’t central since He wasn’t in my pillar-forest, was actually pointing exactly to His proper place. Jesus isn’t just a pillar added to support me. He is the cornerstone, the Foundation. He is the first stone set to orient and anchor the entire structure of my life (paraphrase of a definition from AI of what a cornerstone is). In this same AI overview it said, “While both [pillars and cornerstones] symbolize strength, the cornerstone defines the starting point, whereas pillars provide ongoing structural support.”

That’s it! Yes! Jesus is my starting point. He is my foundation. He is what points me in the direction I should go. John 1:1-4 in the Bible says, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.” Of course, this is it. God is good to remind me of these things. The things that I know deep down, but that fly out of my mind when other things try to crowd in. I thought I was looking for Jesus as a pillar, but I needed to look back to the beginning. He is the one who began all that I know and it’s on His safe, secure, and firm foundation that I build my life. The pillars in my life support this and that’s also why they are so meaningful. They continue to point me towards Jesus and the life He asks me to live. Because of Him I can do all things – even take a deep breath and with a resolve to carry on, do the next right thing… walk into that hospital room and wholeheartedly LOVE my sister in any state I would find her in.

Lynette has been a pillar in my life, but Jesus is my foundation and cornerstone.

(To be continued in a future blog post)…

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