Saturday, November 23, 2013

A Month in Virginia…

(or, The Hardest, Loneliest, Sweetest, Best Month Ever)

This post has been floating around in my head for weeks.  Well, ever since I got back from Virginia at the beginning of October.  Today seems like a good day to get it on the books. 

Flash back to Sept 7th.  We had just moved out of our house in Lakewood and back in with my sister.  We were exhausted, kind of bummed to be without our house, and looking forward to a few days at a cabin the following week.  Then we got a phone call.  It was Stacy.

“You guys need to come right now.  I don’t have much longer.” 

When someone with stage 4 cancer calls you and tells you it’s time, you have to go. 
So we did.  Me, Justin and the baby.  Driving across the country.  Again. 

Well, it turns out it wasn't her time.  We arrived in Virginia on Wednesday and she was back home from the hospital on Friday morning.  Confined to her recliner in the den, Stacy needed help with everything.  She could only stand for short periods and could only get around with the help of a walker.  Even then, someone had to walk behind her holding a folding chair in case she became dizzy or short of breath and had to sit down.  Justin's parents both work and it became apparent that Stacy needed someone to be with her, to get her meals, do her laundry, make sure she took her meds every day, and just be there for her.

I didn't want to be that person.  I wanted to go back to Denver with Justin, make some sense out of our messy life, and just go back to normal.
But this little voice kept saying, "Stay... stay... stay..."

  I didn’t want to.  We had just moved, I would miss my husband, and it would mean a lot of work caring for her and a one year old at the same time. 
But I stayed anyway.

And it changed me forever.

When you measure your own relative discomforts and inconveniences against someone who is fighting for their life, your problems just don’t seem important. 

Got a headache?  Stacy has seizures.  Late for work again?  Stacy would love to get back to her normal life of working, getting stuck in traffic, and getting her ass chewed by 8 different bosses for forgetting the cover page on her TPS reports.  Sick of the lines at WalMart?  Stacy can’t get out to shop and dearly misses the simple pleasure of choosing her own groceries and perusing the aisles.  

So if you get up every day and are able to shower by yourself and go to work and get your ass chewed and can stop for groceries on the way home to your family, you’ve got it good.  Stop complaining about stuff.

There just isn’t any way to feel sorry for yourself because you’re tired or missing your husband or are bummed about selling your house when the person next to you is talking about how they don’t want to leave their kids when they die or their face is 10 times its normal size because they are taking a massive dose of steroids every day to prevent seizures or they just hurt all over from the cancer that riddles their body…



You just forget all about yourself.  And sometimes that’s just what you need.

My month with Stacy was raw and hard and real.  And it was so wonderful to be able to spend every day with this beautiful, brave girl who repeatedly stated, despite her pain, confinement and the knowledge that she was soon to leave this world behind,
“It’s all in God’s hands Nancy.”

My month with Stacy put so many things into perspective for me. 
But more than anything, I learned that I am stronger than I thought.  And even though our circumstances are far from perfect, and our future is completely up in the air, we have much to be thankful for.

“It’s all in God’s hands Nancy…”


Stacy isn’t gone.  Not all of her.  I brought a little of her brave and beautiful back with me.
It would be impossible to spend a month with someone like Stacy, who never gave up and hardly ever complained about the hand she'd been dealt, and was so excited to meet her Lord and Savior, and not be changed, at least a little.

  And in that way, she’s still here…