On this Monday, as you rise and begin the day, Chase will be unconscious in an MRI tube – his first full scan in one whole year. This is the longest he has ever gone without anyone peeking inside his brain since before his diagnosis.
It is a good day because we look forward to greeting hospital staff friends, the special post-scan Starbuck’s hot chocolate, the promise of good results, and (dare I say it?) an extra day off school.
But it’s also a scary day because even though it feels like we do it all the time, he and I still tear up when unconsciousness separates us. It’s a very long day by the time full brain and spine are scanned, sedation recovery is achieved, and he meets with his neurosurgeon. There will be the missing of family and school friends as everyone goes back but him, and then there is the shadow of the “What If…” as always. Do you weary of hearing about it as much as I tire of acknowledging and fighting it? What if the MRI results aren’t great? I have no reason to think they won’t be good, for the brain usually has “tells” that exhibit in things like speech and muscles, but still, this is the nature of the “What If…” – the fear doesn’t have to make sense. This is the terrorism of worry.
This weekend, even as we’re still in family vacation mode, Chase grows increasingly more pensive and I know he feels the upcoming day. I know Bob and I do too.
As I pray, and foolishly attempt to prepare for the things I can do nothing about, I find that there are two very distinct paths my mind travels again and again. On the one hand, there is the very distinct memory of those who have gone before. Darling Mia who still tears at our heart with the missing of her. Wonderful Margie who fought for Chase’s book, fought cancer twice herself and will be laid to rest even as Chase rests in the MRI.*
Those who have gone before and those who fight on are always close when you step up to the battle lines. This is just how life works.
And then, on the other hand, there is the very clear picture from the end of the bible, the book of Revelation where there is the completion of all life and all things and all our hopelessness is wiped away in triumph and the eminent worthiness of God himself.
So, here it is: We wait in moment by moment grace on the edge of life and change once again, and we hold dear to those we have and do love even as we are held close to the One who loves us – and in that, we find peace and the ability to keep breathing.
“Whatever my God ordains is right…” Stephen Altrogge
Loss, love, and peace… moment by moment.
“Then I began to weep bitterly because no one was found worthy to open the scroll and read it. But one of the twenty-four elders said to me, “Stop weeping! Look, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the heir to David’s throne, has won the victory.” Revelation 5:4-5a
*In loving memory of Margie Watterson, my beautiful, amazing Tyndale House publicist who fought above and beyond to put Chase Away Cancer in front of as many people as possible. Cancer might rob the breath of earth, but will never erase the joy and bravery of a life well lived.
I love reading your updates. We continue to pray for Chase and your family.
Beautiful thoughts here, Ellie… I am reminded that though worry descends and feels oppressive, I can step back (at times, when I’m aware enough to do so) and speak to it, as much as to myself: “I can choose to give you (worry, that is) up, to push your weight onto the shoulders of Him Who bears the weight of glory, as well as the weight of sorrows we live in and through.”