Fearfully and Wonderfully Made!

April 8, 2011

Hans turns 75 today. For his birthday I gave him a bumpy ride to the bathroom at 4 AM in the morning, changed his sheets (again) and brought him his coffee. It's funny how a person's world gets smaller and smaller as the disease progresses. 

Last year we were reduced to being homebound with some visitors, more at the beginning. We even set up the pool and swam with the kids, did some barb-b-quing too. Our week days were filled with chemo, radiation, doctor visits, but lots of eating out and trips to Las Cruces. Hans was able to do yard work and light maintenance around the house. 

Then came winter and the second phase of the disease set in. The tumors were not affected at all by the chemo or radiation. They had doubled in size and spread to the brain. The day consisted of a doctor visit, lunch for just the two of us, and sleeping the rest of the day. The house became a mess, repairs neglected and I started taking out the trash. I watched 1001 movies on my bed. Slept  a lot, was alone a lot. Evenings were very hard. He slept on one side of the house, I on another. We didn't have anything to talk about anymore. There was nothing going on in our lives except the disease. 

We had fewer and fewer people come to the house, he was turning inward and shutting down more and more. Even the phone calls went unheeded. All energies went to keeping the vital organs alive. We could not expend one ounce of life on anything outside of the most critical of functions. The big three organs the body fights to keep alive are the lungs, brain and heart. All other functions cease to preserve energy for the survival of these vital ones. Blood pressure drops, dehydration sets in to avoid kidney, bladder and liver function, appetite ceases and anemia sets in as the tumor gets what little nourishment there is. This is a picture also of our vital life in Christ, in the body. We begin shutting down as a ministry, with friends, as a family and then as a couple and today as a body and soul. Only the soul remains alive. 

Then spring came and we entered the third and final stage of the disease. At the beginning of spring, Hans would leave his bedroom for Bill O'Reilly and prayer with the family. Then by late spring, television and prayer quietly disappeared from his life. Early in spring, he wrote on his computer, now he does not open it at all. He can no longer read his Bible or pray with his journal. We still go through the ritual of setting up his clip board, pen, glasses, coffee, but nothing is touched. His prayer journal reflected the inner struggle to communicate with God on paper, a fifty year spiritual discipline. His sentences were written very small, petering out at the end. Then one line in the paragraph was written over each other repeatedly. Nothing could be discerned. By this time, our friendship circles were reduced to only family and  for a few minutes. The bread machine he got for Christmas which had been feverishly used in January and February now remained untouched. Boxes of green tea remain unopened. Where had their owner gone? Raisin, our cat, was smart enough to move out of Hans' life months ago. She is permanently attached to my side, my bed, my presence and scarcely thinks of Hans anymore. 

This week he moves back and forth between the bed  and chair,  but soon he will say goodbye to his chair and not get out of his bed again. There are no more books, movies, CD's, notes, sermons or love letters between us. There are no more theological discussions. Strictly survival. The brain has taken a major strategic move against the enemy. Starve it to death. Unfortunately it will also kill itself in the process. 

All that is left is life unto God or despair. For some of us, the former becomes a greater and greater reality. i will never again take it for granted when someone says to me, "My Father died last year..." I see this process as an unfathomable mystery, a divine gift from God, an opportunity to awaken from our own spiritual deadness. . "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. What is the fruit of death, I ask you? Do the dead praise the Lord in the midst of the deep? No, but for some the dead will praise the Lord in the midst of the congregation...among the saints of glory. it is reunited with others and its Lord without the stain of sin. 

For me, it has been an incredible journey of waking up to the priceless treasures called human beings...images of God on the earth. Precious, gems, lovely, the crown of creation. The fruit of death is gratefulness for life and for the journey of following Christ and for deep abiding humility in the face of such wonders. i see the demise of my husband every hour, and on one hand there is devastating sorrow and on the other the assurance of another reality about to begin for him. 

In the wee hours of the morning, he suddenly says to me, "Please don't cremate me." Shocked, I make a light of his statement, "Of course not! What are you thinking" I pretend offense. He says, "You know why?" No, I respond. "It's not Christian." I think to myself that this is an issue that cannot be resolved. "Do you know why?" He continues, " Because the body is fearfully and wonderfully made. We can't just burn it as if it were worthless." He sees what I do. He is referring to his own sick and deteriorating body, invaded by enemy radicals. He understands that such things were not meant to be. He also has admitted for the first time in a year and a half that he is dying.