Cancer

It's everywhere we turn, the news, the journals, the documentaries, the statistics, the diagnosis in new souls in our circles every single day, the treatments, the side effects, and all of us, directly impacted or not, know that the definition means something different to each of us. Perhaps it is the recent media coverage of Elizabeth Edwards or Farrah Fawcett that brings it home even more. Perhaps it is the fact that lung cancer is the leading cause of death over most all other cancers combined. Maybe it is the fact that our family was represented by Aunt Kathy at the Lung Cancer Advocacy Seminar, selected after submitting an essay about our story, her story, as it relates to Allison's diagnosis. Maybe it is the fact that CJ seems to be nearing the end of his earthly journey (please God for a miracle that we know you can perform), a vibrant, young life, perhaps taken all too soon by this dreaded disease. Maybe it is the fact that another loved one in our family, my sister's husband, faces new challenges in his fight with multiple myeloma. Maybe all of this, and much more, combined, is taking its toll on a family who really hasn't had time to take much of a breath in the 28 months since Allison left us. And by family, I don't mean the three of us, I mean ALL of us, the friends, loved ones, widening circle of amazing people who have now entered our lives, those who were with us before, and those we have met, since. Indeed, we opened ourselves up by first the caringbridge site, now this blog, and Michael's family website. Some have criticized Elizabeth Edwards and some, Farrah Fawcett, and many others who choose to share the journey in a way that is fitting for them. And some have asked me, us, how we can share some of the story, since it is so private and all. I don't ask myself why or how to take these steps, I just follow the spirit within and do what is right at the time, still knowing, that so much of Allison's cancer journey is still untold, that on most days I prefer to remember the beautiful part of it, the glowing young woman who held strong and believed she would "beat" this thing. I prefer to spend my energies knowing that the pain and fatigue and suffering of cancer are a thing of the past, heaven is the glorious reward for a young woman who knew Jesus and accepted Him as her personal saviour. In doing so, though, that means putting out the bad and the ugly part of her experiences, and that's okay. I almost hear her whisper, "there is no need to dwell on that, look at me now".

But try as I might, I cannot control certain images and reminders as my own brother-in-law battles away at what was to be a simple course of treatment. All the things that are happening of late were not "supposed" to happen, the course was set and things were targeted...life was going to be beautiful. And it is, but the fact is that somedays the fight is harder than others. Even still, with him in the hospital now, for observation and regulation, many things that are happening are completely foreign to him, and to those who have not had to endure any part of this experience. We feel helpless in this cancer journey, we want to do something, make it go away, ease the pain and effects of the drugs that must be used to kill this demon.

Cancer is ugly but it does not strip us of life, hope, laughter, joy, or courage. In fact, it turns us into people we would hardly have recognized, physically, of course, but more importantly, soulfully and spiritually. There are times we want to scream and curse at it, and that is okay, and there are times we want to say, thank you, cancer, you made me into a different and better human being, and you brought God closer within.

There is much more to be said but I must close now, not for fear I am headed to a soapbox, but because, I really cannot make sense of this week's emotions, I ache to be by my sister and brother-in-law's side, and I will be soon, and I am pained by their journey, but I know it is theirs, ours, and we will triumph. I don't know why or how I started writing about this thing called cancer today, other than there has been much to think about, again, firsthand, as our family holds Michael and all others close at heart. I do know that as I tried to even write words that could convey what is on my heart today, just now, before I could finish, CJ's journey here on earth DID end, and his new one begins. An e-mail popped up from his caringbridge site, simply stated from CJ's father, "God's finger touched him and he slept". Christopher Jonathan Gabriel Aubuchon was 19 years of age and leaves a legacy that cannot be put into words. Rest, CJ, rest, you precious young man. You are now cancer free and you are ready to soar.