04.06.09
Four Years Later, Part II
I honestly hope this isn’t too much emotional overload. I really do.
My thoughts on the four-year marking of Carol’s Homecall provided
an enormous number of comments; both on Facebook, and maybe
especially, in private e-mails. But, shortly after I posted that, what
I’m about to describe happened, and as we were driving to Atlanta
this past weekend, Dawna and I talked about what I’m about to
share with you. She was the one who encouraged me to write this.
As some of you might remember, we took a near-to-home break in
the coach, to a favorite State Park. On the Monday, dear friends
of ours - Greg and Marnie Mascioli, of Timmins, ON, came to visit
us for the afternoon and share an outside cookout at our camp-
site. Marnie had wanted to visit Brookgreen Gardens, a magnificent
place just across the street, so we went.
For the record, Brookgreen Gardens is routinely voted as one of
America’s grandest gardens, or so says Southern Living magazine.
As a local, I’d have to agree. We parked my car, went to the Vis-
itors Center, and boarded a tram to get to a distant area of the
Gardens, and when we picked it up to head on, I was immediately
drawn to three people sitting directly in front of us. I’d estimate
that the parents were around 60, and with them was obviously
their daughter. Only one thing, frankly, made this little family so
striking to me…the Mom was wearing what we came to call a
cancer cap; that too-colorful head wrap that ladies wear when
the ravages of chemo have taken their hair. Hers was various and
brilliant shades of blue, black, and yellow…no doubt the vision of
some designer who tried to bring bright into what’s a pretty dark
journey. During the little tram trip back, I could not keep my eyes
off of those three people. Emotionally, with the subtlety of the
proverbial sledgehammer, it brought me back four and a half years.
The Dad had his arm around his wife, and as he’d look at her, and
rub her back, I saw myself. Their daughter, perhaps in her early
30’s, had her arm linked through her Moms’. She gently rubbed her
Mama’s arm, as she laid her head on her shoulder. I saw Shannon
in her every movement. What we saw that Monday was exactly
what anyone who saw Carol, Shannon, and me saw as well.
Everything in me wanted to talk to those people who I’ll never
know, yet will never forget. I wish I could have told them that
as dehumanizing and dreadful as that journey is, there’s light at
the tunnel’s end. But, humanly at least, I couldn’t. I watched
them walk away without ever meeting them. I can only pray for
them, and I have.
Am I right in this…? Doesn’t it seem that it takes a massive
wake-up call for us to grow closer, to appreciate those who we
love the most? Had that dear man been so attentive to his now-
sick wife during their entire marriage? Had the daughter been as
loving to her Mom as she grew up? Did any of them take each
other for granted, assuming that things would always be fine?
I had to learn that one of God’s greatest gifts to us is two-fold:
while we know our ultimate future as believers, we don’t know
what tomorrow will bring in this life. Can you imagine what life
would be like if we knew that a certain tragedy would visit us
in three months?
But, it might, you know. And, as the old adage states, wise
people live prepared to die, and die as those prepared to live.
Preparation in the face of uncertainty…this is always wise, no
doubt. But it can take a very human turn, in our present reality.
We may never be prepared to face the death of one that we
love the most, and frankly I wish that no one reading this will
ever have to. But, this comes back to its central core, and
that is the uncertainty of life.
And so it was that last Monday, I was vividly reminded of our
terribly dark journey. In the aftermath of Carol’s death, I’ve
been forced to try and come to grips with many things; and
among the hardest have been my regrets. How I wish that I
could turn back the hands of time, and do some things differ-
ently! I’d love to be able to relive certain parts of life, and if
I could, there are many things that I wouldn’t do, and there
are just as many things that I would do. In His graciousness,
God has allowed me a second love, and I so hope that these
are lessons that I’ve learned. As Gloria Gaither wrote: “Yes-
terday’s gone and tomorrow may never come; but we have
this moment, today.”
That couple and their daughter are fortunate in this; if the
cancer takes the wife and mother, at least - like we did -
they’ll have had time to love, care for the carer, make some
old hurts go away, and ultimately, to say goodbye. Yet we
live in a violent world filled with tragedy…each day, thousands
will die suddenly, without such opportunities. We really only
have this moment…this day.
So, since that’s all that we’re guaranteed, may we adopt
the ancient Latin motto “Carpe Diem!” Seize the day! Make
each moment count - for time, and for eternity. Guard the
things that we say to each other, resolve to give our most
loved ones the roses now; an encouraging or loving word,
a smile, a listening ear. Our caring. May we invest in the
emotions and lives of the ones God has entrusted us with.
May it never take a major crisis to force our hands.
We may only have this moment. And this day….
Blessings, friends.
Alan