Ready?

Thank God I went to see Teri Reisser again. There's a lot to be said for saying something out loud, especially when there's an empathetic listener.

I finally admitted out loud that I didn't want to heal from the emotional scars of Grace's cancer. I wanted to be able to hate every bit of her cancer and show it no mercy by keeping myself under the crushing weight of hatred and pain. I thought I was appropriately punishing it. And somehow, appropriately punishing myself for the deep-rooted belief that somehow, maybe, I did something wrong.

But I'm stuck. And I'm tired of being stuck. every time I start to thaw and every time I start to feel near to God, that hatred and anger for her cancer hits me like a bus and sends me crashing back to the moment when Grace was diagnosed for the second time. It's always there. Because at that moment I felt totally abandoned by God. That is the moment that holds all of the pain.

If I look at the photo of Luke smiling on "bug day" from preschool, my heart aches because it was one of the few events I was able to attend. I am heartbroken looking at it, since he was smiling so big because I was finally, actually there for him. And at the root of that moment of pain, I feel totally abandoned by God, immediately back in the first moment of her diagnosis.

Teri has recommended EMDR therapy for me. To help deal with the pain of the first moment that is so deeply entangled in all my memories from the last two and a half years.  That's when I realized I didn't want to let go of that pain. It's also when I realized I have to if I'm ever to heal. I have to heal. I'm on a trajectory of bitterness and regret and anger. That would be a horrible life, especially as Grace is cancer-free.

Maybe its because I'm secretly afraid that if I let my guard down, and admit to healing and happiness, that it will curse life and bring her cancer back. Or even if not, if her cancer ever came back, that all my defenses would be gone and I'd be too vulnerable to the pain.

But I'm so angry. And that's so tiring.

When my best friend's boyfriend died suddenly from a heart attack, the first thing Chad and I did was get on our knees and worship God. Because we didn't want to go into the grief and pain without the Holy Spirit leading us. Similar to the Old Testament when the worshipers went before the armies in war, making the battle God's, molding their will to his. When Grace first had cancer, it was similar. We felt God's presence so tangibly, and that may have been because we accepted that whatever happened, we wanted God's will instead of our own. We were determined to worship and obey him no matter where he lead us. There was so much peace in that.

That didn't happen when she relapsed. We were in escrow on a home in Indiana, trying to escape cancer. I had family there. It was close to a great children's hospital. The schools were stellar. The house was brand new, on a culdesac designed for family living. We'd be paying off all our debt from the sale of our house in California, and have money left over after the purchase of the new one in Indiana.

We had been playing in the pool together the night before and life was starting to feel safe again. Her oncologist had told us just three weeks before that Grace was unlikely to relapse and to "go live our lives." Grace's hair had grown back, she was back in school. Luke's phobias had healed and he was feeling secure again. I was leaving the SSFL behind, which was good according to many concerned family members who felt it was too emotionally damaging for me. Chad was going to change careers and trying living out his dreams. I was going to become a writer. Everything was lined up for our happily ever after.

And she hadn't had any signs of relapse until the day it was obvious. No bruises. No petechiae. No lack of energy or appetite. After the pool she cried because her arm hurt, we figured she somehow hurt herself in the pool. By the morning it was apparent to Chad and I. She was in pain like she had broken her arm, and that type of pain is often a sign that leukemia in her bones was swelling and putting so much pressure on the inside of her bones that they felt like they would burst. And that's exactly what it was. I think the nurses and doctors knew, just like Chad and I did, the moment we walked in.

The first thing they did was give her a shot of morphine. Not oral Tylenol. Because they already knew what they were dealing with before her bloodwork came back. Still, we were all praying we were wrong, though no words were spoken.

I went to get the kids some food from the cafeteria while a child life specialists watched cartoons with the kids. Coming back to the infusion center I was intercepted by a nurse. His eyes were so sorrowful. He was so sad for us. I knew then the bloodwork showed cancer. He brought me to the procedure room so I'd be away from the kids when they told me.

When the doctor walked in, it must have already been on my face. You know already, don't you? she said. After holding me while I cried, she told me to wash my face, dry my tears, and put on a brave face for the kids.

It was a brave face. I already knew that if she ever relapsed she would immediately need a bone marrow transplant. I already knew that her survival statistics would plummet. I knew a lot of kids with her type of PH+ Leukemia didn't always make it.

And so I did not start her relapse with worship. I didn't start with wanting God's will to be done. I was so angry. So hurt. I called Chad so he could be there when we told Grace and Luke. I called the realtor and canceled the sale from the hallway. I called the grandparents and heard their grief.

I was so frightened for Grace. I grieved for Luke. I let go of my hopes for our happy ever after. I was so angry. So angry that God let this happen. Such an opposite attitude from her first cancer.

And so I wonder now, what would have happened if we had started on our knees like the first time, determined to follow God's will. It wouldn't have changed Grace's treatment, just like it didn't miraculously heal her the first time. But maybe I wouldn't be in so much pain now. Maybe I wouldn't have felt so abandoned. Maybe I was the one who abandoned God, not the other way around. I didn't want his will. I didn't want his presence. I didn't want cancer. I didn't want Grace to die.

Maybe it was because I had no time to grieve. She was hospitalized that day and the two of us lived there for five weeks straight. Even now, over two years later, the memory is terrible. It goes to the root of who I am. And even now, I don't really have time to grieve. I have to go make breakfast for the kids. Life has to continue, just like then.

But at least now I want God's will, no matter where he leads. Clearly, life without him didn't work so well, I almost destroyed myself with my anger. I was losing who I am. And it's still so scary to trust him, even to trust him to heal.

But heal I must. I don't want to waste life in anger. Or debilitating pain. And I pray that as I open myself to that opportunity, and to accept God's will, that I will feel his comforting presence through such a frightening time in my life as I reexamine that time.

And if Teri were here, I know she'd say, "Hmmm. Yes, I could see why you would feel that way. That makes sense to me. I might feel the same if I had all that happen." She's always such a merciful listener.

And maybe Jesus would say the same too.