Thoughts on Cancer, Death, and Heaven

What a morbid title this would be for a post...if not for that last word, right? It's that last word that makes the other two words bearable.

Yesterday afternoon I visited two ladies who are very close to Heaven. Both of them have been a part of the Anchor of Hope Cancer Ministry over the last year, and both of them have been encouragement to so many people, in spite of (or maybe because of) their illness. One of these ladies said to me yesterday, "You definitely chose the right name for the cancer ministry...If we didn't have hope, where would we be? That hope has really been my anchor." What a testimony from someone who is facing imminent death, unless God should choose to perform a miraculous healing in her life.

While I was visiting these two precious ladies, Brad was visiting a family in our community who had just lost a husband/father to glioblastoma, the same kind of cancer Hannah had. This man had lived almost two and a half years with this disease, practically an eternity in glioblastoma time. He had his initial brain surgery the same day that Hannah experienced her first symptoms, Valentine's Day of 2008. One of his daughters, a former classmate of Hannah's, once asked Hannah at school if she was scared about her cancer, and Hannah replied that no, she wasn't. Her mom told Brad that this simple statement from Hannah had really been an encouragement to her daughter as she watched her father battle the same cancer. This gentleman kept a picture of Hannah in his workshop, and now he has joined her in Heaven.

Last night was our Anchor of Hope Cancer Ministry support group meeting, and we had a couple of new members there. One was a dear, sweet lady who shared how she was diagnosed with liver cancer and was told by her doctor that she was "terminal." She said that was fine with her...she'd just get to see Jesus sooner. As soon as she came home from the hospital after surgery, she began giving away all of her belongings...her car, her clothes, her furniture...figuring she wouldn't need them anymore. That was almost two years ago. She went on to share about how she witnesses to everyone around her at every doctor's appointment and every scan. One of the other members of the group remarked that apparently God had lots more people for her to witness to!

The other new lady who was there is a multiple-year breast cancer survivor, and made this statement, "Cancer is the 'best worst' thing that ever happened to me." She went on to explain how having cancer had completely changed her life, for the better. She also shared how her own mother had lived for 23 years following a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer and a prognosis of three weeks to three months to live. Her one regret was that she was not with her mother when she died...she was on a mission trip and was unable to get home.

On the way home from our meeting, I thought about some regrets I have surrounding Hannah's death. I can honestly say (and I am so happy to be able to say) that I have no regrets about her life...we had a wonderful family life and have so many great memories of time spent together. There's nothing I would go back and change about the life we had together. There are some regrets I have about the last year of her life, though. I regret that for a long time we really didn't understand how very sick she was...that we made her go to school, even when she didn't feel well (although she was the one who insisted on going most of the time). I regret that we never had any deep conversations about what she was thinking and feeling as her health deteriorated. She was a very private person and never was one to share her feelings, and we were also very careful never to let her think that we had "given up" on her healing. By the time it became apparent that her healing could only come from a miracle, she was unable to have that conversation anymore. I regret that I didn't spend more time just lying in bed with her and holding her in those last days--even though she was 17 years old. In my head I know that she wouldn't have liked that, though...she liked her personal space, and didn't even like to be rocked as a baby. And I regret that she suffered unnecessary discomfort in her last 48 hours due to an oversight by the nursing staff at the hospice center.

But...these things that seem to be such a big deal to me are nothing...nothing!...to her. When I do find my mind drifting toward these things, I can almost hear her saying, "C'mon, Mom, it's fine. Don't worry about it. I'm great!" And she is. I recently downloaded a song by Mandisa (a former American Idol contestant...Hannah could tell you which season) called "You Wouldn't Cry". Take a look at the lyrics as you consider the awesomeness (is that a word?) of Heaven for a moment:

All you saw was pain

All you saw was rain

But you should see me now

Moments filled with tears

Lasted all those years

Disappeared somehow

You never said goodbye

On your knees you cry

You're still asking why, but

Blue has never been bluer

True has never been truer

Honey never tasted so sweet

There's a song in the breeze

A million voices in praise

A rose has never smelled redder

The sun has never been brighter

If I could find the right words to say

If you could look at my face

If you could just see this place

You wouldn't cry for me today

What you think you see

Isn't really me

I'm already home

You've got to lay it down

'Cause Jesus holds me now

And I am not alone

Your faith is wearing thin

But I am watching Him

And He's holding you, too

What may see like years will just be a moment

Oh, the day will come

When I'll show you where you're going

I can't wait to show you that

Blue has never been bluer

True has never been truer

Honey never tasted so sweet

There's a song in the breeze

A million voices in praise

A rose has never smelled redder

The sun has never been brighter

If I could find the right words to say

If you could look at my face

If you could just see this place

You wouldn't cry for me today.

We were really very blessed that we knew Hannah's death was approaching. Even though she couldn't talk back to us, we were able to tell her good-bye and how much we loved her. I can't imagine the pain for those who don't have the privilege to have those kind of last moments with their loved ones. All I do know is that in Heaven, God will make everything right again, and until then, He is holding us in His hands. He truly is our Anchor of Hope!

Stained glass window from Oyster Bay Baptist Church in Gulf Shores, Alabama, where we shared our testimony on June 6th