When Your Bucket List Overflows

It’s cancer.  Malignant. Stage 4.  Angry and aggressive.  Rare.  Incurable.

The oncologist is speaking, and she is saying words that surely I must have heard before.  But never have I realized what ugly, vile words they are.  These words?  Describing me?  Unbelievable!

The oncologist goes on, almost apologetically, explaining that medical science doesn’t know what could have caused this terrible disease, especially since I do not have any of the usual risk factors. I am young-ish, not overweight, non-smoker, no family history.  Not even any genetic mutations or elevated tumor markers.  Well, medical science may not have clinical evidence to prove it, but secretly, I suspect the real cause.  In fact, I have suspected it for years.

I mean, the human body can only endure so much anxiety and trauma and grief and heartache, before something has got to give. Honestly, during our 20+ years of caring for some of our community’s most broken and most fragile and most needy children in our home, I have given my finite body an Olympic-worthy workout. I have demanded of my little adrenal glands, day after day, year after year that they keep producing an almost constant stream of adrenaline and cortisol, those hormones that the body needs during times of extreme stress.  How can that not eventually have an adverse effect?

Those thousands of nights when I should have been sleeping, that vital time when the body’s cells restore and rejuvenate, but instead I was keeping vigil at a child’s bedside, wondering if he or she would survive until morning.  The thousands of nights when I cried into my pillow, wondered if I  would survive until morning.  Managing countless moments of destructive behaviors, calming violent outbursts and tantrums, trying desperately to understand the hidden fears and hurts behind the rage.  Grabbing a quick granola bar or skipping meals altogether on my way out the door to yet another appointment or meeting or visit or court hearing.  The frequent worry and desperate prayers for a child’s uncertain and precarious future.  The dozens and dozens of times that I was overcome by grief, weeping for days when a flawed court system suddenly decided that a precious child who had been a part of my heart and a beloved member of our family for months or years, would not be able to stay, and I knew that life would never again be the same.

How could many years of, quite literally, laying down my life (John 15:13) for the least of these (Matthew 25:45) not eventually have an impact?  How could a lifetime of “being poured out as a drink offering” (2 Timothy 4:6) not eventually take its toll?  

The Steps You Take

When I reach my hand into the mailbox and see the crisp white envelope with the county logo in the corner, my heart, as it invariably does, skips a beat.  Important news seems to always come with a phone call or in a crisp white envelope.  I half hold my breath while I rip open the seal.  As I read the document that had been carefully folded inside, it takes a moment for my mind to catch up with my eyes.  Although I can read the words quite clearly, I can not fully comprehend the enormity of their meaning.  I cannot reconcile the harshness of the words with you, my sweet little one, who are perched securely on my hip.  

Mother’s whereabouts unknown.

At first I am outraged.  How could your mother, the one who was supposed to love you forever, so carelessly abandon her responsibilities?  How could she bear to disappear into a world that doesn’t include you in it?  How could she walk away from such an amazing child?  Such a precious gift?

But I am also saddened.  I grieve for this young woman who gave birth to you.  I cannot imagine the choices and circumstances and steps that led her to this point.  My heart breaks when I think that she could feel so wrecked, so trapped in her brokenness that she could see no other option except to leave.   

I am so sorry for everything she is missing in her absence:  your beautiful smile and your funny baby words and your wild hair that will not be contained and your tight squeezes around my neck.  I am sad that she is not here to witness your first tentative steps. 

Most of all, it grieves me to think that because of her choices, because of her destructive relationships and deadly habits, it means that you, my sweet one, do not have the permanence and stability and security that every child deserve.

Empty Arms

“I loved you like there was no tomorrow.

And then one day there wasn’t.”  - unknown

The image, the haunting, nagging image, is forever etched in my mind.  The image of the white county-issue car, the social worker in the driver’s seat, the top of the baby seat just visible through the back window, heading down my driveway, the brake lights getting smaller with each turn of the wheels.  One of my most beloved treasures, the little one I adore to the very center of my marrow, is leaving.

I know that it is only for the day, for a little while.  I know that she will return later this afternoon, and I will once again hug her close and squeeze her chubby thighs and tickle her round tummy that jiggles when she laughs.  But for the next few hours there is a hollowness in my heart, a void that only she is able to fill.  For the next few hours, in a dark foreshadowing of what may indeed become real when the judge bangs the gavel for the last time, my arms are empty.

The image, the haunting, nagging image, is forever etched in my mind.  The image of the clear hospital bassinet, the wires snaking into it from the machines against the wall, the top of my baby’s head just visible underneath the blankets.  I am walking away from my beloved treasure, the little one I adore to the very center of my marrow, unsure of when I will see my baby again.

I know that it is only temporary, for a little while.  I know that I will see my child next week, or maybe the week after that, and will once again kiss her round cheeks and feel those tiny fingers wrapped tightly around mine.  But for the next few days, or maybe weeks, there is a hollowness in my heart, a void that only this baby is able to fill.  For now, with a frightening foreboding of what the future might hold, my arms are empty.

He Knew You

From the very second you were created, in that moment when they came together in the darkness in the place where they thought no one would see them, when they were madly in love with one another – from that very first moment of your life when you were just the size of a poppy seed, He knew you.

He knew you when they found out that you were growing inside that most secret place, when you were just the size of an apple seed.  He knew how they would react when they found out.  It may have been an unplanned surprising shock to them, but it was never a surprise to Him.  Even then He was the One who was writing your story.  His timing, His Hand forming your heart and stomach and intricate digestive system, crafted every detail with perfect precision.

When you were about the size of a green olive, He was sculpting your facial features, shaping those tiny ears and that little nose that are uniquely yours.  Your heartbeat was strong enough to be heard on the doctor’s machines.