My husband quietly pulled me aside this morning and asked me to walk with him to our van. He needed to tell me that he had been coughing up blood again, but that he didn’t want our daughter to know about it at this point in time. He was about to leave for the ER. It’s been a familiar scene for our family for 1.5 years and it will continue to be one for the rest of my husband’s life.
It was greatly disappointing nonetheless since we got a break from his symptoms for a few months and the medications he is on were doing their work to prevent further damage to his lungs. It was time to test for remission, so he’s been off of his medications for a couple of months. Unfortunately, the doctors have yet to be able to get him into remission for more than a month or two at a time. It’s one of those situations where we have great hope. We know others have gone years without symptoms and they have gone into remission. We always hope against hope that will happen for Phil, but instead of happening, we end up where we did this morning. I must confess that I was profoundly disappointed.
This morning hit me a lot harder because I had spent a couple of hours last night trying to help our daughter deal with some of the grief, pain, frustrations, and jealousy that she carries. She’s been down ever since her best friend moved on her birthday last month. It’s been a big adjustment for her and the pain of losing her four siblings (all miscarriages) and having a chronically ill father have been eating at her. I can see it in her eyes and it guts me every time I look at her. I can see it, but so far I’ve been unable to successfully help her fix it.
I frequently talk to her about how God’s plan differs for each one of us and that each family is different. Some people are asked to carry more than others. Some families have one child and some have fifteen or twenty children. Some families have parents with a chronic illness. My own father has been sick my entire life and now my husband is chronically ill. I keep telling her to offer it all back to Christ. To give everything over to Him in trust and love. He will heal those wounds. He is the One she can always turn to.
After talking to her, I know that her anger about the situation, her loneliness, and the fact that she spends far too much time comparing our family to everyone else’s are all making it difficult for her to turn to God. She’s far too much like me. She wants to know why? And most of the time we don’t get to know why. I breathed that same word out through tears this morning as I waited to hear news from my husband. I screamed it in agony during my miscarriages. I have yelled it in frustration so many times. The only answer that ever comes is the Cross, which is finally enough for me, but it is a difficult answer for a 7-year-old to fully comprehend.
I told her to befriend St. Therese. A woman who knows quite a bit about suffering and whom I know would be a loving and devoted friend to my daughter. Michaela has asked me to help her learn how to offer her struggles up to Christ and how to befriend a saint, so I will continue to try to help her each day. Even though I understand the immense value of redemptive suffering, I still wish that I could take all of her sorrow away. I know I can’t and that’s a part of how God sanctifies me. In loving her, I learn to embrace her Cross with my own. That’s a part of loving people. The part we are all terrible at. The part we flee from, but the part where God truly shows us the immense transforming power of grace and charity.
My husband is home, and as is so typical of his disease, he is doing well this afternoon. He coughed up patches of bright red blood for a few hours. The ER did what it always does; takes our money and offers no answers or solutions. My husband will call his Pulmonologist on Monday to ask for a CT scan so we can see how badly damaged his lungs are right now and then he will go back on the terrible, but life-saving drugs that keep his lungs from dying and the rest of him with it.
Chronic illness is to live powerlessness. It is a constant reminder that we are not in control. It is to enter into the great mystery of suffering, a mystery we largely experience alone. I can’t fully understand my husband’s suffering, just as he cannot ever fully understand mine. His suffering is largely mysterious to me. I can walk with him. I can love him and take care of him, but I can never fully understand. Only Christ can enter into those depths of my husband’s soul.
That reality is a part of the powerlessness we face and that’s one of the reasons why we flee. We fear what we cannot fully comprehend. We fear intense pain. We also fear vulnerability and opening ourselves up fully to that pain. We don’t want to suffer, so we avoid walking beside others or we refuse to allow others to walk beside of us. We don’t open up ourselves. We often realize too late that is a huge mistake to make because God places people in our lives for that very reason.
The only answer that makes any sense in the face of suffering is love, but we must be willing to walk into that suffering in love and stand fast. We must be willing to accept love from others. The ultimate answer to why is the Cross, which is Love. May we all find the fortitude and charity to stand together at the foot of the Cross and embrace the powerlessness we all face in this life.