Reality Check

Two weeks ago I received the following e-mail from someone I love:

how is school for Wes? Is he feeling good? how are YOU? and all your tasks and responsibilities and mothering? loving you--mh

I've been meaning to write back, but I haven't yet.
I'm not sure what to say.

I could write:
thanks for thinking of us! We're great. Wes feels pretty good, all things considered, and school is manageable. I'm hanging in there (loving the 50 minutes I have to myself three times a week when Lucy is at preschool and Spencer is napping). Days come and go so quickly. The children are busy growing. There is great happiness and hope in the fresh fall air, in the love we share, and in the things we know.

That would be a sincere, genuine response. It's an only slightly abbreviated version of what's currently in my journal. It is in no way false.

But it is incomplete. There's a lot more to say that isn't getting said very much. Not in e-mails, not in conversations, not even inside my own head.

The reality is this: Wes has cancer. And while we are overflowing with gratitude for great doctors, for treatment options, for unbelievably supportive family and friends, and for miracles (we've seen more than a few!), his diagnosis is daily painful.

I don't talk much about the pain. You'll note that in my past blogging life, I've opted for only partial or veiled disclosure of the topic in general. It seemed appropriate. Why not marginalize that difficult subject as much as possible? Why not alleviate folks of the difficult task of formulating surprised responses or offering sympathy. And heaven forbid pity! We've never wanted to court pity. We readily recognize that everyone shoulders weighty burdens. In fact, if we've learned anything to this point in our lives it is that mortality is truly a mire for all of us! And the mire is the point. (But it's not the end!)

So why start a bold and direct discussion of Wes's cancer now? Why blog about it?

It's not a rash decision, I assure you. Wes and I talked and prayed about it a lot. And we feel like we should proceed because:

1)Cancer is currently a huge part of our lives. Skirting that starring issue doesn't lend itself very well to an accurate family history, which is pretty much what this blog is.

2) Blogging is a helpful outlet. Many of you know from experience that feelings regarding a cancer diagnosis are difficult to express. It's easy to shove them to the sidelines. I've gotten pretty good at it, in fact. But it's not emotionally healthy. I think the intentional thought and mental/emotional/spiritual processing involved in blogging (I obviously deliberate more when writing for an audience. Journal writing = spontaneous venting, which is also necessary, but different.) will help in my efforts to cope well.

3) There's a lot we want to share - with our posterity, and with whoever else cares to read.

Please mind that we are not blogging about this personal topic in lack of support (our parents, every one of our siblings, and so many of our friends are worthy of confidence when we need to process our experiences through conversation -we are so lucky in that way). And we are not blogging about it in hope of sympathy. In fact, we seriously considered closing comments because we don't want to make readers feel obligated to pour out condolence. But, nor do we want to give the impression that we don't appreciate the support extended in this arena. Tricky. Just remember, this post and any that follow on this topic, should be viewed as an outlet of emotion, not an outcry for pity.

Finally, please note that we don't intend to overwhelm you (or ourselves) with cancer posts. We just want the option to be available, and we don't want our directness on the subject to come as a great surprise. So don't worry that this blog will become, in effect, Pursuits of Gloom and Doom. We're pursuing happiness as vigorously as ever. We are carried daily by our faith in "an high priest of good things to come." We know He is capable of miracles and worthy of trust - that He is a generous bestower of blessings and happiness. We've found that peace and pain can truly coexist. Four years ago, during the aftermath of Wes's brain surgery and in the midst of his first rounds of chemo and radiation, a friend (the same one, coincidentally, as wrote the e-mail initially mentioned in this post. think we'll keep her around.) sent me these words (given to her from a friend I do not know):

I talk so flippantly as if i have all the answers.. i do not mean to make it sound as if life is easy.. it is extremely difficult and challenging.. N. Maxwell once said.. that the man or woman who is going to make it to celestial glory, will struggle and wrestle every day...and i think that is what life is... a struggle and wrestle..but i am an optimist..and believe that as we progress.. those struggles can occur in the same day that we have much peace, comfort, joy, too..

True. Very true. We believe, moreover, that pain and joy truly magnify each other.

And so if our updates indicate that we're finding great happiness and hope in the fresh fall air, in the love we share, and in the things we know, please believe that we are sincere. Super sincere.

Well. There it is!
More to come, for sure!

But for now, we wish you a HAPPY CONFERENCE WEEKEND!

(We'd LOVE to hear about your favorite talks!)