Bittersweet

 The definition of “bittersweet” is:  Pleasure accompanied by suffering or regret.

Walking through a journey of grief has many such moments over time.  The feeling of joy is often marked by regret that you shouldn’t feel that way because you should still be feeling the pain of loss. How can you feel joy at a time like this? 

Feeling free of the burden of taking care of a sick loved one is accompanied by the feeling of guilt because it might make one think that you didn’t care about your loved one and make their life feel somewhat less important.  Or maybe if you’d wished they’d pass so they would no longer be in pain and then they did pass brings feelings that you hastened their demise. 

Maybe something happened during the day that brought back a memory of your loved one and you can envision their response, only to realize that “wouldn’t it be wonderful if they were here to experience it themselves”.

That happened to me today.

One of Chris and Becke’s best friends had been diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma last year.  It came as quite a shock to everyone that someone so young and in good health could be stricken like that.  They quickly found out, just as George and I did, that the “C” word turns your world absolutely upside down.  Suddenly faced with many doctor appointments, learning new terms, educating themselves on treatments they were quickly overwhelmed.  Scared?  An understatement. 

Cory remained calm, strong and steadfast, trying not to show what I’m sure was fear underneath it all.  Jenny kept herself busy trying to prepare for everything, rearranging her schedule, keeping track of appointments, questions, etc. while still be so supportive of her husband and his needs.  She did what we hope all spouses do in a time of crisis – be present as much as possible, keep communications flowing, make sure that you are doing everything possible to protect them when they go through treatment. 

Cory began chemotherapy at the end of the year.  “We’ll beat this!”  “The odds are good that we can eradicate this monster.”  Yet, chemotherapy is not fun at all.  And towards the end, with the world being in quarantine due to COVID-19, one cannot even take a spouse inside for appointments or treatments.  The patient has to do it him or herself. 

This afternoon Chris received a phone call from Cory.  Cory excitedly told Chris that his scan from last week showed he is cancer free!  Yippee!  Shouts of jubilation from all over this household rang out.  Such great news!

I went back to doing the tasks I was doing today and put thoughts of the phone call out of my mind.

Yet, this evening as I was travelling back from an appointment, something triggered.  The sunset sky was so beautiful and gorgeous.  I was admiring it and thanking God for such beauty.  Then my mind wandered off and I started thinking about Cory.  And I thought about George.  If George were here, I know exactly what he would have done with the news that Cory was cancer free.  He eyes would well up with tears, his voice would quiver some, he would race his fist high, and he would shout, “Yes!  Yes!  That’s great news! Thank you, God!”  He would say this in spite of the fact that his cancer was not going away.  He would feel joy for Cory, for Jen.  For anyone who received No Evidence of Disease (NED, for short). 

There were times, I know, when he wondered why God never let him hear that term, NED, for himself.  Yet, as a survivor for five years, he always genuinely felt elated to her that others won their battles.  He used to say that, until you get a diagnosis of cancer, you can never relate to those who have it.

And as I drove down the road, admiring the beautiful sunset and thinking about Cory – and thinking about George, envisioning him sitting in his chair with the tears in his eyes and his fist pumped up to the heavens praising God for this victory, I couldn’t help but cry myself because I sure wish he was here to salute Cory himself. 

Yes, bittersweet.  The joy of victory over a battle won for Cory mixed with the regret that my George isn’t here to taste the victory with me.  I am sure that George is looking down on Cory right now with a huge smile and saying, “Congratulations, young man!  Go out and live your life fully now.  This experience has changed you and the world around you.  Go make the most of it!”