Ten Days.

That's how many days I spent on our family farm with my dad and other family members, caring for Diane, caring for each other, grieving her loss, and trying to look ahead to how our lives are forever changed.  I've learned so much in the last ten days about Jesus, suffering, sacrificial love, death, and restoration.

Death isn't the way it looks in the movies. Dying from lung cancer isn't, anyway.  It was struggle. It was labor.  It was groaning.  It was holding her up, wiping her mucus and blood, cleaning her drool, kneeling in her urine-soaked sheets, shooting meds down her throat, trying to keep her cool from all the sweat the morphine caused, keeping her calm and breathing as steadily as possible, watching her gasp for air, watching her breathing slowly fade away, seeing her go pale, and feeling her go cold.  There is no dignity in death, but there was dignity in the way she was loved, held, cleaned, and cared for.  I believe that what my dad did for days and weeks on end honored God and gave me the clearest earthly picture I've ever seen on what it means to truly love someone sacrificially and selflessly.



It seemed that God began to refresh and restore our hearts before Diane was even gone.  The simplest of gifts were not taken for granted, and this refreshing came in many forms.  It was a gentle breeze that blew threw the bedroom as we sweat and strained to hold her up.  It was words of encouragement from family and friends.  It was someone just sitting with us, holding her hand, rubbing our backs, sharing our tears.  There was so much food, love, and even laughter amidst all the pain.  The worse she became, the more beautiful it seemed to get outside.  Then she was gone and it seemed that over night the world was completely green, the flowers were blooming, and the sweetest, most fragrant lilacs (her favorite and mine) were blowing through the house.  People spoke beautiful words about her and hugged our necks, and then when all the struggle was done and the people were gone, we were faced with that dreaded question, "Now what?"



I felt an abrupt shift, and I'm certain my dad felt it more.  He had been taking care of Diane around the clock for so long, living in the chaos that is end-stage cancer, that when everything got quiet, we felt restless.  The oxygen machines and bustle of family coming and going was replaced with the quiet lull that is country living, birds singing, woodpeckers pecking, owls hooting, coyotes howling, porch swings creaking... Those are the sounds that make the farm wonderful, and some of the many things Diane always loved about home, but now they seemed a little strange.  We did all we could to keep ourselves occupied.  We even went out the next day and got my dad a new iPhone (which he is LOVING, by the way).

The restoration process has certainly only just begun, but God has given us so many beautiful and meaningful demonstrations of his goodness to us during this time, not the least of which is the gift of each other (and now, FaceTime).  I am confident that, though we may never quite be the same, He has shaped us for his glory, and we have gained much more of Him in our struggle.  I pray that as we continue to experience the pain of change, that we would be able to more fully say, "Jesus is all we need."

I have been dwelling in Philippians over the last ten days, and this passage is my greatest joy right now:

So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, 2 complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. 3 Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. 4 Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. 5 Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, 6 who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, 7 but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. 8 And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. 9 Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, 10 so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, 11 and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Notes on dying: A messy commentary.

As many of you already know, my stepmom, Diane, has been battling lung cancer for quite some time.  Although we have known for a while, I don't think anything could have prepared us for the challenge of these last days.

On Thursday morning the hospice nurse told my dad that she thought Diane would not make it through the day.  Kyle and I booked it up to Greenview as fast as we could, and we arrived in what we thought was just the nick of time.  When we walked in, the pastor along with our family was praying over her, asking the Lord to guide her home in peace.  When the prayer was over, everything got very still and we all thought she was gone or almost gone.  Soon, however, she became restless and began a long night of groaning, gasping, and laboring to breathe and stay comfortable.

Seeing her struggle so much is painful for everyone.  My dad has barely left her side.  I do not know how the man has a teardrop left in him, but somehow they just keep flowing.

We were up intermittently with her through the night trying to keep her comfortable and help her rest.  We finally got her to be still, and she has been heavily sedated all day.  Right now, we all agree that she is in some kind of semi-coma.  We can't rouse her to take meds, get a drink, or do anything.  She's been sitting in the same position, slumped over her bedside table, for over two days straight.  We didn't hear her say a word today.  We all keep thinking, "Any time now..." And still, she breathes.

It is awful to see her body struggle, to see her suffering and groaning.  One of my many prayers today was that she would love Jesus more, and know him better in her suffering.  Jesus suffered the most brutal and unfair murder and death of all time, a blameless man, a gruesome death.  I pray that as she suffers, in whatever state her mind is in, somehow she would be able to love Jesus more because of the price he paid on our behalf, the price that we all deserve.

I have never physically suffered the way that Diane is.  I have never seen anyone physically suffer the way that she is.  I pray I never have to see this again, but I am so proud to say that she has lived out Philippians 1, she has been humble, thankful, and compliant.  She doesn't complain. She murmurs a thank you (or a moan that we know means thank you) to anyone who washes her, rubs her back, or puts a little water on her tongue.  She reminded me of this old Mark Driscoll quote (that I will now butcher) "When you bump a cup full of bitter water, bitter water pours out of it.  When you bump a cup of sweet water, sweet water pours out of it."  There is no bitterness in this woman.  No matter how much she suffers, God has filled her with sweet, sweet water, and no amount of hardship will make her pour out bitterness.

I am incredibly and especially grateful for three of my amazing, all-star aunts and my grandparents, who keep bringing everyone food, providing laughter, and just generally being awesome at loving us.  Each of them is a gift and breath of fresh air.  I did not want any of them to leave tonight, and even got a little teary, because they just make everyone feel so much better in this house.

There are just so many things I am trying to process, and my mind is clouded and confused with a haze of joy and sorrow.  I became increasingly anxious throughout the day today.  To distract myself, I decided I needed to make a slideshow for Diane.  I think I drove everyone else crazy in my quest to get it done, but I felt like it was the only thing I could do to be helpful and do something meaningful.  I have scoured the house, my computer, and my dad's computer for every picture I could find that would paint a picture of who Diane is and what she means to all of us.  I will likely collect more up until the time of her visitation, but in the meantime I thought I'd share some photos here.



We are all still grateful for your love and prayers.  I have been really bad about responding to all the texts, emails, and Facebook messages, but I have read every one, and even shared some with my dad.  They are so, so awesome.  Thank you all for loving on us from afar.  It is more than we deserve!

An Update on Diane

Thank you so much to the many, many people who have been praying and encouraging our family since we found out about my stepmom's cancer! It sounds so cliche, but even words from strangers have meant to much to her and my dad throughout this nightmare.

Since I first wrote about it, Diane changed her mind about getting chemo and is now receiving treatment down here in St. Louis at Barnes Jewish Hospital.  They had a little more hope to offer her, not that they could get rid of it, but that they could slow it down.  I honestly think she decided to do it for my dad, and he has been so happy she chose to do so.

Before they started chemo, they also found that she had a tumor in her brain that was inoperable.  They were able to treat it with radiation and as far as we know, they got it all.  Praise the Lord for small victories!

Once the started the chemo, things weren't going too badly until one day Diane started having horrible pain in her abdomen.  She soon found out that she had kidney stones, and this would be the story of her life for the next two months.  After seeing three urologists and having four surgeries to try and remove them, they just keep coming back.  No one really knows what is causing them to develop so rapidly.

Diane has been in almost constant pain and completely miserable.  She said the chemo alone wouldn't be so bad if she could just kick these kidney stones.  After her most recent trip to the hospital this week with one, she said that something has to change.  Finally, the doctor realized that the chemo could be causing them (something we've been asking about this whole time) and they are investigating what they can do differently.


(Photo taken after leaving the hospital from round two of chemo, and after surgery 3 for kidney stones.)

They are mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted. Being in almost constant, severe pain is something I can hardly imagine.  Taking care of someone you love and watching them suffer for two months straight is something I can hardly imagine.  My dad and Diane still need so much prayer and so much support.

Once she is healthy enough to get her third round of chemo, we will hopefully be able to find out if it is actually working.  However, if they can't figure out what to do about the kidney stones, there may not be any more chemo.  The girl can't live that way, and we can't blame her.

This morning my dad said they would just like a little time to be "normal." Only God knows what comes next. We still trust, still pray, still wait.

Their Big Adventure: Las Vegas

Dad and Diane are now in Las Vegas! I've never been there, but I hear that it is a spectacular sight to see, even if you don't like to gamble.

When Diane sent me this picture, I thought it was a giant aquarium! The more I look at it, the more I think it looks like a scene from Wall-E.

They are having a wonderful time, and I know they appreciate all the prayers and well-wishes.  I do, too.  Thanks for all the love.

Their Big Adventure: Colorado

Dad and Diane have been travelling since Friday afternoon.  Diane sent me this pic from Glenwood, Colorado.

They've been texting me throughout each day, updating me on what they are seeing.  Diane always greets me with a "Good morning, sunshine!" Dad ends every text in "Love, Dad."  They are precious.

I am so thankful they are getting to take this trip!

The dreaded C-word.

Cancer.  There can't possibly be many words on Earth more frightening.  Three weeks ago my stepmom, Diane, went to the hospital with pneumonia.  While there, the docs took a sample of the fluid in her chest and found it to be malignant.  A hundred tests and one week later, it was confirmed that she has stage four lung cancer.  And she's forgoing treatment.

I think a ton of bricks fell on my chest.  It doesn't seem real.  When I talk to Diane, she sounds so good.  Healthy.  Strong.  But it's in there, tearing apart her body.  Tearing apart my Daddy's heart with it.  Diane seems to be at peace.  She trusts in Jesus.  She is ready to meet her maker.

The rest of us, especially my dad, are another story.  He can't sleep, can't eat.  I can see it in his eyes.  They've gone a little dimmer.  His face is thin and tired.  I am praying so hard that God would intervene and fill him up with peace.  That my dad might be able to say, through the deepest possible pain, that he knows it will be okay.  That he knows that God will equip him in every way.  Diane does.  I do.



I love Diane so much.  She has been part of my life almost as long as I can remember.  Even before she and my dad were together, she was a friend of my parents.  To this day, she and my mom still love each other and get along wonderfully.  Growing up, she sat through almost all of my ballgames, plays, and performances.  She's been there for it all.  Mostly, though, I love her for how she loves my daddy.

As a little girl who was brokenhearted over her parents' divorce, I wanted my dad to be happy again and share his life with someone great.  She is what I prayed for, more than what I could have even thought to ask for him.  She loves and takes care of my dad in a way that I can't fully explain.  She makes him laugh, makes him strong.  She is his best friend.  I am so thankful for the life she breathed into our broken little family.

Right now, it's hard to think about how our lives are going to change.  We're grateful for this time.  Grateful for the life she still has yet to live.  Grateful for the memories yet to be made.  For vacations.  For skydiving.  For for fireflies and fireworks.  For frisbee.  For laughing.  For the love we all still share.



Our hearts are heavy, but that's because they are so full of love, and that kind of love isn't easy to come by, so we're hanging on tight.