Courage

I originally wrote this as part of the first post about my last radiation treatment. But the post was too long, and I don't want you to miss this story.


On the last day of treatment, the radiation techs gave me a certificate before I left. Congratulations on finishing your treatment, that kind of thing. And then: "We Salute Your Courage!"

This stuck with me as we drove to the restaurant, and again as we drove home. I realized something I hadn't been able to piece together before. What were all these tears about? At the end of chemo? And now?

It's not relief. Maybe it is a little. But I can tell you that mostly, I'm not feeling relief.

But that certificate. . . Yes. This was it. There's the thought out there that doing chemo and doing radiation took courage. It didn't. I mean, what was my option? You do what you got to do, right?

There's nothing brave in that. Maybe if the option was a fast, painless death, then choosing a bummer treatment to live instead would have been a little courageous. But dying from an untreated cancer? In my mid-30's? That would have been a ton worse than anything I lived with the past few months.

No. I realized that the courage starts now. At least, I need it to. How to go forward without the cancer? After these several months and the tidal wave of love that has poured through our lives, I'm a changed person. There's no going back to my old life. But what does my life look like now? How do I go on without this giant circumstance?

I think all the crying has more to do with the grief over the end of that circumstance, over a changed life.

Don't get me wrong: Life will go on. And it will be far superior to what it would have been if we had not run this race. (Well, it's not quite over, is it?) But going on, and being willing to go into a new life, as a new person--this is what takes courage.

At least, this is what I came to believe and feel in that deep place as we approached our home. I prayed right then, that God would give me all the guidance and courage I would need.

Then Bryan picked up the mail from our box. In it was a package from my friend, Sarah. I thought 2 things:

1. "Oh! I keep forgetting to call her back!" and

2. "She mentioned wanting to send something earlier, but not quite getting around to it yet. I guess this is it!"

We pulled in. Piled out. Got inside. I opened the package. In it was a sweet note wishing me a year of--I am not making this up--"Hope and Courage."

She sent a pad of paper with "Hope" written on top.

And a pearl bracelet with a clasp that says "courage."


I tell you. . . it's almost too much love for one life to hold.