So a buddy of mine posted this on his Facebook wall and I took a gander.
I prayed to God that this could lead somewhere. The article never really left me today. As I was out driving I had a crazy image of a group of people assaulting a tumor with reckless abandon. At first sight, a bunch of people savagely attacking a blob that looks kind of like Jabba the Hutt would probably look funny and go viral if I had my camera phone handy. But as someone whose mother was ripped away from me (And my family) at the age of 10, this thought moves from the realm of humor and oddity to one of catharsis.
There was an episode of House where Dr. Cameron and Dr. Foreman were discussing which was worse, to die or to watch someone die. Dr. Cameron’s past was that she had married her husband knowing there was a good probability that he would die of his cancer. She stayed by his side until he passed away. Her answer was obvious, “It’s easier to die than to watch someone die.”
While I have never experienced a near death ailment, I must say from my experiences that it is a horrendous endeavor to care for someone who is dying; especially if it is your own mother.
My mother was my world to me and losing at such a pivotal point in my life has had lasting consequences that reverberate to this day. I remember a time when I was working at a college ministry and there was a student who was suffering from cancer. And, a year before that, an associate director’s mother had passed away from cancer after a huge outpouring for her healing. Needless to say, I had challenges praying for this student because I was not strong enough to ask God for anything pertaining to this matter when I had been so disappointed and traumatized in the past. A close friend rallied to my cries and led in a corporate prayer right on the spot for me.
I had grieved and cried sense my mother’s death but I don’t think I have ever really cried like that before. It was like the venom of pain and loss was finally being siphoned out through my eyes.
Trauma and loss leave there marks on people, even when God has restored them. I do not think those marks ever truly leave us this side of heaven. It’s like trying to straighten out a paper clip; there is evidence of where it was once bent. Lord knows that I have my scars from my mother dying that definitely affect me to this day. But after that prayer session, I can honestly say that I have not been anywhere near as sad as I had been before.
It’s in this memory of pain, suffering, restoration and healing that I pray that the Lord guides this research to some form of a cure so that no child will have to lose a parent to this again.