Good Friday

It’s Good Friday. It doesn’t feel like a  good day, really. But, then, neither did the day that Jesus was crucified. I pray that the bad of today is necessary for the good in the months to come.

Yesterday morning, Matt closed on our new home at the same time that my dad brought Mason and I back to KU for round two of eighteen. Even though round two just started, we’ve been in the hospital more days than not this month. We didn’t even get to spend the first night in our new home as a family. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to go home Easter evening.

It’s such a weird time. There is good and bad and so much going on that we are just plain weary and overwhelmed. So many people showed up in our front yard(s) to help us load and unload the moving trailers. I’d say 85% of them were from our church. I can’t even describe to you how proud I am to say that we are members of Providence Baptist Church. Friends, co-workers, and family helped too. People deep cleaned in places I wouldn’t have even thought to clean, working tirelessly to remove all bacteria present in order for Mason to be able to come home to a safe environment. People came and put my kitchen together, set up our furniture, and brought food and flowers. The burden of this difficult time was shared by so many. We’re so grateful.

I could write thank-you’s for weeks and still not thank all of the people necessary. I haven’t written one single thank you. Not one. No words seem sufficient. I feel awful and I can hardly focus on any task, much less a pile of thank-you cards. I honestly don’t feel like myself at all anymore or even remember what that should feel like. I’m in a fog of exhaustion and anxiety. Conversations are difficult to complete and anytime I’m with one child, I feel like I should be there for the other. I miss my husband and I miss normal. I’m resisting this new way of life probably more than I should. I haven’t written for a while because I’ve quickly learned that people don’t like to read the ugly. When I am discouraged, I’m told to hang in there, be strong for Mason, or keep the faith. These are things I would’ve once said, too. But, I don’t find any of them comforting or helpful. I’m not exactly sure what I want to hear. I guess I mostly want to be heard and understood. But, I know there is no way to understand something you haven’t been through. And, I pray that you never have to understand.

I belong to an online group of other moms who have kids with cancer. I resisted that for quite some as I didn’t want to be one of them. But, slowly I’ve started to gain comfort in knowing that others have the same feelings and are going through similar situations. Some days I can hardly read the posts because it hurts too much or brings up something I haven’t even realized we will soon face. Today I was reading about how relationships with friends and family change when your child has cancer. It was heartbreaking. Everyone agreed that in the beginning, there was an abundance of support. But, the few people that remain supportive in the end will surprise you. I can’t let myself even go there to wonder who we’ll lose along the way because it’s just too much. Right now, in this moment, I can’t imagine more people coming alongside us in this journey. I have found that people I wasn’t super close to before have become steady support. And, I’ve found that friends and family whom I thought would be in my inner circle have yet to have one single conversation since diagnosis. I get it, but it hurts.

As hard as all of this is, I do have faith. I know that my cries are being heard and I know that there is a purpose much larger for Mason’s suffering. I know that if I knew the plan I wouldn’t believe in a very mighty God. I know that He will carry us through even on the darkest days. And, I praise Him for the blessings he has given us. I praise Him that Mason danced a little jig while pulling his IV pole to the bathroom before bed tonight. And, even though I couldn’t be at our Good Friday service at church tonight like I wanted to be, I can still get on my knees and thank Him for His perfect sacrifice.

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4 thoughts on “Good Friday

  1. Don’t EVER feel like you need to be strong. You don’t. You can’t. I would never insult you by saying I understand what you are going through. It is unimaginable. Please know that I continue to pray for you and your family. You are never far from my thoughts. I was glad to receive a report tonight. I know you desperately want Jesus to heal your little boy, but don’t feel you need to “keep the faith.” Just be yourself. Sweet dreams!

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  2. I have to admit I watch for your posts like a Facebook stalker 👀, wondering 🤔how you are doing and of course how Mason and family is coping. Praying🙏🏻, praying🙏🏻 and praying🙏🏻 feeling helpless in the situation. I know I don’t have the words (I know that’s a miracle in itself) to comfort or even help and that has made radio silence. Please know I love you and wish I could hug you and just be a shoulder to cry on or an ear 👂🏼to listen. I don’t want be another burden, but I’m always here even if it’s only to pray. Hugs my sweet sister-in-Christ who I got to know on the bleachers watching our boys play ⚾️, and learning about your faith that is carrying you through at this moment. Thank you for being so transparent for us. Love to your family!

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  3. Amy, all of your words and thoughts are important – “the good, the bad, and the ugly”. I know I stand among many who will confidently say, “We are here for you for the long term.”
    Prayerfully, Becky

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  4. Dear Amy–I wish I could be closer to sit with you, cry with you, & pray with you. Please know that I am just one of many who will not lose track of you. Not many of us can know what you are going through but love & prayers are with you all every day. If you need to talk or cry, please call anytime. I think of my “Joe” so very often! Love, Michelle P.

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