One year ago today, my uncle lost his battle with cancer. While it has been a difficult and heartbreaking transition for our entire family, we have been able to find some comfort in knowing he is no longer suffering as he was towards the end. Each day I think about him, my aunt & my cousins at least once. I miss him terribly.
The week before Lee passed, I was visiting him & our family in Des Moines. I had an essay that was due the following week, so in the wee hours of the morning, I found inspiration from being there with him and my family. Here is that essay:
"The first night of English 102 I had
to inform my instructor that I would be missing class the night this first
paper was due because we would be on a trip to visit my ill uncle in Iowa.
We agreed that the paper could be submitted electronically and he also offered
a suggestion: come back with a story that I didn't already know, just to keep
as a personal, special memory of him. I smiled and remarked what a good
idea that was.
As I contemplated which topic to
choose for this paper I found it difficult to be completely satisfied with the
two I had narrowed my selection down to. My husband liked “what's the
fascination with zombies" while I thought "why couldn't the keyboard have
been alphabetized" sounded fun. I put off and procrastinated this
paper for over a week and still could not settle myself into a satisfactory
topic... until 12:35 this morning. It was at that moment I found
resolution to a question that has been burning in my mind, and no doubt a
number of other people's heads, for quite some time... why does God allow us to
suffer and endure the loss of loved ones with seemingly nothing to gain in
return?
Growing up, we spent a lot of time
with my Uncle Lee. Between family golf outings, reunions and various
carpentry projects he completed with the help of my Dad, there was a lot of
time spent together, especially at Lee's house in Des Moines. Lee has
always been quick witted and clever, but my favorite thing about him is his
smile. It is never just his mouth that smiles, it's his whole face; his
mouth, eyes, even his ears take part in that contagious smile of his! You
just can't help feeling good when you see him smiling.
Life was good, until he was diagnosed
with lung cancer last fall. For a year Lee has battled. After what
seemed to be a successful round of chemotherapy last year, he bounced back and
was almost his old self again at our annual "Larsen Soup-er Saturday"
in November and he continued to smile. This spring they discovered that
the cancer had spread to his brain. In order to combat the new tumors
they attempted a more aggressive chemotherapy treatment which didn't work.
They then used radiation, which was successful but also had the unfortunate
side effect of memory loss. Once radiation treatment was complete, a
full-body scan was conducted to verify the remission of his cancer. It
was at this time they discovered that it had spread practically everywhere; his
body is extensively riddled with cancerous cells. A decision had to be
made: either try a new, even more aggressive treatment that had potentially
devastating side effects, or place his life in God's hands and let His plan
unfold. Lee’s care was placed with God.
Lee has continued to smile, until this
point. When I spoke with my Dad Sunday morning, the hospice nurses were
giving him a month to live, and that was being generous. Monday evening
they were saying 24 hours. I made the 5.5 hour drive in just under 5
hours. I spent the majority of those 5 hours wondering if I was doing the
right thing by leaving my family at home to make this trip, wondering if I was
just being selfish to want the peace of knowing I was able to see and spend
time with him one last time, and wondering if it would be too late by the time
I arrived. At 12:20 a.m. this morning I pulled into their driveway.
The first thing I did was visit Lee.
As I looked upon him lying so weak,
feverish and medicated in his bed I couldn't help but think "Why? Why is
God allowing him to suffer in such pain? Why are his wife and daughters being
put through the torture of watching him degrade from the once social and very
capable person he once was to hardly being able to keep his eyes open or
recognize those who were closest to him? Why wouldn't God have mercy and give
him peace?"
As my Aunt Laura rubbed his arm and
spoke to him in an attempt to rouse him from his sleep she told me how the
hallucinations had become the norm the past few days and recognition had
deteriorated to near non-existence. Although it was the middle of the night, he
opened his eyes ever so slightly and with much effort. Laura told him
"Liz is here. Liz drove all this way to see you." He turned to
look at me, grinned that wonderful smile of his and whispered "hi"
before closing his eyes again. Laura said "That is the most
recognition we've had in a while." It was 12:35 a.m.
It was that moment that I realized
that even though we may feel small and insignificant, our actions or even just
our being means something to someone. In that one smile I found
reassurance, love and a sense of meaning I had not previously known existed.
In that one smile I found resolution to all of the questions that had
flown through my mind just a moment earlier: we all have something to learn
from these experiences.
My Grandma Forshee passed away three
days before she turned 78; we buried her on her birthday, which was just two
days before mine. From her passing I learned the importance of taking
advantage of the opportunity for that "one last time". 18
months later Grandpa Forshee passed. I learned two things: 1) we can find
opportunity in loss. I'd spent most of my childhood being close with the
Forshees, now was my chance to bond and grow closer to Grandma and Grandpa
Larsen; 2) sometimes you just have to let go. Grandpa was ready to
go be with his wife, but he held on for 18 long months because the rest of us
were not ready to let him go. We finally realized that we were not able
to begin healing until he was able to be at peace. When we finally let
him go, the transition was peaceful and full of love and understanding that he
would be in a better place and would be reunited with his true love. In 2011, on our anniversary, my husband's Aunt passed suddenly. The loss of
Auntie Bevie taught me that everyone is to be cherished, because you really
never know when time will be up.
As I write this, it is 4 a.m. Tuesday,
September 18th, 2012. I know I should sleep, but I won't, I
can't. I know this may be the last sunrise Lee sees in this world, and
although I am saddened by this, I am also inspired. I mattered to Lee in
a way and for a reason I will likely never fully know or understand, and he
mattered to me more than he ever knew. So while I may not be bringing
back a memorable story, I'm bringing back something even more cherished and
special, something I will carry with me to the end of my days... a smile.
Leroy Morris Larsen passed away on
Tuesday, September 25, 2012 at approximately 3:15 p.m."
As you may or may not know, I am a Tupperware consultant/manager. October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month and Tupperware has come out with a number of great "pink" items! From now through November 1st, I will be donating 100% of my profits from all of my Tupperware sales (pink or not) to Stand Up 2 Cancer in memory of Lee. Please join me in supporting cancer research and treatment. Together we can make a difference!
Shop online at www.my.tupperware.com/ERACHE or contact me to order.
