Just a While Longer

As my cancer spreads, the month of July gave me both good and bad days. Digestive problems and abdominal pain remain the primary issues. Still, symptoms are mostly manageable. Four years ago, soon after returning from the Philippines, my oncologist gave me a prognosis of 1 to 2 years. Those 2 years came and went. Two years ago, my oncologist gave me a written prognosis, dated July 22, 2022, that said my “current prognosis is likely on the order of 1 to 2 years.” Well, it’s not that the oncologists were off on their estimates, it’s just that cancer is so unpredictable in the near term.

On the positive side, my joy in the Lord and my eagerness for Heaven have not subsided. I have no fear of death (only of needles, pain, and not being able to care for myself!). Physical death is my door of passage to all the glorious things that the Lord has prepared for those who love Him: knowing Him more, filled with understanding, freedom from sin, enjoying Heaven’s riches, and so much more.

I believe it’s focusing on what is to come that keeps me excited for the future, even as cancer takes its unrelenting toll. It’s anticipating what I will gain that takes away the sting of physical death. It’s visualizing what I will see that gives me peace and keeps me smiling.

However, if I focus on what I’m leaving behind, I can easily slide from happy to sad. Nowhere is this more poignant than in thinking about my grandchildren. When I returned from the Philippines, I didn’t think I would have enough time to bond closely with Christy and Amy. But after living near them for a year and a half, and being with them several times a week, I realize how sweet it would have been to see them grow and to have a part in their lives.

Now, I’ve spent the past year and a half living with Nathaniel, and now with Rebekah who recently celebrated her first birthday. Nathaniel is my little buddy who enters my room each morning wanting to eat cereal and listen to me tell a story about Winnie the Pooh. He loves being tickled, tackled, tossed, and sometimes teased. He gives me a big hug each night before going to bed and tells me, “I love you, Grandpa.”

Rebekah is one of the happiest little girls I’ve ever seen. She will crawl into my room, come to where I’m seated, grab my pants and pull herself up, reach out with her arms, asking to sit in my lap. She greets me with a big smile and squeals with delight when I play with her. There are times when she will affectionately lay her tender head against my shoulder and I find myself whispering a quiet prayer, “Lord, just a while longer, please.”