Numb Fear

Last week, distressful news. Last week, this week. No feeling. Perhaps shock. Guilt sidles in. Shouldn't I feel something? My heart ignores what dreadful sounds-words that entered my ears. My mind stumbles across thoughts hastily pulled together, a poor excuse of reason and sense. Cancer. I know the word. It means death, loss of hair, weakness, sorrow, shock, pain. Tears and silence. Grasping only to lose grip. Portion by portion of life stolen away until what is left surrenders in defeat. Shadows under the eyes, weight loss, bedridden. But it also means struggle, endurance, survival, trial, tribulation, a valley in life's course. NOT the valley of the shadow of death unless meant to be narrowly escaped. Holding on to a wisp of life, barely visible. Riding the roller coaster, gripping tightly with both hands through the sharp twists and turns until the fast and smooth descent.1

My mother knew when she returned home from work. I greeted her and we went our separate ways in our home. Not a word. My brother came home from work. Then my father. My brother and I sat in the den discussing our day. I was playing on the computer and he was settling in. It was early afternoon. Mother walked into the room and with a catch in her voice, she spoke words of fright, fear of death, pain, shockingly numb. My brother began to cry. My mother's eyes glistened. I hugged her, a lump in my throat. My father called us into the family room. So fitting. We joined hands and bowed our heads in prayer. My father anointed my mother's head with prayer oil. We all cried, whether in fear or desperation of prayer. Peace came over us. 2

One of my favorite authors is Lurlene McDaniel. She writes about cancer, cystic fibrosis, diabetes, and many other illnesses. I've read many of them. I remember their symptoms, their deaths, their cures, their responses. But my own mother? Never thought I would be in the same shoes people all over the world find themselves in. I have read and heard of real stories of cancer. But now I didn't know what to think. Or what to feel. I feel she will be fine. My doubt is that I feel numb and that is the only thing I can think. I can't imagine or comprehend anything else. Please God...I pray in the morning. In between classes. When I lay on my bed reading. When I am on the computer writing. Heal her and strength her... Let this be a test of faith...I look at her soft smile. Having a late-night chat. When she asks for my help around the house. Let her live...3