Forgiveness in the face of life

Jane and I forgave each other for the mistakes we had made over the previous 21 years, two months and 11 days on this date six years ago. We also forgave–or tried to–each other for the mistakes we knew we would make in the next few weeks as we prepared for her heart surgery, scheduled for November 15. We knew she would be in the hospital for at least three weeks. We both expected she would be home for Christmas. But we wanted nothing left unsaid, just in case. And we made each other promises.

…I have promises of my own to keep.

I brought her body home two weeks before Christmas and put it in the ground next to her mother–fulfilling one of those promises. Hard as this is for me to say–hard as this is for some of you to hear–my life has been empty ever since.

Promises to fill the void

I’ve tried to fill that emptiness by doing good in the world. I’ve worked on cancer funding–both generally and specifically for NET cancer. I’ve worked on NET cancer awareness by creating brochures, writing articles, making videos and talking to anyone who would listen–as well as those who didn’t want to. I’ve worked to raise money for research, helped patients try to find the resources they need to live better lives, tried to console and inspire others who have lost what I have lost.

Jane and I forgave each other…

Beyond that, I’ve written about the power of love, the power of forgiveness, and the need to embrace those things in our daily lives. I’ve tried to practice those beliefs every day in everything I do. Some days I’ve been better at it than others, but the desire is always there.

Broken promises

I envy those of you who find solace in prayer and simple faith. I equally envy those of you to whom those things have no meaning. Believers and unbelievers alike have certainties I do not share–and cannot share. I have seen too much to deny the existence of some higher power–or powers. But, equally, I have seen too much to believe in their benevolence–at least toward me and those I care about.

I’ve tried to fill that emptiness…

I have seen too much of death–too much of suffering. I’ve watched a man gouge grooves in the arms of a maple chair against the pain of end-stage lung cancer; watched a woman drown for three agonizing days as pulmonary fibrosis slowly choked her to death; watched my wife suffer for decades with the NET cancer that slowly destroyed her heart and shredded her bowels before it killed her. I have seen too much other hideousness to remain on speaking terms with divinity.

The empty sound of a shattered heart

Something snapped in me while I slept last night. I’ve felt it building in me for weeks–for months–for years, really. I’ve taken, as Peter, Paul and Mary sang, my “place on the Great Mandala, as it moves through your brief moment of time.” I have made my choices and live the outcomes of those choices every day–as well as the promises.

I have seen too much of death…

But I feel empty–empty in the way this house too often feels empty–even when it is full of people. I feel abandoned–the way I abandoned–and Jane abandoned– her cooling body after her death. And I’m tired–tired of the daily effort, the daily lifting and turning, and the slow, almost invisible progress that some days seems as much illusion as reality.

Dancing our promises

I danced with Jane to the end of her life. It was a dance filled with love. And since her death, I’ve tried to keep dancing that dance, even with my partner gone and the music fading like the sound of her voice at the end. We believed in love and forgiveness–and once you’ve heard that song, you can never dance to anything else–nor stop dancing.

Something snapped in me while I slept last night.

I made Jane promises before she died: I promised her a cure for NET cancer; I promised her I would not stop living; I promised her I would never stop working for the things we believed in. Those promises were not mistakes–but they are proving really hard–and often very painful–to keep.

Promise me this

Someone said to me this week that I am a person who goes where angels fear to tread. I said, “It’s easy to do when Heaven doesn’t want you and Hell is afraid of what you’ll do next.” I said it lightly, and the other person laughed. But it is how I feel–how I’ve felt for a long time.

I danced with Jane to the end of her life.

So don’t pray for me. Instead, love one another and forgive one another, even when you feel some people don’t deserve it. They’re probably struggling, just like you are, with something you can’t see. The hurt coming from their mouths and actions is evidence of that battle–a battle they sometimes can’t see or even acknowledge.

And I, I have promises of my own to keep .