02
Feb
10

and then…

The day following our joyous membership ceremony, Adopted Daughter and I made a visit to the palliative care doctor her oncologist had recommended. Thinking we were going to get something better for pain along with good advice, we greeted the doctor warmly and answered all questions. Then came advice we were not prepared for: “Have you considered hospice?” the doctor asked, succinctly and sensitively. We listened, understood, and as if on cue, we both agreed that it was a good idea to get that service in place at the outset. We quickly understood that hospice was not just for those near death, but for those whose illness leaves them less than six months of life. While we knew the likely prognosis, neither of us were quite prepared for the realities this move would usher into our lives.

No sooner was the decision made than the wheels of hospice care turned quickly…all week long. Every day last week was filled with planning, preparations, announcements, discussions, hospice visitations and shock. By Thursday night shock morphed into full-real in a dance without rehearsal. What I had begun with practicality became mournfully tearful without warning. On Friday a visit by the pastor of our church, along with AD’s friend and pastoral mentor, wound it’s way into an amazingly comprehensive plan for counsel and support that we call the Care Team. This is now in place, complete with a special blog to provide updates, conversation and a visiting calendar for two congregations and AD’s many friends. I am exhausted. I am halfway through an unexpected course in caring (not curing), taught by the holy spirit of God.

In two day’s time, my partner (Big Dawg), AD and another dear friend will pack up a huge van, climb in and head to Cincinnati for the biennial Mennonite Arts Weekend, where I will be an artist-presenter. The theme of the festival is The Art of Place: Sacred Spaces and Common Ground. Long before any of the heartache of AD’s metastasis, or the trials that so painfully excluded BD and me from membership occurred, I had determined that suffering as sacred space and common ground would be my reference. Now, I find this quite stunning—a clear convergence of harmonic God-tones toward a thin place I am both prepared and unprepared to speak about.

“That’s fine,’ says God. ‘Now you can listen and speak the words I will give.”

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