"Not again" was my second thought upon receiving the news about the Adrian’s. My first thought was grief, knowing all too well what lies ahead for this precious family. Pam and Alan Adrian, along with their 2 children Meghan (5), and Zach (12), moved to the Hague 8 months ago, leaving their home in Calgary, Canada for a 4 year assignment with Shell Oil. Two months after their arrival Pam’s health declined, but doctors were suspecting colitis or allergies until recently.
Two weeks ago a colonoscopy revealed a massive growth in Pam’s colon and more tests revealed advanced colon cancer which has already spread into the lymph nodes and ovaries. Her prognosis is six months to live without treatment, one to two years with treatment. In the midst of tests Pam boarded a plane for her home in Calgary, followed by her husband and kids a few days later.
I walked alongside Deela and her family during her last 18 months of a 3 year battle with ovarian cancer, aided my mother in caring for my father during his last months of life, stood at my father-in-laws deathbed, journeyed through the grief of my brother-in-law’s horrific accidental death, and buried my own brother as a young child. I am far too familiar with loss and grief.
Prayers of Crossroaders have beseeched the throne of God for the lives of three other members with a terminal cancer prognosis in the time we have been here, and wept as they buried each one. One sure thing in this life is that one day we will look death square in the eye. Whether it happens when we are old or young, from a killer like cancer or another cause, our death is one of life’s few guarantees.
Pam’s diagnosis came as a shock. Thursday’s life held an adventure in the Netherlands as a family of four. When the sun rose on Friday morning a new life greeted the Adrian’s. A life to prepare a family for death.
There is no surety of how any of us would react to news like this. I pondered how I might respond. What would I choose? How I would I prepare for death?
One week ago I left Kevin and Kenny at home in the Netherlands to help my daughter out with Kayden for a couple months. I asked them what they needed from me before I left. I also asked myself what preparations were important to me. Kevin wanted a big batch of homemade pizza sauce, some Italian sausage from a specialty meat market and clean sheets and towels. Kenny was pretty easy-going about the whole thing, didn’t ask too much. We all wanted some special time together, so we had a pizza feast and a "24" marathon on one of my last nights. I was compelled to cover all the upcoming details for the remainder of the school year with the guys, and have some last words of instruction and encouragement for Kenny.
How would I prepare my family to leave them forever? Pizza sauce and clean towels would be irrelevant.
Jesus knew what was important before his death. In his final days he shared his heart with his friends. He tried to prepare them, to comfort them, and to encourage them to remain in him and to love each other (John 14,15).
Jesus lived well. He didn’t have any regrets to patch up or issues to resolve. He lived a life of integrity, he knew who and whose he was. He poured his life into his friends. He knew his mission and finished the work given to him.
Satan wins many skirmishes in our lives. I don’t believe that death, disease, and tragedy are a part of God’s plan. But I can do my best to live a life of integrity, to know who I am and whose I am. I can "live at peace with everyone" as far as it depends on me (Romans 12:18). I can strive to know and fulfill my calling, and pour into my loved ones. Perhaps then should tragedy raise its ugly head there will be grief and sorrow yes, but no regrets. Perhaps then my legacy will live on and peace will reign.
My heart is heavy for the Adrian’s. I pray that whether it come in the form of physical healing or not, that the next few months and years will be marked by one evidence after another of God’s intervention and mercy. And I pray that somehow Pam can leave this earth well, whether it is far too soon from this deadly cancer, or someday many years from now after living through her present nightmare.
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