Ed and Alice with Mom and Dad

There are a lot of thoughts circling my brain lately. The first one is “I cannot do this.” I can’t go through six more weeks of this as the pain is likely to intensify. I’m so tired and hurt from the treatment and/or the side effects of the ineffective medicines I am taking. I have headaches, backaches, jaw aches, burning chest and throat and my hands are shaking like a leaf. 

I asked myself, “Why me?” Why me God?” I know I did a lot of stupid things when I was young and disobeyed you. I sinned so many times, I am still to this day asking for forgiveness even though Heavenly Father forgets those sins after he forgives me. But, why me? I know so many people who don’t eat good foods, don’t take care of their sleep habits, go out drinking and drugging, and smoke. Smoke like crazy. So why are my lungs full of cancer?

And, then. I talked to my cousin Jon whose mother died after a 20-year battle with cancer. I am so selfish I didn’t even know what kind of cancer it was until I asked. She never complained about pain, never talked about it, and kept praying for every one of us until the day she died. What did she do to deserve that? NOTHING.

Aunt Alice did everything right. She married one person who to this day misses her terribly. She went to school and became a nurse, had two wonderful children, and was the keeper of the family history. Alice hosted numerous parties and Uncle Ed recreated as many of the old German-Russian recipes of our youth as he could. I learned so much from him. I was inspired to carry on the traditions of the family. We had Christmas dinners with strudles and dumplings and pigs feet. The family never gathered outside of Uncle Ed and Aunt Alice’s invitation. Well, except for funerals and the occasional wedding.

Now that she is gone, so are those wonderful gatherings, the wonderful food, the attention to detail on the table. Gone too are the roses and birdhouse in the backyard surrounded by the flowing water of a small stream. I bet the birds loved their backyard. I know we did.

Each year at Christmas, Aunt Alice would share something of meaning with the cousins that came to dinner.

One year she potted cuttings from Grandma Kaseman’s Hoya. Mine is quite large and crawls across the dining room window. A second cutting is root-bound in a chicken planter and blooms secretly in my sewing room. The blooms are square and then burst open into fragrant flowers that weep. I read somewhere it has been called Jesus’ tears. After the blooms open, they have a wonderful fragrance.

Out of character for me, I hung the hand-painted ornaments we received from Alice. One is a tiny glass angel with a rose. She loved roses. Her hands were so steady she could paint a crocheted doily pattern on a glass bottle. After her funeral, Uncle Ed allowed us to choose a few of the collection of pieces she was working on. I gave each of my granddaughters some salt and pepper shakers and kept a few beautiful things for myself.

If anyone didn’t deserve cancer, it was my Aunt Alice. As I sit in pain on a gloomy Saturday, I’m searching for the strength to go on. In reality, I just want to disappear and never go into the hospital again for radiation or chemo.

I know I promised God I would walk this path fearlessly for Him. I can’t. Today, I just can’t.