08.15.95 Grandpa says "Bye Doll, We'll See Ya"

August 15th is the anniversary of the day I became a cancer widow, at the age of 30. At that time we had 4 kids between 5 and 12. From time to time over the years I feel compelled to open up about that time, in the hope that it might help others who might be going through the same thing I did. This is one of those years. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last few days have felt really "off", and I've known why, even though I've tried to ignore it. They've felt off because 30 years ago at 7:22am in August of 1995, I entered into a brand new phase of life that quite literally changed my entire life, from that point on. 

For a super quick backstory: Christmas of 1990 I noticed my husband Ben had a considerable large lump on his neck. He'd known it was there for a while but had ignored it (and also hid it from me, because he knew I'd make a thing of it). Once I saw it I insisted he see the doctor. He agreed, saw the doc, had a biopsy and by Valentine's Day (our 5th wedding anniversary) we got a call. The news was quite grim. It was metastatic melanoma, and it was stage 5. He was given 2 weeks at best. He was also offered a place in a clinical trial at the University of Washington Medical Center  reserved only for those with a terminal diagnosis, and so that's what we decided in that moment. He went through 2 rounds of that trial (incredibly miserable but successfully - and was the first patient to ever do that), had multiple surgeries, including brain surgery - twice - and lived another 4+ years after that first 2 week prognosis. Most importantly of all, in that time, we were both eventually called to Christ, both of us saved by God's grace in 1994 and found new, eternal hope in Him.

Between his initial diagnosis in 1990 and our coming to Christ in 1994, we'd quite literally jumped all over the place mentally, spiritually and physically. For a short time in 1991 we moved our little family from WA to his grandma & grandpa's place in the desert of southern California because they were the closest family he had & he desperately needed that. All his oncology care was transferred from the UofW to the Loma Linda University oncology dept. - the closest center to us out in the desert.  For a time, he did really well with that treatment protocol. Then things rapidly changed & we switched care back to the UofWa, moved back and tried our best to just resume "normal life" back in our hometown in the Pacific northwest. 

From the time we moved home in 1992 to his passing was another 3+ years. We both did our best to make our home as loving and peaceful and "normal" as possible for our kids except, we quite literally  had no idea what we were doing. In the spring of 1994 Ben's step-uncle Danny invited us both to a local church. Ben accepted the invitation first, and then me a few weeks later and  and as they say... the rest was history. Our new pastor and associate pastor made themselves available to us 24/7, and that made a monumental difference in our lives. 

For those who know me well, this is all "old news". Everyone once in a while though, I think to myself "bye doll, we'll see ya!" and hear it in gpa Earnie's voice 💖.  In the short time we lived with Ben's grandparents (and his sister on the same property), there was a sweet, unwritten rule that all the grandkids had to pop in to the main house after dressing for bed & brushing their teeth,  to say goodnight to gma & gpa. And every night, it was the same exact ritual. Gma would hug the stuffing out of all of them,  and gpa would say "goodnight doll, we'll see ya in the mornin'".  Every grandbaby was "doll" and every night, no matter what he was doing, he'd set aside his projects or chores or whatever he was doing,  to say goodnight to the grandkids and every single night without fail,  he'd say the same thing. 

Fast forward to August 15, 1995. Back in WA, Ben had been in palliative care for a month and his dad called me at 7am that day. "Come now, right now". Was the message. He'd been with him all night, praying. Not only him, but also his brother, Ben's uncle Daniel, sitting vigil through the night, praying for him.  His dad was a Christian (that we'd both ran away from in years past, ironically), and he'd often spend his entire night awake at the hospital, praying for him. On that night, uncle Danny was there too. 

When we moved back home we intentionally looked for a house close to the hospital and blessedly found one that was just under a 4 minute drive.  When I got the call that morning I was up, dressed & out the door in record time. I arrived, walked into the room, saw Ben's dad and uncle in the room at the window, praying and I  sat down & held Ben's hand. I knew he was leaving, and I couldn't think of anything to say to comfort him so I leaned in and whispered in his ear "bye doll, we'll see ya". Only because I knew his heart would be comforted because he knew gpa always said the same thing.  

And then... he was gone & the 5 years of "terminal cancer diagnosis" was over. In the worst way ever. 

No one ever tells you how to handle the last moments someone's life. Especially when it's someone you're building a life and a family with.  Or how you'll feel. Or what they'll look like once they've drawn their last breath (spoiler alert, they look fake, and gray, and not real, and it doesn't make any sense). Or how hard you'll deeply weep, or what kind of weird, rabid animal that sort of sounds like. You never really "get it" until you're there, and your heart is broken into a zillion pieces. It's a most brutal process. 

I drove home that morning after saying goodbye to my husband, and then speaking to my associate pastor, brother, and a few men from my church. They all agreed they'd be at my house by the time I got home, and they all were there to help me relay the news to our kids. I pulled into the driveway, walked into the back yard, sat down in the grass next to the concrete pond Ben built for me and just wept in a way I never even knew was possible. 

August 15th will always be a heartache date for me in this world, but a most ridiculously exciting date for me in the spiritual sense. Because this is the day my Ben entered into his Heavenly rest, greeted Christ face to face, and began his eternity with Him. 

End of the day... I think a lot about how he must have felt when he saw Jesus "in person" or however that works on the eternal side, for the first time. 💖 and really, I couldn't be happier for him. No matter how much it broke me on this side of eternity.