I have received messages and
calls and posts on my Facebook page about what I think about the beautiful
young woman, Brittany, in Oregon who has brain cancer and plans to legally end her life on
November 1st. My own
precious daughter, Christina, faced a similar brain tumor challenge and left
this world on June 13th, 2013.
Brittany is
giving voice to what so many of us think about—how do we want to die?
Most of us hope we die peacefully
in our sleep.
Christina used to say before each
brain surgery, “I’m not afraid of dying during surgery. Anesthesia to Jesus—it doesn’t get much
better than that.”
Other people just hope that their
death comes quickly.
I personally do not know anyone
who wants to die slowly and painfully. Brittany's position does not surprise
me. Most of us feel we would not
be able to cope with such a reality.
Jesus himself prayed in the
garden, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup be taken from me.” The cup of his crucifixion was not taken
from Him and that changes everything for us.
During Christina's 5 1/2 years of living with brain cancer, she had many conversations about how a brain cancer patient dies. It wasn't a very encouraging picture. When Christina learned that her
brain tumor had returned with a vengeance and her time was limited, we were also
told that she had one larger tumor near her brain stem that should cause her to
loose consciousness and shut her systems down very quickly. I haven’t told many people that we had
a little “high five” celebratory moment because we thought she was going to
have the kind of death that she wanted.
Quick and painless.
It was not to be. Instead, she had 11 weeks on
hospice. I have recorded much of
those 11 weeks in this blog. There
were some very difficult times.
She had an evening of
discouragement because she thought she was letting people down and causing
misery.
More than once, she thought she
was losing her mind. And that was
something that terrified her.
A few times, the pain got out of
control.
She was sad on the days she
realized that she had not fed Isaiah even one time—someone else was caring for
him.
BUT—
If Christina had left us quickly,
here are some of the things we would have missed--
Seeing Doug care for her so
tenderly. He kept track of her
medicine, her rest, her food and so many, many other things. He was the very picture of the "till death parts us" kind of love.
The friends and family who came
from all over the world to spend a little time with her.
The endless supply of love and
food and anything else we needed.
The final “Daddy-daughter” date
to her favorite restaurant.
Her remarkable sense of humor and
ability to make us laugh.
Christina’s visions.
Hearing the angels sing.
Watching her spirit come alive
while her body was fading.
Hearing her pray.
Hearing her tell Jesus, “I
surrender. I surrender
everything.” And knowing it was about surrendering herself to be cared for.
Hearing her last, barely audible,
“I love you, Mom.”
And we would have missed that
amazing moment when Doug whispered to her, “Christina, you have fought so
well. Thank you for fighting. You can be done now.” Within the
minute, she took her last breath.
You see, we cannot know the ways
that God will meet us in our deepest need. We cannot predict the ways He will make us stronger, or make
us wiser. Until we have to walk
right into our greatest fear, we have no idea that God has very good reasons to
say, “Fear Not”. Jesus conquered death on the cross and it is by His power that we walk through the impossible things this life holds.
I would never, ever trade away those
last 11 weeks. We saw Jesus. We saw beauty. We saw strength and courage. We were
walking on Holy Ground.
