The mornings are always better than the evenings.
Today I went to church with my aunt and two of her kids (my uncle had to stay home, and one of their kids and her family go to a different church). It was such a sweet church; very old, and very traditional, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I loved seeing my cousins and their wives take part in the church, and especially loved seeing their children worship God. My cousins are deacons. I am so proud of them. One plays the trombone for worship, and his wife plays the flute. My aunt plays the piano. It was just lovely.
After that, we went to Bobby & Jennifer’s house again for lunch.
This was the first time my uncle has been to their house this year.
We had a lot of fun. My uncle was quiet because the chemo has given him painful sores in his mouth and talking is a great effort for him. You could tell he wanted to be a part of the conversation, but I think just being there was good enough for him in that moment. (It’s really hard to include someone who can’t talk, I discovered.)
We picked up his medicine on the way home, and we had to wait a few minutes. My aunt and I walked around a little bit (it’s a very small town), and before we did we told him where we’d be. The poor man just peacefully sat in the car in his pain, wearing two or three jackets even though it was 80 degrees outside. My aunt shut the door and said “It’s just terrible to see him like that.” I didn’t know what to say but a meager agreement.
This evening my aunt and I took a walk and she showed me all around her property, and then we played piano. It was a lot of fun, but really hard knowing Bob was just sitting inside in pain and watching TV. I feel like I should let her talk about his cancer, but I’m not sure she wants to. I don’t think she wants to think about it any more than she has to, or else she’ll become very sad.
We did devotions again tonight. He was in so much pain, though, so my aunt prayed. It’s beautiful to see their marriage through all this. He loves her so deeply, and she so tirelessly takes care of him, though sadly there’s not a whole lot she can really do for him.
She’s helping him get down for the night; hopefully he’ll actually sleep this time. I’m trying to get my sadness out now before she comes back down to pass a little more time before she’s ready to go to bed also.
This is life when your spouse has cancer. I feel the hopelessness, though covered with positivity and intentionally joyful attitudes the sting is still there and there is a dreary sadness in the air. No one really wants to talk about it, but you know everyone is just hanging on every moment with him. I can’t imagine how he must feel. Part of me wants to ask him. Part of me thinks it’s better to not remind him.