As my grandfather has been battling an "unknown illness", I've been desperately trying to find joy in the enormous amount of pain that our family is feeling. Earlier this week we received heartbreaking news. Papo's diagnosis was not at all what we had hoped for. He was diagnosed with Stage 4 Hodgkins Lymphoma. As I sat in the car outside of my daycare providers home, I cried and prayed. I prayed that somehow God would find a way to get him Home. We all knew that he just wanted to be Home!
Today's news was not any easier to handle. Due to a variety of complications, his cancer is ultimately untreatable and his days have become numbered. As I struggled through the day and attempted to teach and be effective in the classroom (which I'm quite sure was a failure) whenever I came close to tears I thought to myself, "At least he is getting to go Home!" The tears still came, but at least now they came with a small taste of joy. Joy that he would be able to spend his last days surrounded by the love of his family.
As I've been packing tonight and intermittently shedding tears, same images continously play in my head.
I've been picturing all of the family who have been surrounding him in the hospital.
I've been picturing Papo getting on a plane and heading to the Mayo Clinic, everyone uncertain of his fate. The instant his prognosis turned grim there was no hesitation. The Ranney family took charge, loaded up the vehicles and didn't look back as they hit the road towards Minnesota.
I've been picturing what the doctors and nurses must have thought seeing the Ranney Support Team thundering around the halls and rooms of St. Mary's Hospital (I'm sure it was not always quiet!).
I've been picturing Papo being loaded onto a stretcher for his last plane ride Home, and right on his heals is the same family caravan. I am certain that no thought given to what hour they might arrive, how they would drive through the night, or who would take the first shift. There was no question that, come hell or high water, they would be right behind him the whole way.
While they are pounding the pavement back home, I've been picturing the rest of us, scrambling to pack, furiously get our affairs in order, and saying our goodbyes so that we can begin to make our way Home as well. Again, with no question or hesitation.
The final image, is much more somber. I'm picturing everyone together, mourning Papo and celebrating his life.
Eventhough these moments are shrouded with sorrow, I can't help but find Joy. I find Joy in the fact that Papo was not alone. Never, for even one second, did he have to face this on his own. I find Joy in hearing my kids say, "Mommy...when will we see Papo...and will he say, Hey Little Buddy?" because I know that they will have memories of him. I find Joy in the enveloping love of our family. I know that we all will be there for each other...always! I find Joy in celebrating his life. I know that there will be tears, but there will also be love, laughter and togetherness. I find Joy in knowing that even though for many of us, life will never be the same, it will go on and that even in our darkest hours, there will always be Joy.
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