Make no mistake; it is a tough choice to allow yourself to fall in love in the midst of a brain tumour scare. Either you embrace it or walk. I met an incredible man who just got me, down to every last eccentric quirk. Friends and family watched as I dated a man who had a level 5 angioblastoma brain tumour and had already survived several invasive brain surgeries. But I’m the kind of person who chooses to find out rather than live with the what ifs.
Dating Phil was the best of times and the worst of times. The party that brought our lives together was the exact day the tumour was officially back. Our mutual friends were dating at the time, and they had wanted to set Phil up with one of their other friends. But within 15 seconds of my arrival, Phil and I disappeared into the corner of the room to discuss our mutual eclectic appreciations that included an impromptu accordion lesson.
After that party, our friendship blossomed into something more. The test results announcing that Phil would need to go in for one more invasive brain surgery didn’t arrive for a couple of weeks. Phil did a pretty good job at hiding the signs and symptoms of the growing seizures while we hung out.
We dated for an amazing three months. News of another life-threatening surgery brought up a very serious “future talk:” about marriage, medical debt and the red tape that goes along with a Canadian-American relationship. We mutually let go because we loved one another.
So within those three months, here are a few lessons I learned:
Not everyone in your life is equally equipped to handle the tough stuff.
I began to crave the rare people in my life who were able to just hug me and say, “Nothing I say is going to be the right thing, but you’re still awesome. I love you. And you have my number if you need anything.” Sometimes bearing someone else’s burden is as simple as acknowledging it’s hard and leaving the back door open when they are ready to connect with you on their terms. Those who checked in with me once a week in turn taught me how to be there for others who are in similar situations now, and how grief affects everyone differently.
The biggest temptation is to direct your anger in God’s direction.
I got really angry with God. But it was ultimately my choice to be angry. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that and not want to take responsibility for my part in welcoming heartache in. God’s sovereign plan sometimes looks like gibberish from our angle. Slowly but surely I am trying to accept things as they come.
“Love is blind” took on a whole new meaning.
Why? Because when I looked at Phil, I couldn’t see his scars. I saw the goofy youth pastor turned missionary who always had a funny quip to add to any conversation. Post-surgery photos of Phil left me puzzled. I often didn’t recognize him because the man in the photos was not the man I saw. When people would show me pictures of his healthier youthful days, I would think, “There’s the man I love.”
Eternal love is no different. It’s blind to the imperfections I see as a barrier. This experience showed me how Christ sees me for who I am, despite my blemishes.
Unexpected Grief.
One of the side-effects of falling in love and having to say goodbye to someone so early on in the relationship was the after shocks to the initial situation. After the trauma, grief came in the form of the “What could have been,” the “what if,” the “what should have been.” The future I wanted. Overall, I have learned to relinquish my ideas of how I thought life ought to go. I dedicated my future to God’s choices for me and I’ve been adapting the one-day-at-a-time rule.
It Changed My Views on Healing.
Cynically I sat by as people would tell me they were praying for a miracle and healing. Watching Phil’s gradual decline after his final brain surgery seemed like undeserved torture. This brought me to realize that complete healing may mean the opportunity to spend eternal life with our Maker, rather than living out a compromised life here on earth.
I wanted healing for Phil and he got just that: complete healing in every way. Phil got to go play accordion with our Creator on March 10th 2012.
Flickr photo (cc) by Boston Public Library
