Struggle

Every year on this day, I write a note in remembrance of my cancer diagnosis. Every year on this day, I relive those agonizing moments when I woke up from surgery missing a breast, wondering what the future would be like, or if I had one to look forward to.

For all my forgetfulness, every year on this day, everything seems so clear to me--as if everything just happened yesterday: maxing out my health card budget for the year; friends visiting and proposing to help; donations pouring in for my treatment; going bald (from chemotherapy), getting burned (from radiotherapy), and getting a second diagnosis (cancer had spread); going back to school while preparing for what were supposed to be my last days; eventually living through the first year and completing treatment (oral chemotherapy) after 15 months; making it through the second year, then finishing graduate studies; surviving the third year, then the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, 10th, 11th, and then my husband passing away before I reached the 12th; trudging along the 13th, and then somehow getting to where I am now, the 14th.

Throughout these 14 years, I never felt bitter, nor angry, nor sad about having cancer. Rather, I felt surprised, awed and overjoyed with the miracle of each new day. I was grateful for each new chance be with family and friends, and happy to praise and worship God Almighty in word and deed.

Of course, things changed when the hubby went to heaven... I have been less grateful, less happy, less generous overall. I honestly have not been thinking straight. I'm like a car running on a quarter-tank of gasoline---still cruising, but not really sure if there'll be enough fuel to reach the nearest gas station.

The person I want to spend the rest of my life with is gone. Why do I still want to live? Or do I?

(pause for mass)

Every day the Lord speaks to me. Even when I don't hear mass, He speaks to me.

The gospel (Mt. 24:42-51) today says, "Stay awake! For you do not know on which day your Lord will come." I remember how the hubby's demise shocked just about everybody... but he was ready. He asked for a priest---and for a specific priest, too: a friend from of old. And he returned to the faith of his birth, his wife's answered prayer.

Today's priest (Fr. Ed) said in his homily, the Lord interjects (Himself) in our lives. He lives among us. For 22 years, my husband was the Lord at home. Every day he'd prepare my breakfast and lunch to go, cook my dinner, and give me a foot bath or massage before we turned in. He meant the world to me, so I worked doggedly for our present, and dreamed of our future together.

Every day has been a struggle without him. But today as I 'celebrate' 14 years as a cancer survivor, I honor my late hubby with a new resolve to be a "faithful and prudent servant whom the master  has put in charge of his household". I still don't cook nor wash nor sew---nor do any of those domestic duties he so very kindly attended to while he was alive. But I will "stay awake" by serving those Jesus put in my charge with love and humility.

Indeed, while I feel quite miserable, I recognize the Lord's great mercy upon me---giving me every chance to be ready, as my husband was when came his time. I should not ask why I want to live, or if I still want to live. For every day is a gift from heaven, undeserved but received with gladness (if we but be grateful).

I must learn to accept: In all things may the most holy, the most just, and the most lovable will of God be done, praised, and exalted above all for ever. Your will be done, O Lord, your will be done. The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord now and always.

And I also must repeat today's psalm: I will praise your name for ever, Lord.