As a caregiver/care partner, we deal with a special kind of stress, thanks to our loved one’s terminal diagnosis – one that includes the (potential) destruction of the human we love and care for.
That special stress? The words we receive from others.
I always thought few things couldn’t be overcome, until I met glioblastoma.
But people sometimes have the audacity to say that this horror is somehow part of God’s Plan. Like he chose to do this to John for a good reason to satisfy some godly design.
And it’s crap.
You shouldn’t say that to a GBM patient anymore than you would to a holocaust survivor. And if you were going through what my husband is, or witnessing what I am, you would NEVER say such things.
While I haven’t lost my faith, I don’t believe in that kind of God.
My God does not require torture, suffering and 24 hour praise. God does not smite the innocent to somehow show off his power and flex his muscles for all to see and believe.
Think about it. If a human did that, we’d call it abuse, among other things.
“Just believe. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
No I don’t see. Anymore than I see how “things are better” for countless lives lost every day to other terrible, awful things that we choose to turn our eyes away from.
I do believe my God walks with me though. And holds me through the fire, gives me something to hang onto in the storm. Helps me consciously evolve and make lemonade out of lemons.
If I listen, if I calm the noise, God whispers Love to me.
And I think sometimes God wonders as much as we do.
We learn compassion and empathy in this journey, to depths like no one else can even imagine. It deepens us like we’ve never been deepened before.
And maybe, just maybe God shares in that with us.
Maybe… God grows too.