He Knew
Stories
Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit
Series III, Cycle C
He knew. From the moment I saw his eyes looking at me -- at my body -- I knew he knew. He was a survivor; I was still a victim.
"He" was Robert, a hospital-appointed encourager who would help me. Robert would be around to cheer me up, to keep my attitude strong and my spirits up. He could help me because he knew.
Robert had had cancer twelve years ago and had experienced everything I was just starting to experience. Robert knew about the constant tears at unsuspecting moments. Robert knew about the preoccupation with hair loss. Robert knew about the never-ending feeling of nausea during chemotherapy sessions. He knew because he was a survivor.
I wasn't a survivor. I was still a victim, the disease taking everything I had, twisting it around and forcing me to make sense of it. Of course it made no sense. Cancer has no grace. It has no mercy. It takes no rest.
Robert came to me the first day of my first round of treatment. At first I didn't want him around. He was a little too cheerful. A little too forced. A little too healthy-looking for me to relate. But he talked and talked and talked and shared his incredible story. He had looked at me with eyes that understood and I knew he knew what it was like. He could truly understand. He could help.
Robert had colorectal cancer when he was only 27 years old. He was a father of a four-year-old and two-year-old. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to have cancer. He didn't want to have a "bag" with him constantly. Robert fought, cried, and threw up. He lost hair, lost weight, and lost hope. But he never forgot that he was loved. God loved him. His wife loved him. His children loved him. His three sisters loved him. His many friends loved him. Even the lazy old Labrador loved him.
It was enough to make him want to fight. With time, bald was beautiful. Feeling down was not a sin. Prayer was constant and living life to the fullest was top priority.
Robert almost died, but after two years and two surgeries, Robert was "in remission" -- a survivor. And ten years later, he planted two trees in the cancer center's grove to honor his survival.
I had much to learn. I had much to hope for. Mostly, I had much to experience. But I had a good model and I knew I was loved. For now I had the gift of life and I would live it to the fullest!
"He" was Robert, a hospital-appointed encourager who would help me. Robert would be around to cheer me up, to keep my attitude strong and my spirits up. He could help me because he knew.
Robert had had cancer twelve years ago and had experienced everything I was just starting to experience. Robert knew about the constant tears at unsuspecting moments. Robert knew about the preoccupation with hair loss. Robert knew about the never-ending feeling of nausea during chemotherapy sessions. He knew because he was a survivor.
I wasn't a survivor. I was still a victim, the disease taking everything I had, twisting it around and forcing me to make sense of it. Of course it made no sense. Cancer has no grace. It has no mercy. It takes no rest.
Robert came to me the first day of my first round of treatment. At first I didn't want him around. He was a little too cheerful. A little too forced. A little too healthy-looking for me to relate. But he talked and talked and talked and shared his incredible story. He had looked at me with eyes that understood and I knew he knew what it was like. He could truly understand. He could help.
Robert had colorectal cancer when he was only 27 years old. He was a father of a four-year-old and two-year-old. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to have cancer. He didn't want to have a "bag" with him constantly. Robert fought, cried, and threw up. He lost hair, lost weight, and lost hope. But he never forgot that he was loved. God loved him. His wife loved him. His children loved him. His three sisters loved him. His many friends loved him. Even the lazy old Labrador loved him.
It was enough to make him want to fight. With time, bald was beautiful. Feeling down was not a sin. Prayer was constant and living life to the fullest was top priority.
Robert almost died, but after two years and two surgeries, Robert was "in remission" -- a survivor. And ten years later, he planted two trees in the cancer center's grove to honor his survival.
I had much to learn. I had much to hope for. Mostly, I had much to experience. But I had a good model and I knew I was loved. For now I had the gift of life and I would live it to the fullest!
