Cancer at Christmas
Advent
Day 4:
There are many wonderful Christmas moments tucked away in the crevices of my mind. Many I probably can't recall, but there are a few that shine like the lights on the Christmas Tree. One such Christmas is one I imagine that if I were to live out my own version of Dickens' A Christmas Carol, I would be taken back in time to look at as an important life moment. I was fourteen, had gone through almost a year of treatments for bone cancer and was supposed to be on the other side of a very dangerous mountain, BUT the test I had returned very different results. So just days before Christmas, we headed home, knowing that the New Year brought lung surgery and uncertain results.
Even though I know the outcome now, just writing the brief summary of those events, Christmas of 1991, feels like someone has punched me in the gut. We had received a surprise for Christmas and it wasn't a good one. Despite the dark clouds of uncertainty hanging over our heads I remember having a good time with family and friends at the usual activities, but I can still remember the feeling that would overcome me at times. The very strong possibility that December 1991 was my very last Christmas. I watched intently, loved each small moment, and tried to push the "what ifs" out of my thoughts so I could fully be "in the moments". One of the strongest memories that I have from that Christmas was seemingly mundane. I honestly don't remember any gifts I received that Christmas, I don't really even remember that Christmas morning, but I do remember the people who loved me so well. The church friends and neighbors who cared so deeply. Still, I have a stronger memory: laughing.
My older brother, Matthew, and I had volunteered to help wrap the three younger siblings gifts. He, an art student, became very creative when we were running low on wrapping paper. We took some scraps and made jokes about our crazy family as we wrapped up a box that ended up looking like the island of misfit toys had wrapped it. We laughed and laughed. In that moment I felt normal. I felt healthy and full of life. No worries about January or cancer, just laughter.
All these years later, my brother travels the world and we rarely spend Christmas together but I have that gift, that memory I unwrap from 1991 every year. That memory is precious each time it's opened because its raw, unpolished, unplanned, rolling with the punches kind of moment.
As I reflect on the first Christmas story that we know so well, I always sit and let the words about young Mary just simmer in my mind for a little while, "But Mary treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart". These words are written in Luke 2:19 after the shepherds came to worship at the stable (and throughout the gospel story) We read the story knowing the purpose and the ending, but Mary was taking each moment, wrapping it up and treasuring it, knowing she would need to unwrap it all again later. She and Joseph had not planned to have Jesus in a dirty stable or be greeted by a group of strange sheep herders who, filled with excitement, burst on the scene to tell them about the celestial choir they had just seen and heard. Mary and Joseph probably had planned they would give the Son of God the most comfortable home their modest means could afford, but a stable? In a distant city?
Maybe this Christmas is coming at the end of a horrible year for you. Maybe it has been fantastic, but either way, you will only truly remember it and ponder it later if the most important things are kept the most important things. Give your time, your love, your laughter to those you do have within your reach this year. Looking back, as you ponder over this Christmas, the most precious gifts will be the memories that you get to unwrap in the days to come.
Treasure all those you have around your tree or at your dinner table. Next season may look different. The memories are the only gifts that will last.
-Melissa Robbins Pyle
12/14/18
Day 4:
There are many wonderful Christmas moments tucked away in the crevices of my mind. Many I probably can't recall, but there are a few that shine like the lights on the Christmas Tree. One such Christmas is one I imagine that if I were to live out my own version of Dickens' A Christmas Carol, I would be taken back in time to look at as an important life moment. I was fourteen, had gone through almost a year of treatments for bone cancer and was supposed to be on the other side of a very dangerous mountain, BUT the test I had returned very different results. So just days before Christmas, we headed home, knowing that the New Year brought lung surgery and uncertain results.
Even though I know the outcome now, just writing the brief summary of those events, Christmas of 1991, feels like someone has punched me in the gut. We had received a surprise for Christmas and it wasn't a good one. Despite the dark clouds of uncertainty hanging over our heads I remember having a good time with family and friends at the usual activities, but I can still remember the feeling that would overcome me at times. The very strong possibility that December 1991 was my very last Christmas. I watched intently, loved each small moment, and tried to push the "what ifs" out of my thoughts so I could fully be "in the moments". One of the strongest memories that I have from that Christmas was seemingly mundane. I honestly don't remember any gifts I received that Christmas, I don't really even remember that Christmas morning, but I do remember the people who loved me so well. The church friends and neighbors who cared so deeply. Still, I have a stronger memory: laughing.
My older brother, Matthew, and I had volunteered to help wrap the three younger siblings gifts. He, an art student, became very creative when we were running low on wrapping paper. We took some scraps and made jokes about our crazy family as we wrapped up a box that ended up looking like the island of misfit toys had wrapped it. We laughed and laughed. In that moment I felt normal. I felt healthy and full of life. No worries about January or cancer, just laughter.
All these years later, my brother travels the world and we rarely spend Christmas together but I have that gift, that memory I unwrap from 1991 every year. That memory is precious each time it's opened because its raw, unpolished, unplanned, rolling with the punches kind of moment.
As I reflect on the first Christmas story that we know so well, I always sit and let the words about young Mary just simmer in my mind for a little while, "But Mary treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart". These words are written in Luke 2:19 after the shepherds came to worship at the stable (and throughout the gospel story) We read the story knowing the purpose and the ending, but Mary was taking each moment, wrapping it up and treasuring it, knowing she would need to unwrap it all again later. She and Joseph had not planned to have Jesus in a dirty stable or be greeted by a group of strange sheep herders who, filled with excitement, burst on the scene to tell them about the celestial choir they had just seen and heard. Mary and Joseph probably had planned they would give the Son of God the most comfortable home their modest means could afford, but a stable? In a distant city?
Maybe this Christmas is coming at the end of a horrible year for you. Maybe it has been fantastic, but either way, you will only truly remember it and ponder it later if the most important things are kept the most important things. Give your time, your love, your laughter to those you do have within your reach this year. Looking back, as you ponder over this Christmas, the most precious gifts will be the memories that you get to unwrap in the days to come.
Treasure all those you have around your tree or at your dinner table. Next season may look different. The memories are the only gifts that will last.
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| More recent, "healthier" moments with two of my siblings. |
-Melissa Robbins Pyle
12/14/18
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