Terminal Illness and the Sorrowful Mysteries

Today, while meditating on the Sorrowful Mysteries it hit me for the first time how similar these mysteries are to a person's walk with terminal illness.

The Agony in the Garden:

Hearing one's diagnosis for the first time is just like the Agony in the Garden if we think about it.  The patient has an answer to their questions and concerns but the answer is cancer, or dementia, or any number of progressive terminal illnesses.  Immediately, they are thrown into the Garden of Gethsemane with Christ.  Together, they get on their knees (physically or metaphorically) and place themselves at the mercy of God the Father.  "My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not as I will, but as you will", Jesus and His new companion in suffering, pray in unison.  Their loved ones stand aside, like the apostles Peter, James and John, wondering what to do, how they can help.  More fervently the prayers stream from them, pleas for those they love, whom they will leave behind.



The Scourging at the Pillar:
The treatment period can be likened to the Scourging at the Pillar, especially for those receiving treatments that make them physically or mentally ill.  Chemo and radiation sessions, hair loss, IVs, or maybe memory loss, hostility and fear, moments of lucidity among the confusion, are all the moments when the Suffering are being scourged at their own pillars.  With each "blow", each treatment, each moment of debilitation, they feel themselves being ripped apart, no longer their whole selves, their old selves.  And their loved ones, who have to watch the sufferer drift farther and farther away from the person they knew and loved, take the place of the Blessed Virgin, knowing what has happening to her son, without any power to stop it.



The Crowning of Thorns:
I see the crowning of thorns in every moment a decision needs to be made by the sufferer or the family members preceding their future passing.  How do we set up in-home care?  Ouch, a thorn.  Can we get extra help with the kids after school?  Ouch, thorn.  Am I leaving my family with enough...money, resources, memories of me? Thorn. Thorn. Thorn.  How will I say goodbye when the time comes? Thorn.  In each of these moments, in each of these decisions there is that terrible suffering.  And yet, if we unite it with Christ's suffering, can me make it sweet as well?  Several who have gone before us, have shown us we can.  Was not Jesus' suffering for us, so great and terrible as it was, a sweet balm for Him as well knowing His suffering will save the souls who choose Him, who love Him, who follow Him, and who trust in Him?





The Carrying of the Cross:
Here is where it really gets difficult.  The time the sufferer knows the end is near.  The time they are taking their walk to the end of their earthly life.  Carrying, dragging, or barely able to hold on to their cross as they struggle down that dusty lonely road.  Like our Lord, they fall, they get up again.  They meet our Lady, the Blessed Mother.  They look the crying women, men and children of their family members and friends in the eye and bravely say as our Lord did, don't cry for me, don't be sad.  They know their time is drawing near and they are exhausted from the fight.  But there is something looming ahead.  Something that to many seem dreadful, yet to the believer, the lover of Christ, seems almost beautiful; certainly bitter sweet.

The Crucifixion:

The sufferer, along with Christ, has come to their Calvary and they are ready.  They are ready to hang on their cross and take their last breaths.  They say their goodbyes to their loved ones either verbally or through their heart and they breathe their last.  Looking upon them at the foot of their cross are their loved ones in union with the Blessed Mother, St. John and St. Mary Magdalene.  This is the time of mourning for those left behind.  Great mourning.

BUT, if those of us left behind, remember what happens on that third day, if we recall the great excitement of the Resurrection, this moment of mourning can indeed be turned into dancing!  Death is not the end but a new beginning!

I know it's not a very uplifting post nor it is meant to be flippant.  It's simply what came to my mind today while meditating on the Sorrowful Mysteries after hearing about someone's recent passing.

I guess, there is something to be said for those who experience their own Passion here on earth.  It is said that St. Peter felt he was not worthy to die as Christ did so he requested to be crucified upside down. There is something to be said for those who seem to be chosen, in a way, to suffer as our Lord did, to be united as one with our Savior.  Something very great indeed.

Walking The Path To My Calvary

I reach up, holding this plank with shaky hands, sweat pouring down my forehead.  With weak knees, I stumble over this barren earth losing my balance when stepping on the smallest of pebbles.  Down I crash, hitting the ground.  Hard.  This hefty timber comes tumbling down upon me and there I lay, barely breathing under it's great weight.  Silence.  Complete darkness.  I am all alone.  This is the time I question my own strength.  Can I go on?  Is it even worth it?  Why do I try?  And then, just as sunshine rises over the horizon and night is met with all the promise of a new day, the weight is lifted and the darkness fades.  In it's stead, staring back at me, I see the kindest, most compassionate eyes, filled with tears, filled with my pain.  He reaches out his hand to me and helps me up.  I reposition my substantial load, equally distributing it's weight across my back.  I check my balance before I begin to walk.  Walk again.  It's then that I look up for the first time to see whom I should thank for rescuing me.  Who was this hero?  And there He stands, bent forward, sweat and blood running down His face.  But He stands.  He does not waiver.  He does not stumble.  He stands.  He stands for me.  He embraces His tremendous cross, such a weight I cannot even fathom carrying.  I look at the small bundle of wood I am supposed to lug on my back and realize how small my cross has become.  That large plank, the great weight I was suffocating under, is no longer there.  It has been replaced by a much smaller version.  My little cross.  I look to my Lord and see His eyes pleading for me to pick it up and take my little cross.  So I do.  I fling it on my back and together we journey along this path.  I still feel it's weight on my body, trying to push me down.  I still feel the grief, despair and sadness that sits heavily upon me.  Yet, I know, this road that I travel is not one I travel alone.  I can carry on, I can continue, because He has taken on my burdens and relieved me of the impossible.  So with joy and tremendous effort, I take my next step.

I had such grand ideas of the Lenten journey I'd take this year.  How my heart would be transformed!  How close I would become to my Jesus!  Yet, the Father had other plans for me.  This entire season has been spent at doctors offices, urgent care centers, and emergency rooms.  Fighting colds and banishing fevers has been the plight of my poor children for most of the month of February.  But the boys finally kicked their cold and things began to look up.  Spring was coming and winter would be gone soon enough.  We could get through this, right?

Up until a week ago, I felt we were coming out of the haze sickness leaves over a household, when it was my turn for the ER visit.  Last week, my husband and I suffered our third miscarriage.  The third baby I will never get to hold against my skin, nurse, bathe, or smell that newborn baby smell.  The third child I'll never watch grow up.  The third adult I'll never send to college or see get married.  Therefore, my cross became too great, much too great for me or my husband to carry alone.  We were stumbling and falling beneath it's weight.  And if I'm being completely honest, there were moments when I didn't want to get back up again.  I didn't want to take on this cross, to carry this grief, this pain, this loss.  I didn't want to go through this AGAIN.  Yet, God the Father knew how difficult this would be for us and in His great goodness and generosity, He sent us beautiful mercies along the way.  The best part was that He made me aware of these mercies when they were happening and the consolation of knowing He was with us, helped us both to keep going and to get out of bed in each morning.

Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of times I felt alone, abandoned even.  If anyone has ever experienced a miscarriage at the ER, you know how matter-of-fact these things are taken and how little if any care or sympathy is expressed.  During my examinations, while alone with numerous emotionless medical personnel, I was wondering, just as my Jesus had on Calvary, "My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?".  Intellectually I knew God was there.  My Blessed Mother was there, holding me, stroking my hair.  I knew it, but I couldn't feel it.  The emptiness!  The great nothingness!  It's a darkness I do not wish upon my worst enemies.  This is the cross I had fallen beneath.  It's a cross I must carry every day and one I am trying desperately to carry well.

You know, it's funny, because life actually goes on.  The earth has the nerve to rotate around the sun and time has the gall to march on.  In spite of my heartache, the world continues to move.  How cruel and yet how satisfying to know some things never change.  To know this great tragedy of ours will not become the "be all and end all" and life will go on, is both terrifying and reassuring at the same time.  Am I still stumbling over the little pebbles of life?  You better believe it.  Do I fall sometimes thinking I can't or don't want to get up?  It's part of the process, a process I know all too well.  But do I know my Lord, Jesus, has taken the most burdensome parts of my cross upon His back?  Do I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this Lent, I walk this path to my Calvary in the greatest company?  Oh, praise God for this knowledge!  Praise God for this truth!  I do not walk this path alone.  It gives me joy, no matter how difficult it may be, to suffer alongside my Jesus and if I must suffer, let me, Lord, suffer well with You, for the greatest good of all souls!