My wife is an eight-time cancer survivor.
She has been given “last rites” by priests on two separate occasions.
Because my wife knows cancer so intimately, she coaches people when they are diagnosed. She continues with them until either their cancer is in remission or it claims their life.
Here is what I have learned from watching her on this journey…
Each of have a “cancer room” somewhere deep in our psyche.
It is the place our soul goes when we receive a cancer diagnosis. In my imagination it is a small dingy room with bad fluorescent lighting.
Most people are fortunate enough to never have to visit their cancer room, but we all have one.
When most of us encounter someone battling cancer we are uncomfortable. As a result, we try to hurry the person out of their cancer room:
“We’ll beat this!”
“I’m sure everything is going to be just fine.”
“God never gives us more than we can handle.”
My wife knows that a person cannot be led out of their cancer room.
She has spent enough time in her own room, that she is comfortable in other people’s rooms.
My wife’s gift is that she is able to just sit with people in their cancer room without trying to change it:
“You’re pissed? Then let’s be pissed.”
“You’re scared? Then let’s be scared.”
“You want to break stuff? Then let’s find something to break.”
“You need to be alone right now? I’ll be right outside.”
“You want to talk about ‘The Bachelor’ and pretend—for just a moment—that the world makes sense? Baby, I got you!”
This isn’t really about cancer.
Cancer is where I learned this, but cancer is not the only room.
There are rooms for grief. For job loss. For homelessness. For all the moments when life suddenly stops making sense.
Often the greatest kindness we can show someone is the simplest: make sure they don’t suffer alone.
Sometimes love is not showing someone the way out. It is pulling up a chair.
Peace,
Ryan