There’s no denying that this past week has been incredibly intense. I won’t pretend to understand what it would actually feel like to say a final good-bye to Kendall in this mortal life, but I imagine it will be the most difficult and gut-wrenching thing I have ever experienced. I can say, though, that there is a confidence in knowing that I came right up to that edge, and was able to come through on the other side…well, generally intact. It didn’t break me, and I didn’t shirk. I don’t want to experience losing my spouse any time soon, but I’m no longer afraid that I won’t be able to do what I have to in those difficult moments. There is also a sort of peace knowing that we are temporally prepared for that eventuality (thank you to my dad for helping me navigate things like mortuary and cemetery preparations and purchases).
I’ve decided I don’t really care about what the “odds” are any more. Ultimately, things are in the Lord’s hands. It didn’t matter that the odds were against Kendall engrafting – he did. Or that he wouldn’t be able to come back from how sick he’s been – he’s doing it. Certainly the odds said that Kendall shouldn’t have gotten VOD, or had rare chromosome mutations, or multiple atypical side effects from the chemotherapy, not to mention the odds of having a cancer so rare that only four other people in the world have ever been diagnosed with it before. The “odds” would say that I shouldn’t be able to be doing what I’m doing without completely breaking. But here I am.
I have had quite a few people reach out to me in the past few days to see if I and our kids were doing OK. I’ve lost count of the medical personnel who have come to check on me regularly (pretty sure I have met every single social worker at Huntsman at least once, and support staff, and the chaplain, and the head of the ICU, and previous doctors and nurses and therapists who have come to check on ME to see if I’m doing OK or need anything). I can see the people around me watching me carefully, like I’m fragile and could break (or break down?) at any moment. Because yes, I am spending each day, all day, in an ICU room with my critically ill husband. And yes, it is exhausting.
But the truth is, I really am OK. Really. And surprisingly, so are my kids (all things considered). Or at least better than I would have expected. We’re talking through things, and being honest with each other about how we’re feeling in ways we haven’t before. I’m able to be home for dinner and spend one-on-one time with each of my children. And certainly it helps that Kendall continues to improve. He was taken off the ventilator yesterday and has been able to breathe on his own without it since then. He was able to stand up (assisted) three times today. We’ve heard his voice again, and he is aware and interactive again (albeit incredibly tired).
I really can’t explain it, other than to say that we can feel the numerous prayers being offered in our behalf in a very real, tangible way. We are truly being lifted, and strengthened. Just tonight I was talking with my kids about how often the Lord doesn’t take away our trials, but He has promised to help strengthen us to be able to bear them, just like he did for the people of Alma in Mosiah 24. I shared with them several examples of how I have seen that in my own life over these past weeks and months.
I’m reminded of a promise President Nelson gave at the end of his General Conference talk last October. “I bless you to be filled with the peace of the Lord Jesus Christ. His peace is beyond all mortal understanding. I bless you with an increased desire and ability to obey the laws of God. I promise that as you do, you will be showered with blessings, including greater courage, increased personal revelation, sweeter harmony in your homes, and joy even amid uncertainty.” I testify that this is true, because I’m living it. We are being showered with blessings, and have been given greater courage, and personal revelation, and yes, even joy amid all the uncertainty.
