I wanted to write today even though I cannot really organize my thoughts. This is another of those times that I just want to get the words written down, but not sure where they are going. My friend has cancer and she is not doing well. That previous sentence was going to be, "my friend is dying," but I couldn't bring myself to type those words in that context. I am still hoping for the miracle. But I think I lack enough faith to believe it is still possible. She is still in the hospital because her pain is not under control yet. I got to visit her on Monday.
Her hands and feet were very chapped from the treatments she gets. I asked if I could put lotion on her hands and she almost refused. She didn't want to impose. Her husband handed me the lotion with a smile. He knows her well. Though her feet hurt too much to touch, I was honored to help relieve the suffering in her hands. It was a little thing, but it was something. Her left hand had a needle taped down for administering pain medication and an oxygen saturation monitor was attached to her finger and wrapped around her wrist. Her right arm couldn't have anything on it because of all that had already been done. She had bruises all up her arms where they had removed lymph nodes. Some spots were a deep, dark red. In that moment, I realized I was seeing authentic beauty.
Mother Teresa's Sisters of Charity are quoted as saying that everyone they help is really Jesus. A young nun went to her superior and said, "Mother, I touched the Body of Christ today!" Christ was fully present in a man whose wounds she had dressed and comforted in his pain. The memory of reading those words flooded through me the moment I touched my friend's hand. I was touching the Body of Christ! And it was so beautiful!
She has lost both breasts to cancer. Her beautiful, blond hair is gone. The steroids have puffed up her cheeks so much. I said, "Gerber baby." Her husband said, "No, Cabbage Patch baby." Again, he knows her well. As he affectionately rubs her head and puts a cold cloth on it, I witness another tender moment between them. It is more pure beauty.
But the most humbling part was our conversation, just she and I. Her husband and her mom took a break to let us visit. In her agonizing pain, she looked to me and said, "I am so sorry. You hurt like this all the time." There are not enough words to describe that moment. I assured her that she was in much more pain than I, but she protested again. She said, "Yes, but I know mine will stop eventually. Yours doesn't." I could not hold back my tears any longer. I had touched the Body of Christ and now heard words of comfort from someone suffering more than I can comprehend. The magnitude of that moment has taken me days to process.
As we chatted, she encouraged me to keep getting the word out about contraception. In her early marriage she hadn't known about the dangers of contraception, and had never really heard of NFP. Our very first conversation had been about NFP and how glad she was that I was a promoter. We spent our time in her hospital room talking about ways to help people reconsider and not have an abortion and how to reach out to people with love and support, no matter what choices they have made. Every thing we mentioned she made a mental note to herself to add that to her prayer intentions. She was more than happy to offer up her suffering for others. We closed our time together by listening and praying a sung Chaplet of Divine Mercy. For that little bit of time it distracted her from her pain.
Now some people might think that it is just because this young mother of two children is at the end of her life, that she has just now become so selfless. In my own life, that is probably what it would take for me. But, no. In the short year I have known her, she has amazed me with her gentle and humble heart. She has a balance of strong and meek that I cannot yet emulate, but I hope to learn. Before her cancer returned, I had asked her how she had faced death without losing her spirit. Her answer even then had humbled me. She said, "With cancer you have to. What I admire is that you are in constant pain and yet you can still smile and laugh."
I am so very humbled knowing this amazing lady. I thank God for the short time I have had getting to know her. Her name is Kim. She is one of those "saints on Earth" that so few of us get to meet. I have had that honor.
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