[Post from Paul] Crying in the Chapel

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before:

A man jumps off the top of a twenty story building.  As he passes the tenth floor, a colleague pokes his head out the window and asks him how he’s doing.

“Well,” the man says, “So far, so good.”

That’s me.  I’m that guy.  I know Pam’s diagnosis.  I know her prognosis.  I know she’s suffering, now, from chronic nausea.  Her nausea upsets me, but I refuse to let myself worry about her future.  I’m stubborn that way.  Nothing has happened.  Not yet.

Pam’s different.  You all know that.  She cries all day every day.  She’s crying now.  Today, when Liqa and I were decorating the tree, she cried and said, “What if this is my last Christmas?”

I don’t know if this is her last Christmas, all I know is that — right now — we’re preparing for Christmas 2012, and she’s around for this Christmas.  Honestly, that’s how I think.  I’ve anchored myself in the ‘now’.

Pam cries, I don’t — hardly ever.  I wrote about the last time I cried, and I wasn’t even crying about Pam, not exactly.  I cried today as well, and I wrote about that in my own blog.  Today I cried for the parents of the kids killed at Sandy Hook.  I can cry for them.  Something has happened to them.  Nothing has happened to Pam.  Not yet.  So far, so good.

Anyway, I cried my tears at church.  Great, heaving sobs.  I gave into it entirely and it felt like relief to me.  I’m grateful no one approached me.  I was happy to be alone.  Alone, with Jesus.  I can cry for those kids; but I can’t cry for myself or my family.  Nothing has happened to us.  Not yet.  So far, so good.


About pamvbradford

I am a fifty seven year old banker specializing in government banking. I have a beautiful twenty-one year old daughter and a wonderful husband. My husband and I recently downsized, and purchased a beautiful condo in Watertown MA. We love our new home. I know I am a very fortunate person. I am surrounded by supportive family members, by supportive coworkers and by the marvelous support of our faith community at Sacred Heart Parish in Lexington MA. As the Psalm says, "There is nothing that I lack." My whole life changed on July 18, 2012 when I was diagnosed with a brain tumor. The news came from out of the blue. My tumor was removed by the marvelous Dr. Mark Johnson and his wonderful team of surgeons at the Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston. The surgery truly was a miracle. I couldn't possibly have gotten better care. Now the 'easy' part is over. The tough part is to learn to walk with God in the midst of danger and surprise. My mood shifts from gratitude to fear and back again but I know God has a purpose for me. There's a reason I didn't die on the operating table. There's something that God wants me to do. This blog is my effort to share with others, with all of you, what it is that I am learning as I put one foot ahead of the other, live each day as it comes, and discover what it is that God has to teach me. Your prayers keep me going. Your love comforts me. Your knowledge and faith guide and teach me. God bless you all!
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2 Responses to [Post from Paul] Crying in the Chapel

  1. jonparker55 says:

    I continue to follow all of your and Pam’s posts even though I don’t comment on each and every posts. My thoughts and prayers are with you always and are reinforced by every post I read. You are not alone on this journey of ups and downs through days of fears and tears, and quiet courage and determination.

  2. ronald lancaster says:

    One day at a time, Lord Jesus! You are so right. Today is good, Pam is here, we are all here, TODAY. The ground floor is a long way off. A cancer cure may stop the fall, way before impact. One day, easy to say, harder to do. Nausea, anxiety, fear of the unknown, loss….. those are Pam’s reality. And yet, one day at a time, Lord Jesus. (Keep flapping your angel wings, Paul and Liqa!)


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