Unprepared/ I thought I loved you then...
Written Apr 29, 2012 11:20pm by Amanda Berbig
Many of you know my best friend Ryan. Some of you don't. Many years ago, Ryan told me about his buddy Brent in St. Cloud, who has cancer. Though I didn't know him, I remember offering Ryan my condolences. I felt badly for the guy, but frankly, Ryan left to go visit him, I went on with my day, then went on with my life. Before long it was nothing more than a distant memory. I've known a few others in my short 30 years who had cancer or more often had friends who had family members with it, but it never really affected me. Not that I didn't care, it just didn't really hit me. I didn't truly understand the ramifications of disease and how it changes life, on a micro and macro level. I'm sure even now there'll be plenty of surprises ahead.
When my cousin Justin was murdered, or when Brad died it was a similar situation. Like all of you, I hear about tragic deaths in the news all the time, but until it was that close to home, I didn't get it. It didn't shake me until it was someone I knew and loved. Perhaps it's remnants of youth, but I'd still walk around, relatively fearless, thinking it won't happen to me.
Now, here I sit, another night at home, without my wife. My kids without their Mommy. Our home incomplete. A gaping void in our life. Thank God she's only across town at the hospital, not across the country or worse, but the void remains nonetheless. And to add insult to injury, we are, all of us, powerless to do anything about it.
It happened to me. It happened to us. To our girls. Our parents. To all of you reading this, to one degree or another.
Brent, Justin, Brad, all the tragedies I've experienced. The anecdotal things I've heard, read, watched. None of it prepared me for this.
Last night I made another trip to the hospital. When I arrived she was sleeping. I watched her for a bit, but when she stirred I touched her toe and she woke up and looked at me. After that initial peek she could barely conjure the energy to open her eyes or mumble a response to a question. Someone recently said, somewhat dismissively, oh, they cure that now, as if to say no big deal. But to watch her at such a miserable, painful, and weak moment, probably facing many grueling months of it ahead... Well, nothing so far in my life has prepared me for how to deal with this.
I'm closer than anyone to this thing, and I can't even imagine how unprepared to deal with this Amanda, herself is. And yet, as so many of you have aptly pointed out, she does somehow, admirably handle it with grace. There's a country song that follows two lovers from youth to old age and at every milestone, he looks back and says, I thought I loved you then, but his love continues to grow to new heights, thought to be unattainable before. I always liked that song, but it's more apropos for me now than ever.
When my cousin Justin was murdered, or when Brad died it was a similar situation. Like all of you, I hear about tragic deaths in the news all the time, but until it was that close to home, I didn't get it. It didn't shake me until it was someone I knew and loved. Perhaps it's remnants of youth, but I'd still walk around, relatively fearless, thinking it won't happen to me.
Now, here I sit, another night at home, without my wife. My kids without their Mommy. Our home incomplete. A gaping void in our life. Thank God she's only across town at the hospital, not across the country or worse, but the void remains nonetheless. And to add insult to injury, we are, all of us, powerless to do anything about it.
It happened to me. It happened to us. To our girls. Our parents. To all of you reading this, to one degree or another.
Brent, Justin, Brad, all the tragedies I've experienced. The anecdotal things I've heard, read, watched. None of it prepared me for this.
Last night I made another trip to the hospital. When I arrived she was sleeping. I watched her for a bit, but when she stirred I touched her toe and she woke up and looked at me. After that initial peek she could barely conjure the energy to open her eyes or mumble a response to a question. Someone recently said, somewhat dismissively, oh, they cure that now, as if to say no big deal. But to watch her at such a miserable, painful, and weak moment, probably facing many grueling months of it ahead... Well, nothing so far in my life has prepared me for how to deal with this.
I'm closer than anyone to this thing, and I can't even imagine how unprepared to deal with this Amanda, herself is. And yet, as so many of you have aptly pointed out, she does somehow, admirably handle it with grace. There's a country song that follows two lovers from youth to old age and at every milestone, he looks back and says, I thought I loved you then, but his love continues to grow to new heights, thought to be unattainable before. I always liked that song, but it's more apropos for me now than ever.
-Z
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