For months I held my breath every morning when I looked at my phone, anticipating an update about Kara. Each glance held its own grace. If there weren’t an update, all was well, or at least the same. If there were an update, I inhaled each word as it took me inside the sacred walls of the Tippetts’ home.
From an article originally posted August 23, 2012
I have been a bit absent lately. Chemo is a bear, and just as I think I’m feeling better I take a hit. The other day a friend posted on Facebook, I hate cancer! I went on to espouse the good I have found in cancer. The many lessons, the care, the depth in friendship, but I’m a big liar. I hate it, too. I really hate it. Though I don’t think it was a mistake and I truly believe we will grow very near to Jesus through this terrible season, I’m done over spiritualizing. I am, in fact, going to fight for a right attitude and kind spirit toward my family and friends.
The other night, some of us gals met with Carl Nelson to process our grief together. Even though I was the one who initiated this and asked Carl if he could spend time with us, I was not prepared for what I encountered.
I’m not sure what I expected—maybe some tears, Kara stories, ways we see her legacy continuing. But instead, after listening to our hearts, Carl gently encouraged us to think about how to meet each other in our grief, how to pursue grieving friends in ways that will encourage and make sense to their hearts.
From an article originally posted August 19, 2012…
These pills both save me and make me go away for hours at a time. I am just beginning to wake from a 3-day bender of fog, medicine, pain, and sickness.
No amount of preparation enlightens a person to the realities of cancer. Truly, Jason and I loved the ignorance and bliss of the unknown. An old friend from Marion sent a detailed email with tips, ideas, and help to face our coming battle we are about to enter. I perused it, and then forwarded it to Jason. I could not swallow the pill that was coming.
I remember our first phone call after her cancer diagnosis. We had been texting about it since she found the lump in the shower that day. But the first call after multiple appointments…I remember it clearly. She talked about the treatment plan, Mary’s wedding, dying her hair. She talked and I wanted to cry, but if she weren’t crying, I shouldn’t be either. I sat on the phone in awe of her peace and strength. It was grace; she was full of peace, and I loved that about her.