Yesterday I happened upon a video tribute to a man who Marc knew growing up in Caronport. I believe Marc went to school with the man’s children. He died last week after a very brief fight with cancer. Even though I never met this man, I was in tears as I saw the final pictures, seeing him and his wife and their children and grandchildren — 20 people in all. The song playing was “How Great is Our God”. I guess that’s all that you can say, isn’t it? His time with his family was cut short, far too short, but look at the life that they shared, look at the love that they shared. How great is our God.
And our family is in the middle of that, too, with Marc‘s dad. Except we’re two provinces away, so it’s a little less clear or obvious to us. But Marc is at his parents’ house in BC right now, and the eight months since we last saw them makes the changes in his dad’s illness even more noticeable. Marc said on twitter the night he arrived: “Dad’s much worse.”
We’d heard it. We’d expected it. We knew it. But I imagine it’s very hard for Marc to actually see it. It’s hard to see life ending. It’s hard to see the loss of abilities. And with an illness like fronto-temporal dementia, it’s hard because there is still life in the midst of all of the loss. Often his dad is aware of what he’s losing and that is very frustrating and sometimes devastating for him. And it is hard and exhausting for Marc’s mom who takes care of him every day.
The fact that this has been coming on slowly, for almost a decade now, makes us almost feel immune to it. It’s become the norm. But there are times when we mourn and are angry at what has been lost, what could have been, what should have been.
There’s a time to be born and a time to die. A time to weep and a time to laugh. A time to mourn and a time to dance.
I guess that’s all I’ve got today. No great answers. No great comfort. No great theory that will take the injustice of it all away. Just the thought that in life the strong become weak and the smart become simple and that’s just how life goes — in whatever time-frame or method it takes. That’s just how life goes.
And I want Marc, after reading this post, to go to his dad and give him a hug and tell him how much I love him, how much I love his laugh, how proud I am that he’s my kids’ opa, and how much his grandchildren love him. We always will. And we’re thankful for all of the years we’ve had and for the years to come, too.