Truce - God Style

I think belief in God is a matter of choice.  In AA, you are only asked to find a Higher Power of your own understanding.  I was raised in the Episcopal Church and have continued, on and off, to come back to it.  My belief in God is still strong, but what I realize is that my concept of God is totally and fatally limited to my own brain's puny understanding.  I think we put a human face on God so we can relate to Him - our Creator, but I don't think anyone has the God thing locked up and I actually think it's insulting to God to even try to limit him - which is what happens when we put a face on Him. The magnitude of God is as immense and infinite and the universe.

I read once that the universe is still expanding which puts my brain into one of those circular references that causes it to explode because if the universe encompasses everything, then what is it expanding into?  What is that space the universe is taking over called?  Isn't it already part of the universe?  And if not, then the universe doesn't really include all space and matter, so the universe is therefore limited and encroaching on some other universe, which doesn't make sense at all, if this universe is, again, everything.  So anyway, you can see how this question keeps me up nights, right?

God.  Every once in a while, I am given glimpses of something much bigger than me working in my life and I will tell you now about one of those times.  If you know me, or have read my blog, you know that Charles was diagnosed with cancer shortly after I moved everything we owned to Norfolk, Virginia.  Without rehashing the story (just read it in a previous blog), it was decided that Charles would stay in Los Angeles and I would stay in Virginia and finish the remodel.  We would see each other as much as we could in between his chemo and radiation.

His housing situation was complicated - our house in LA was sold and he was going to stay in the garage apartment until the new owners moved in; it wasn't really a good solution but our options were limited.  A month or so after he was diagnosed, he told me that his ex-wife Sharon had offered her guest room to him.  Sharon and I had never met at that point, but I knew she didn't like me because until I came along, she always thought that she and Charles would reconcile.  They had been separated for years and when he formally asked for the divorce so we could marry, she was shocked.  I don't blame her.  Charles was totally unprepared for her response - I had to explain to him that as long as that door was left open - even just a crack - she thought there was still a chance for them. Suffice it to say, she never liked me.

Given our immediate and pressing dilemma though, I was eager for Charles to have a safe place to stay and this seemed like the best option.  I trusted Charles 100% and it never crossed my mind that he would break his marriage vows to me, I knew he loved me and this was much bigger than that.  So, Charles moved in with Sharon.  His chemo and radiation were brutal and he was incredibly sick.  When I saw him, I was horrified.  He was sick and frail and suddenly old.  His essence had been reduced; and that made me even more grateful and happier that he had a safe place to live.  Our former housekeeper, Fidelina, whom we loved, was also Sharon's housekeeper, so I knew she would take care of him when she was there.  I was confident in this decision and proud of my ability to put aside any fears and jealousies I may have secretly held so I could do what was best for Charles.

This is how we lived our life for almost ten months.  In April, Charles called me and told me he was in remission.  It was a miracle and one I had stopped hoping for, I truly didn't believe my husband was going to beat this.  We decided to sell the house and I would move back to LA, so he could continue any needed followup treatment with his doctors there.  The remodel of the house was done - or at least done enough so I could sell it.  That day, I went out back to mow the yard.  It was a beautiful day but hot and I slowly made my way across the yard.  A woman walked up the driveway and got my attention over the roar of the mower.  She introduced herself - she was a realtor - and asked me if I was interested in selling my house - she had a buyer that wanted it. It had only been hours since we decided to sell - my jaw gaped open to the ground; I thought she was surely putting me on but she was serious.

In short order, the home was sold.  I sold much of our furniture and kept enough to fill a 6' trailer that attached to my SUV.  Charles came to drive cross-country with me, but he was sick the entire trip and I knew that there was something wrong with this "remission".  This didn't feel or look like any remission I had ever heard of.  Regardless, we headed West.  We found an apartment near the Marina and moved in almost immediately.  We stayed at Sharon's for a couple of days while we arranged the move-in and it was the first time I felt her animosity.  She didn't think Charles should move and live with me - his wife - it would be better in her opinion, if he continued to stay with her.  But there was absolutely no question of that happening.  We moved into our apartment and everything began to change very quickly.

Charles' remission was false.  Within 2 weeks of my return, we were told by his first oncologist that there was nothing more he could do for Charles.  Charles, Sharon and I (yes, Sharon - she insisted on coming to all his appointments, even though I was there now) looked at the doctor, frightened beyond understanding.  We immediately found a new oncologist/researcher who was willing to take Charles on and wanted to get him in a study for an experimental drug.  The drug was incredibly expensive and not covered by insurance.  I worried about the cost and the effect on our already devastated financial situation.  Instead of forking over the money, I decided to call the drug manufacturer and see if they would give it to us for a reduced cost since Charles was going to be a guinea pig.  When Sharon found out, she called me at work and screamed at me that I should spend every penny I have and buy the drug regardless the cost, toll, expense, devastation.  She told me I was selfish and only cared for myself.  This from a woman who accepted rent from my dying husband.  I sat at my desk and cried after that call.  I couldn't for the life of me understand how I ended up here. Feeling terribly guilty, I called the drug manufacturer anyway and managed to get the experimental drug which was $360 per pill per day for free.  I remember what a friend, whose grandfather was a baker in NYC during the Great Depression, once told me - his grandfather used to give away bread and rolls for free to the poor and destitute, they only need ask.  He always said, "if you don't ask, you go hungry."

Then came the prayer circle.  The hateful, harmful, horrible prayer circle.  The people who, courtesy of, and besides Sharon, caused more damage to our marriage that anything else we ever faced.  They met at Sharon's house and they told Charles things like he needed to accept love into his heart.  If he could he would be healed.  They made him doubt himself and who he was as a man. He began to think that somehow he had morally and emotionally contributed to his disease...this from the most loving, kind man I ever knew.  This from a man who helped newly sober people stay sober as a matter of record; this from a man who lit up a room when he entered it with his love and energy and unbridled enthusiasm for life.  I admit it, I hated them.  I hated what they said and did and I would not go to any of the prayer circle's meetings.  As the cancer was killing my husband physically, the prayer circle was killing him spiritually.  Those of you who know me, know that holding my tongue is not my greatest strength.  But I tried.  For reasons known only to Charles, he tapped into what they were telling him and it became his lifeline.  I tried to remind him what a wonderful, loving man he was.  I told him his heart was filled with love; overflowed with love but he would hear none of it.  He spent his few fitful waking hours worried about the supposed darkness of his soul and trying to let it go, so he could be healed.

He grew weaker and because I had to work, I scheduled people that knew him and loved him for years to come see him, to bring him lunch, to try to talk some sense into him, to remind him of who he was - AA people, people from my church, old friends.  But he slowly shut down, stopped letting people in, his appetite fading as the light in his eyes did.  One day, he told me he wanted to go back to Sharon's house to live in the guest room - what we jokingly referred to as "the cave".  I was absolutely devastated, but I couldn't deny him this.  He was dying and like a wounded animal, wanted to hide, to live in his cave, to not have to, every day, see his pain and fear reflected in my eyes.  He moved to Sharon's and Blue, the cats and I moved to a smaller, less expensive apartment.  I am not sure I can ever fully convey the sense of pain, betrayal and abandonment I felt.  There was a vise around my heart that grew tighter with each passing day.  Like all the times in my childhood, I covered it with a smile and went along, when all I wanted to do was scream until everything was quiet.

I still went to all his appointments and stopped to see him every day after work. Sharon continued to attend his appointments and always took the lead when it was time to schedule the next appointment or chemo or radiation, she was the one who worked with the nurses.  I know you wonder why I allowed this to happen and the truth was I was afraid to rock the boat.  I didn't want to upset Charles or cause any discord that would add to his pain.  I asked her to try to schedule the appointments for late afternoon but she kept making them for late morning or early afternoon.  I was trying not to miss too much work - Sharon was self-employed and she had much more flexibility.  Finally frustrated one day, I rushed to the nurse's desk and made the next series of appointments.  I asked the nurses to note his chart to schedule his appointments after 3 p.m. whenever possible.  When Sharon made it to the desk and found out I had already made the appointments, she stormed to where I was waiting in the chairs.  Those times do not work for me, she coldly stated.  Well, they work for me, I said calmly.  And I am Charles' wife.  I will pick him up and take him back to your house.  If you can't make it, that's fine, I can do it all myself; in fact, I really don't need your help at all with this and you don't need to come any more.  Either Charles or I can update you on his progress...  She had backed herself into a corner and I kept her there.

But she wasn't done.  One day, a friend of Charles, and a member of the prayer circle called me.  I am so so sorry, she said.  I listened not comprehending what she was sorry about. Finally I responded -  Sorry about what, Lisa? - Sorry to hear that you and Charles are getting a divorce.  I just wanted to make sure you were okay...she trailed off.

I felt as though someone had punched me in the stomach.  All the air left my body. What??  I said.  What?  Where did you hear that?  At the prayer circle, she said.  Who told you this?  Sharon told us.  Was Charles there?  No, he was still in his bedroom.  She told us beforehand and asked that we not mention it to him.  I was stunned silent and then all the months of pain and fear and anger that I had held inside me burst out of me - a dark, black, fountain of cold rage.  What I said went something like this.

Lisa, Charles and I ARE not getting a divorce.   The only problem Charles and I have is Sharon and the prayer circle.  You are telling the most loving, giving man I know to accept love in his heart and be healed.  That is not what he needs.  Do you know WHAT he needs from you all?  He needs to be told to not be afraid, to FACE his death, to be brought to some kind of acceptance, that it is okay to be scared and pissed off and confused.  Do you know what you all have done though?  You have denied me and my husband the opportunity to discuss all the things we need to talk about.  You have denied me the chance to tell my husband how scared I am.  How much I love him.  To find out HOW I can help him prepare.  To find out if there is anything I can do for him, anything he wants to do or see before he dies.  Instead, you tell him he is sick because you have decided to play God and have decided you know why he has cancer.  You are NOT God, you are not doctors, you're not even good Christians.  Do you know what the definition of gossip is, Lisa?  Gossip is murder via character assassination, and THAT is what you and your friends are practicing.  Why in the world would Charles and I get divorced?  HE IS DYING.  Do you understand that?  He is living with Shelley because that is what he wants to do, and it HURTS me but I love him and want him to feel safe; it is not what I want. It will never be what I want.  He is not living with her because we are getting divorced and they are reconciling.  Did you know that Charles' cancer is Stage 4 metastasized?  I didn't think so.  That means, barring some unforeseen, unbelievable miracle, he is going to die.  According to his doctor, it will probably be in 3 to 6 months - since they always try to stretch it out, I am thinking it's 3 months.  You didn't know that did you?  No, because no one has allowed him or helped him to face the truth so he can talk about it.  And you have denied me the ability to fulfill the promises I made him on our wedding  day...you all have played God and held out a carrot to a man who is never going to win the race.  How dare you.  How dare you.

It was ugly.  I was uglier, but I could not contain the pain for one more second.  I don't know how long I went on but at some point, I was aware of her crying.  I was crying too but I had no sympathy.  I was done with this whole sick thing.  That was the last straw. I was angrier than I remember ever being and now I was arming myself for a very unnecessary battle, one that with some compassion, could have been averted.  I wasn't taking this shit anymore and an inner steel was forged in me that day.  A few weeks later, the end of October, in front of his nieces and nephews who were visiting, Sharon accused me of wanting Charles to die when I suggested that we stop treatment and try to help him find a way to find some acceptance and peace.  The ugliness just didn't stop.

Finally, the tide changed.  After Thanksgiving, Sharon was going out of town for a week and I insisted that Charles come stay with me and best of all, he wanted to.  Sharon fought it tooth and nail but I prevailed. That didn't stop her however, from picking a fight about where in my apartment to put the hospital bed.  I wanted it the bedroom but she wanted it in the living room. I didn't even understand why she cared.  Finally, I told her that it was not her decision and, by the way, none of her business. We both understood that we weren't fighting about the hospital bed.  If Charles came to stay at my apartment, that was where he was staying until he died.  I would never let him go back there again.

Until Charles' death before Christmas, she waged war against me.  The last weekend of Charles' life, she stood outside my apartment door berating me; I was standing in the doorway with a minister who later noted to me that she could have given Sharon a small shove, and down the stairs she would have gone.  Certainly not very Christian, but I'll admit it was one of the few smiles I managed during those long, dark months.

In the end, Charles died while I held him.  Blue at our feet, the cats standing sentry at the end of the bed.  It was just us.  Five days of visitors and friends coming to say goodbye - I let the members of the prayer circle come to say their goodbyes as well. I took the higher ground because that was one of the things my husband taught me - to be kind, to forgive and regardless, they had given him something he thought he needed. But that last weekend, if I left his side for even a minute, he became terribly agitated and in that space, I knew that our love had survived. It was battered and bruised and sometimes had been on life support, but it was still there.  Charles couldn't stop talking about "the love" in his last days, it became his mantra, that I must talk about the love when he was gone.  And I am convinced he waited until our little family, as it was, was all alone - all the visitors were gone or had left for a bit - to die.

Even his memorial service, Sharon had to put her mark on, but I didn't care anymore; Charles was dead.  I walked around for months in a daze.  Sometimes, I fell down for no reason - one minute I was walking, the next I was on the floor or the ground.  I was sapped of every emotion and the toll of all the ugliness and discourse on top of the illness and death of the most important person in my life took me years to recover from.

Ten months later in October, I was going through Charles art portfolio and I came across a piece of art that was a sister piece to one he had given Sharon before he died.  Looking at that piece of art, I realized that I still had an enormous amount of resentment and anger toward her - in fact, it consumed me.  I sat looking at the art and started praying fervently.  I didn't want to be filled with this anger and hatred - and then an idea that I can only say was divinely inspired, came to me.  I would send the piece of art to Sharon with a note.  The next day, I did that, I was compelled to get it out in the mail.  I rolled it up and wrote a simple note saying that I knew Charles had given her one of the pieces and that I thought she should have the other piece too. I thought Charles would like that.  I put both in a FedEx tube and overnighted it to her.  I can't say that I felt a tremendous sense of relief, but I felt better.  By acting kind, a tiny portion of the anger left me.

I didn't hear anything from her and honestly never expected to.  About two weeks later, I checked my mailbox as I was taking Blue out for a walk.  There was a note from Sharon.  I opened it up as I walked.  Dear Pam, it read, imagine my surprise when I got home from a day of meetings on my birthday and found a FedEx tube on my porch with your note and a piece of Charles' artwork inside.  Charles must have wanted to send me a last birthday gift.  Thank you, Sharon.

I literally stopped dead in my tracks and began to sob hysterically.  I did not know it was Sharon's birthday when I sent the tube.  I had no idea when Sharon's birthday fell.  And I didn't imagine that Charles wanted to send her a last birthday gift - because it was much bigger than that for me.  My Charles had a wicked sense of humor, perfect timing and also a huge capacity for forgiveness and helping others to forgive.  In that instant, I knew that Charles via God and my prayer had orchestrated this event - he knew I would understand and he knew the effect it would have on me.  I stood on the sidewalk unable to stop crying and then finally I started laughing.  In that moment all the anger and hatred and resentment dropped away.  It was expelled from my body and my psyche with every tear and every strangled guffaw.  My small act of kindness, done with no expectation of acknowledgement, released me from the resentment that blackened my heart and spirit.  In AA, we have a saying about resentment - resentment is when you take the poison and wait for the other person (whom you resent) to die.

Can I say that in that moment all of the pain that plagued me dissipated?  No, of course not.  But it was the first in a series of miracles that led to my ultimate healing.  It was a long process and even today, I am still healing. The difference is that today, I don't hate Sharon or the prayer circle - but I have not forgotten what happened and what it cost me.  What I know is this.  Everyone did the best they could at that time but it wasn't enough and it was ugly and hurtful and totally unnecessary.  I can't judge their words or actions, only they can say in retrospect if they are square with what they said and did, but it no longer holds sway over me.  What I went through has, without an iota of doubt, made me a better, kinder, more loving person.  I made mistakes too; there are many things I would change if I could go back, but I can't.  I did the best I could as well.  But that day, I stood on the street holding that pink notecard and my journey took a right turn, I started to find my way back to me.  Light entered my heart and my life changed, again.  This was only possible through a Higher Power and I can see Charles, his gorgeous grin lighting up his face, chatting it up with God and talking him into "playing a good one" on me - and it was a good one.

Pax