SharingHope blog

A friend and I were sitting in a coffee shop planning for an upcoming Grandparent’s Day at our kids’ school.  I knew she had terminal cancer, but she looked okay, healthy even.  As we were about to move on to the topic of invitations, she looked at me and said:

I think about death a lot.

Most of us don’t sit well with death, and I am no exception.  When my friend confronted me with the D-word, I squirmed, mumbled something about praying for her, asked what night she wanted me to bring a casserole, then hurriedly wrapped up our meeting.  She died a year later.

When I started this blog for SharingHope.tv, I knew sooner or later I’d have to deal with the topic of death.  I’m picking sooner because I don’t want readers to get the impression that SharingHope is only about surviving.  We all know that no matter how hard people pray or fight or maintain a positive attitude, some still die from cancer. 

And many people who die, or are dying, share hope.  Like my friend, Peter Attwell, who asked everyone at his memorial service to wear bright, happy colors in celebration of his life.  And what a life to celebrate!  I know dozens of people who live differently, who love more and give more, because they knew Peter.   

I’ve also been reading blogs written by terminal patients and their caretakers who share hope by speaking openly and honestly about subjects most people avoid.   How many cancer patients and caretakers now feel less alone because of them?  I’m thinking of one mom who told me that doctors wanted to put her on antidepressants because “she didn’t seem sad enough” about her daughter’s cancer, and was obviously having “detachment issues.”  In reality, she was a joy-filled person maintaining a positive attitude for her child, but even her doctors thought hope should have its limits.

I’m sure this woman would find comfort in Sarah’s post about wanting to share the joy that is her her son even while he is so sick.  She writes:

I know that he looks sickly, and our story is pitiable, but what I see is Thomas and not The Boy With Cancer.

In the years since my friend died, I’ve replayed our time in that coffee shop over and over.  In my new scenario, I listen as she talks of her fears about about missing so much of her daughters’ lives, her choice of music for her memorial service, the scrapbooks she is making for her two girls, and the hope she has for their futures.  I. Just. Sit.

I’ve added another category in this blog called Celebrations of Life.  It will be dedicated to your stories of deceased loved-ones who shared hope.