The Vows We Make
"...for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part..."
As I sat in the front row of my brother-in-laws wedding recently, and he and his beautiful bride repeated their vows, I held Anton's hand tight. I love weddings and always cry in that precious moment when two people stand facing each other, in front of their family and friends, and make this life-long covenant commitment. Tears welled up again, this time not just because of the beauty of love, but because of the pain of it too.
When we're young, healthy and in love, the world feels like a wide open door to unexplored realms of exciting and hope-filled possibilities. We feel invincible. For better. For richer. In health. To love and cherish. And it's glorious.
And now, for Anton and I, in this season, the other half of those vows are coming home to roost. For worse. For poorer. In sickness. Until death. He squeezed my hand back and snuck me a deep, committed and knowing look as their rings were exchanged.
Grey and Old
The following week, my mum and I were in the waiting room of my specialist, watching the comings and goings of fellow patients. Most are older than me and I wonder if they think I'm the caregiver for my mum, not the other way around. Anton is unable to be here, he's working away for three months, because we need the income. A huge sacrifice and burden during this already challenging season. I feel his absence daily.
Sitting there, I watched a fragile elderly couple come through the clinics doors. The old lady pushes a walking frame, an old man with a cane shuffling alongside her. I took note of their features, their weathered faces, aged and wrinkled, the paper-thin skin on their hands, the deep purple veins that protrude. Their stooped shoulders, their tentative, slow footsteps, and yet their tender connection, the life that still exists in their eyes but seems entrapped inside their frail figures. And the weekends wedding vows resonate in my ears. In sickness. For worse. To death.
This is what love looks like, long beyond the beauty and the boldness of when we fall in love. Love has a price to it. Love costs us. Love can hurt. A lot.
The Burden of Chronic Illness
I'll be thankful when Easter arrives, and along with it, the return of my husband. We'll be
celebrating 18 years married this month and I'm thankful he's the man at my side as I navigate this journey. But I also feel horrible that he has to be.
There are future challenges that await him because of my chronic yet aggressively presenting cancer: my limitations, my reduced capacity to work, days in bed overcome by illness, days of being afraid and angry and sad, days of being just so tired and incapable of contributing to daily life. The weight of my weakness. I find that so hard. I want to be like us on our wedding day - equally capable. I don't want to be the frail, fragile one. Not before age makes us both of that anyway.
When we said our vows, I did not imagine he'd to be the one having to demonstrate his commitment to in sickness, to death. I'm 8 years younger than Anton, and figured I'd be the caregiver in our relationship one day... a long way away.
Caring for Co-Survivors
My mum sent me a story written by a woman, Kristin, whose husband went through a number of significant health battles - from cancer to cardiac arrest - all while they had young children. She wrote her account as a co-survivor of critical illness, and that struck me deeply. Kristin had never really felt seen or heard as she attended appointments, visited her husband in hospital, carried the full load of their young family. She wasn't the patient. She felt like she was not supposed to need help or attention because she was not the sick one. Until one day a nurse, Roger, asked her how she was going. Roger understood that her husbands health impacted both their lives. Kristin is now an health care advocate and speaks about the importance of caring for co-survivors. Her journey resonates, not for me, but for my husband.
This journey with CLL is not just my journey, it's a journey both Anton and I am on, together, for better or for worse. He too needs to have the time to cry, to be held, to be supported. He too needs to be asked how he's going. He too needs breaks. The impacts of this are just as (if not more) significant for his life. This disease is a burden for both of us.
Courage, Love and Legacy
But a burden shared is more easily carried. And that's the beauty of the vows we make.
We might not know the full weight of our commitment when we glowingly make them, but they have been repeated for generations for a reason. Because those that go before us know that life is full of ups and downs. There is no guarantee how life will turn out, and there is a solid chance we will all face tragedy and trials along the way. There are times of health, happiness and blessing. Equally so, there are times of financial challenges, sickness, hurt and heartache. Much can be gained in these places of hardship though. It is where the rubber meets the road and powerful bonds are forged. Love takes commitment. Love takes continual connection. Love takes courage.
The above picture of the courageous skinny dipping old couple was the image Anton and I used on our engagement invitation: this image was and is still our hope for life in old age. With our anniversary just around the corner, today I'm so grateful for the courageous love of my husband and that he's my co-navigator as we forge forward together on this treacherous yet tremendous road.
How about you? Who plays a significant role in your life? Today's a great day to let them know they are seen and appreciated for the commitment, support and love they give to you through the ups and downs life throws your way.