A Valiant Fight?

I hear about folks who, according to relatives and friends, “put up a valiant ‘fight’ to stay alive,” as if this is the correct and honorable thing to do. But, at the risk of sounding offensive (which is hard not to do), is it?

My daughter was diagnosed with colon cancer, and though that was its supposed source, it had spread to her liver and lungs, and, well, probably all over by the time we knew. Did she “fight valiantly” against the disease that was to take her earthly life?

I wouldn’t describe it that way.

Here’s what I remember.

She loved. She followed the protocols her mother and I established (the medical profession admitted all they could do was potentially prolong her life for a little while), all the while never complaining. She smiled, she laughed, she winced. She cared for those around her with an unexplainable tenderness. She nurtured us, taught us, watched us stumble around in pain. She held us closely within her heart. To be honest, I struggle coming up with a picture that would do justice to her beauty throughout the 100-day illness that ravaged her body.

Did she fight valiantly? No. She loved valiantly, beautifully, amazingly, as if from Heaven Itself.

Once, maybe three weeks before her death, she and I met with a “high-up” doctor, who, in a sense, chastised her for not allowing him to subject her to that which would have labeled her a “valiant fighter.” I could tell it hurt her for this callous fellow to suggest such a thing. And to be honest, this father was so battered and bruised, had my daughter not been in there, the doctor likely would have needed a hospital stay himself, if not a casket.

As I wheeled her out of there, we took the elevator down to the main floor, where many others who were receiving treatments were being wheeled around and milling about. It was difficult to take in.

Here’s what Hannah said to me.

“Daddy, I don’t want to be like this.” Please listen, she was not judgmental in the least; but, I suspect, already aware of what Heaven was truly like, what it truly is. She knew that others ‘needed’ to stay, if possible, but she didn’t. She longed for the Love that she knew was forever, and though she cared deeply for us, she somehow knew that all was well. “I’m okay with going on.”

My heart was broken beyond any capacity to describe as I heard her so softly utter those words. I remained silent.

I ask once more, did she fight valiantly? And again, I wouldn’t put it like that. I would say that she loved furiously, knowing that while her lungs allowed a few days more of breath, she would love. And she did.

And still does, for this place we inhabit for a short time is not our true home.

She knew that, and though sad to leave us, was happy to go Home.

Peace…