Love Grows Here

 I couldn't write this post last week, so I fudged in an old post, but there is something about a life well-lived, about the grace of a dear friendship, the beauty of trust that we should always talk about it... even when death interferes.

My dear friend Lisa went home to God last week after a recurring and really amazing battle with cancer, a battle that took us on a 9 year roller coaster ride, most of which was good! 

God bless the science that gave her seven+ years of remission. Seven years of feeling good, living life, nay--

Living life like you were dying, because that's what Lisa and really nice, cute husband Jeff did with their four kids. They lived like she was dying, not in spirit, not lamenting, not fretting, but  actual "let's do it" living as normally as they could.

They continued working.

They took vacations.

They had fun.

They won back-to-back neighborhood rib fests with Jeff's entries, although I have teased him about the sympathy vote! :) They raised their four beautiful kids all the while, taking them places, planning vacations with Jeff's family, with cousins, with Lisa's family... and they did things together. Lisa's first treatment got her eight years with her kids.... they had those years to know her, love her, be raised by her, have their values instilled by her and Jeff and faith and love... Those years were clutch. So very important.

So when the cancer was re-diagnosed in November of 2018, we all understood the outcome. We hated it, but we understood it, and still she fought. Science did what it could... and bought her time. Some of it was good time. Some was not. But let me just say this, because this is crucial:

To walk this walk with a dear friend, to be by her side, to help her, love her, laugh with her and cry with her, to research for her, to have coffee with her (until it didn't taste good to her anymore, and that was a clear indicator, right???? NO COFFEE?????) wasn't a task. It was an honor. An absolute honor and I will never forget it, nor will I ever be the same person I was before this all began. We spent the first year of treatments watching the four kids. The youngest was 14 months old. The oldest was ten... there was so much at stake! And the treatment was rugged, invasive and painful... a double mastectomy, two rounds of radiation, two rounds of chemo. She shaved her head so that cancer wouldn't have the victory of making her lose her hair. She fought and waged war and got seven years of health before the ball dropped on her pinball machine of life again.

That was a tough face-off.

But our faith, a combined faith, family, friends and Lisa and Jeff and the kids, got us through. Faith that we'd be together again, faith that we were meant to be together from the beginning, faith that our lives and loves and time were intertwined for a reason from the beginning... and it all started with a snake and a baby.

Jeff and Lisa (looking quite upscale!) came to interview with me for babysitting for their beautiful baby, their firstborn, Taylor. She was three months old, I was holding her, we were having a nice conversation in my very old kitchen when my daughter raced up the basement stairs yelling SNAKE!!!!!

(You know what I thought at that moment, every one of you knows it: Interview Fail!!!!)

Her younger brothers raced to her aid.

With golf clubs.

They dispatched the snake in the basement with great vigor. Loud vigor. Possibly overdone vigor.

And then paraded it (over the golf club) upstairs and outside.

I was pretty sure we were done. Why wouldn't we be? Who wants their baby in Snake House????

But Jeff and Lisa looked beyond the snake and decided that if two brothers can race to their sister's defense like that, I must have done something right and our relationship began... A relationship that bound our families together through days, months, seasons and years, good times and bad, sickness and health, bound by faith, joy, laughter, and cookies.

Always cookies.

We had a beautiful send-off for Lisa last week, but that wasn't really for her because we know that when Lisa's soul went off to heaven she was greeted by legions of angels. Crowds of saints. A stream of martyrs came to greet her and welcome her to the new and eternal Jerusalem.

Part of her beautiful service at St. Leo's Church in Hilton was the hymn "Love Grows Here", a hymn we both love, and both sang in our respective choirs... a hymn brought from St. Leo's to my old parish by a fellow friend and choir member... a link I didn't know until last week.

God's plan.

Is it always easy? No.

Is it often questioned?

Oh, yeah.

But we are born into frail vessels, the human form, and our time is limited here on Earth but what our dear Lisa showed us was to live that life each and every day. To grab hold and move forward with courage and grace.

In the end, cancer was stronger than the science surrounding it.

I want that to change. I pray for that to change. We need that to change, to wipe the feet out from under this insidious disease in all its forms so that's my prayer. Let's figure this out and wage our own war against it.

But this isn't about cancer.

This is absolutely about love, our love for this family, their love for us, their love of God, faith and family. 

Love conquers all and it doesn't end at death's door. Jesus showed us that. That door is just another beginning.

Lisa's life made ours better. Her passing into God's arms can do the same, but that's up to us and I promise you: We are up to the challenge.

God is good, all the time.

And all the time... God is good.

Rest in peace my beautiful friend. And don't forget to save a rocking chair for me, just south of the North Star, a great vantage point, where we can watch over those we love and rock heaven's babies until their own sweet mamas are there to take over. I'll be there, by and by...

But in the meantime, pretty girl-- no worries. We've got this.

I love you.

Ruthy