On the 27th of February 2018 I was driving along the M8 as the snow was falling and everyone was heading for the warmth of home. Suddenly my mobile rang. It was my sister Anna. She never usually phoned my mobile so I immediately had a sense that something wan't right. Anna was always pretty direct and she immediately told me she had a tumour on her pancreas. I guess in the shock of life changing news you immediately go in to denial. Perhaps it was a misdiagnosis? Even if it was serious surely there is a lot they can do now?
Around four weeks later all denial was swiftly shattered in a stark consultants room at the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. A member of Anna's church was in the waiting area and I thought it was a beautiful thing to do at such a difficult time. After a career in social work I'm used to managing stress but nothing really prepared me for that consultation. The doctor spoke for a long time, asked lots of questions and I began to wonder if I had misunderstood what was going on. Eventually I interrupted and asked for a prognosis. The consultant looked at my sister and said 'we are looking at months rather than years'. Silence. I remember putting my hand on my sisters shoulder in lieu of knowing what else to say or do. I remember thinking that at some point we would be ushered in to a comfortable lounge with Macmillan nurses and given a cup of coffee and some hankies and somebody might help us think through how we would break this news to our parents, wider family and friends. But no, we were ushered out in to the bright Edinburgh sun to pay our car park bill and head home.
The next few weeks were brutal as Anna's weight plummeted but we pressed on with her 50th birthday party at Romano Bridge. I organised and MC'd the event with Kirsteen but I was struggling to hold back the tears for most of the day. When Anna's pastor started speaking about how much she was loved by her church family I lost it. It felt like the birthday party was also a farewell and in many ways that is the way it worked out. The next time we were all together like that again was at Anna's funeral.
By the time we went to Anna's first appointment at the Western General I was feeling pretty fragile. I remember walking into the Maggie Centre and immediately feeling warmth and love from the nurse who greeted us. It was a haven for the next few months that Anna and I would return to during appointments. I don't suppose the staff will ever understand how much they helped us get through the next 18 months. Terminal illness is so much more bearable with love, support and humanity on hand.
Throughout Anna's illness I took huge comfort in the book of Ruth. Anna was a strong, resilient woman a bit like Naomi and Ruth. I remember listening to a sermon early on in Anna's diagnosis about how Ruth had come to love the same God as Naomi. In Moab there were no synagogues, no prophets and no scriptures. How did Ruth come to have faith in the covenant God of Israel? Well surely it must have been seeing the way that Naomi coped with the death of her husband and two sons. Naomi was broken by grief but she never lost her faith and returned to the land of Israel broken, bruised but believing. As somebody has said 'christian grief isn't about the absence of tears, but about the presence of hope.' Ruth gave me great comfort during Anna's illness and much of the writing I have done since has been about sharing the family's grief in the hope that it would help others. The book of Ruth points us to the loving-kindness of a kinsman redeemer, Boaz, who redeemed Ruth and who brought comfort in her grief. In our grief we too have a kinsman redeemer, someone like us, flesh of our flesh. In all our sorrow we can look to Christ who is able to sympathise with us and redeem us much more than Boaz ever could.
Around four weeks later all denial was swiftly shattered in a stark consultants room at the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. A member of Anna's church was in the waiting area and I thought it was a beautiful thing to do at such a difficult time. After a career in social work I'm used to managing stress but nothing really prepared me for that consultation. The doctor spoke for a long time, asked lots of questions and I began to wonder if I had misunderstood what was going on. Eventually I interrupted and asked for a prognosis. The consultant looked at my sister and said 'we are looking at months rather than years'. Silence. I remember putting my hand on my sisters shoulder in lieu of knowing what else to say or do. I remember thinking that at some point we would be ushered in to a comfortable lounge with Macmillan nurses and given a cup of coffee and some hankies and somebody might help us think through how we would break this news to our parents, wider family and friends. But no, we were ushered out in to the bright Edinburgh sun to pay our car park bill and head home.
The next few weeks were brutal as Anna's weight plummeted but we pressed on with her 50th birthday party at Romano Bridge. I organised and MC'd the event with Kirsteen but I was struggling to hold back the tears for most of the day. When Anna's pastor started speaking about how much she was loved by her church family I lost it. It felt like the birthday party was also a farewell and in many ways that is the way it worked out. The next time we were all together like that again was at Anna's funeral.
By the time we went to Anna's first appointment at the Western General I was feeling pretty fragile. I remember walking into the Maggie Centre and immediately feeling warmth and love from the nurse who greeted us. It was a haven for the next few months that Anna and I would return to during appointments. I don't suppose the staff will ever understand how much they helped us get through the next 18 months. Terminal illness is so much more bearable with love, support and humanity on hand.
Throughout Anna's illness I took huge comfort in the book of Ruth. Anna was a strong, resilient woman a bit like Naomi and Ruth. I remember listening to a sermon early on in Anna's diagnosis about how Ruth had come to love the same God as Naomi. In Moab there were no synagogues, no prophets and no scriptures. How did Ruth come to have faith in the covenant God of Israel? Well surely it must have been seeing the way that Naomi coped with the death of her husband and two sons. Naomi was broken by grief but she never lost her faith and returned to the land of Israel broken, bruised but believing. As somebody has said 'christian grief isn't about the absence of tears, but about the presence of hope.' Ruth gave me great comfort during Anna's illness and much of the writing I have done since has been about sharing the family's grief in the hope that it would help others. The book of Ruth points us to the loving-kindness of a kinsman redeemer, Boaz, who redeemed Ruth and who brought comfort in her grief. In our grief we too have a kinsman redeemer, someone like us, flesh of our flesh. In all our sorrow we can look to Christ who is able to sympathise with us and redeem us much more than Boaz ever could.
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