Seven Year Anniversary

No, it's not our wedding anniversary. We celebrated our tenth in March. (I savor each one of the ten sweet years I've been married to my best friend and high school sweetheart. I hope we get to celebrate our 50th together.)

This is a different kind of anniversary. C.R. reminded me that today his cancer has been in remission for exactly seven years.

Praise God.

It is bittersweet to remember that day (and many other days during that time). I've never written about it, so please bear with me if I get emotional and my post is long.

Seven years ago, C.R. received his last treatment for stage III colon cancer. Prior to that, his doctors had removed half of his colon and he'd endured six months of chemotherapy.

On that day, he little resembled the man I'd married just three years earlier. After cancer treatment, he was thin, pale, and weary. His body and spirit had taken a beating. It took more than a year for him to gain back the weight and strength he'd lost during that time.

Just days before C.R. finished his treatment, a friend of ours who had the same type of cancer had died. The man was in his thirties, a college professor, and he left behind a wife and two young children. Even though we'd met several times with this wonderful couple to encourage and pray for one another, C.R. and I could not bring ourselves to go to the funeral. I regret that now.

Seven years ago, I knew I should feel relieved that C.R. had finished chemotherapy. Honestly, I was relieved. At times, it had been a difficult road for both of us. I hated watching helplessly as C.R. suffered and I was unable to help him in the ways that mattered most.

I was relieved, but mostly I was scared.

Sometimes I still am.

I was terrified that the cancer would return. Because I knew that, with colon cancer, a return of the cancer is a death sentence.

When C.R. was going through treatment, it felt like we were fighting the cancer. After he finished, all we could do was passively wait to see if it would return.

Tests and waiting. Waiting and tests.

For years.

What I didn't know then is that his remission would pass the critical two-year mark, and then the five-year mark. And now we've passed year seven.

The most amazing thing is that, when I look back on those dark days, I see God's love, compassion, and grace in ways I've not seen before or even since. I learned a great deal about His character during that time. We both did.

Tears are streaming down my face as I remember the outpouring of love we experienced from friends and family.

I'll always remember the sweet caring of our friends at a time when we lived on one coast and our families on the other. These friends stayed with me at the hospital, brought us meals, and met with us faithfully to pray for us.

Our families simply loved on us. I can't even express how much it meant when family members made the long and expensive trip to be with us during the hard times. I know it must have been a sacrifice.

As soon as C.R. had surgery, my parents and C.R.'s parents and sister traveled across the country as quickly as they could. (What a sweet reunion I had with them at the airport that night.) Later, my oldest brother and then C.R.'s brother also came to see us.

When we needed a break from C.R.'s treatments, we even took a special trip to Florida to visit my other brother and his wife. They paid for the entire trip.

Extended family members called and sent encouraging letters.

It meant the world to us.

Now, we have what we never expected to have then. C.R. has his life. I have my husband. And together we have a beautiful daughter.

Although I would never have chosen that road for us, in many ways it was a path of blessing that changed our lives.

For that, and for seven years, I'm grateful.