Day 5
Liam walked out to the living room when he got up, eyed the recliner for half a second, and walked past it toward the couch. We all like the recliner best at our house; but first thing in the morning it’s my coffee spot. “You can sit there, Liam,” I said.
“No,” he said. “That’s your spot.”
This is Liam. He always looks out for others and I knew nothing would change just because he had cancer.
“Liam, you’re fighting the hardest battle of anyone in this house. Everyone wants to take care of you. If the recliner is more comfortable for your leg, then sit there.” He tilted his head a little as if to say, “if you insist,” and sank into the recliner. That’s Liam. Not a bone of entitlement in his body.
My friend’s, Rosy and Marla, came and scrubbed my house from top to bottom. There isn’t a gift in the world that could have meant more to me that day. Restored order and cleanliness and peace couldn’t bring our world back to order, but it allowed my body to relax a little and gave me the much needed space to answer phone calls from doctors.
I’d started reading everything I could possibly scour up on the internet about osteosarcoma as soon as I got off the phone Monday. Even though she’d said it looked like osteosarcoma or ewings, my brain locked into osteosarcoma mode and never looked back. It’s strange the way God tells us things even before we know them. Sunday night before his xray my last words to David were, “I’m afraid Liam has cancer.” We’d thought it was muscle for so long, but too many things were falling short. I think it was God paving the way and softening the blow a tiny bit. And in the same way, He provided comfort and direction for my heart before my brain was too traumatized to receive it. Four days before the Xray a friend sent me this song. I thought it was for that moment, and it was. But in the days to come it would be played almost on repeat.