And I’ll Take Away All The Pain You Have Suffered On This Earth

April 10

Revelation 21:3-4 “And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look!  God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them.  They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God.  He will wipe every tear from their eyes.  There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

A week before I was to begin my sophomore year in high school, my dad woke up with excruciating pain on his right side.  He struggled to get out of bed that morning because of the intense pain he was feeling in his ribs.  It didn’t take long, and we received the report that my dad had cancer at the age of 43.  He was given the diagnosis of multiple myeloma - a cancer of the blood/bone marrow.  Options and treatment were limited 36 years ago, but the decision was made to fight the cancer.  With all five of his children still at home, there wasn’t any doubt but to fight the cancer.  For the next three and a half years, Dad endured chemotherapy and radiation treatments along with different medications all designed to slow/treat/cure the cancer.

In April 1992, he had a bone marrow transplant at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. At the time this was a new procedure, and he was the 10th patient to receive this treatment.  Stem cells were harvested from his body and treated in heavy doses of chemo and radiation.  Dad’s immune system was nonexistent and extreme caution was taken in making sure he didn’t get sick.  The transplant was a relatively short procedure as doctors put his treated stem cells back into his body.  For the next 6 weeks, Dad stayed in the hospital recovering from the transplant.  (He said later that he wanted to die as the stem cells were being put back into his body.  The pain was so intense.)  Dad came home and continued his recovery, gaining strength and weight while returning to work.  For nearly a year, things looked hopeful.  Blood work was positive and signs were pointing to a successful transplant.  A year after the transplant, however, we received news that Dad’s numbers were “not looking good.”  The cancer had returned, and for the next 4 1/2 years, Dad endured more treatments, needle pokes, testing, and hospitalizations.  He finally succumbed to the cancer on October 29, 1997.  His 9 year cancer journey was over.

As I reflect on those years Dad had cancer, he suffered many setbacks in his health and strength.  The pain was unbearable at times, but he rarely complained.  He carried on the best he could trying to make the best of each day.  Dad dreaded the appointments when a sample of his bone marrow was extracted.  He said that pain was so horrible - “the worst ever.”  I never really saw him cry or get emotional during his journey (I suppose he was raised to be “tough” and not let emotions show).  It was not unusual for Dad to have a fractured rib or some other bone.  I know there was a time when he walked on a severely fractured leg (because the tumors had weakened the bones).  Looking back, Dad suffered a lot of pain - more than I know.  He was a tough guy.

A day after he passed away, an elderly lady stopped by the house to offer condolences.  I will never forget what she said to me.  “I know you’re sad, and right now you miss him terribly.  But, try and be happy for him because he is one step ahead of the rest of us!”  She was right.  He is one step ahead of me - enjoying total restoration of health and strength in Heaven.  He no longer has any pain.  No chemotherapy.  No radiation.  No more appointments or hospital stays.  No broken/fractured bones.  No bone marrow extractions.  No limping.  No pain.  He is completely and totally healed, enjoying every moment in the presence of God!  There are times I really miss my dad.  I wish he could have met his grandchildren.  I wish he could be here to see all the things I’ve done and accomplished.  I wish he was still here to see his children and grandchildren going through the different stages of life and all the success they’ve had. I wish I could talk to him again and see that “ear to ear” smile he often had.  I miss his quiet demeanor and calming presence.  I miss hearing him say my name.  I miss him.  But, I also wouldn’t wish him back to the pain he endured and the struggles he had with cancer.  He’s in a far better place - and I know one day I’ll see him again. In the meantime, I can rejoice that he is pain-free and has total restoration of body.  Praise God!