Foreword:

Dark Roads and a Hero

This is not who I want to be. This is not how I want to be remembered. I want to run and play! There is so much I want to do. -Julie Hatch, cancer patient

Late January 2018

Julie Hatch passed on from this world Dec 10, 2017. It is hard for me to accurately describe what it was like to walk though our home, bedroom or the world without her. All was empty, a total void of feeling her existence.  Tears streamed down as I looked at her pictures and felt no presence. Complete absence was like a black and tangible thing; dark, heavy and oppressive.  On many occasions I tried to escape outside and run. One January night, six weeks after her death, I found myself on a dark road.

The cold, black night sent shivers to my core. The subzero sky was perfectly clear and the diamond stars were its only light. There was no breeze, and other than the chilling crunch of cold, dry snow under foot, all was silent.  My senses were sharp and clear as the night, and I was feeling every regret and all the loss, but nothing of her. She was gone.  Thoughts of guilt invaded my mind, “I could have done so much better, I could have kept her here longer.”  Unbearable regrets overwhelmed me, and I was without hope or faith for myself and I stumbled. I looked up at never ending blackness with the countless specs of light.  I was so alone, so very alone. Tears dropped to the snow, and I was shaking, sobbing, and then wailing at the emptiness as loud as I could.  “Are you there?  Are you anywhere?  Oh, God!  Are You there?  Is anyone even there?”  That night would repeat.

I was questioning what I had once believed. On one of those nights of spiritual emptiness as I rehashed my questions, I felt that no conclusion would ever be reached. Yet I knew that despite the lack of feeling any divine, spiritual or supernatural influence; the path of faith that Julie and I had walked on together, had brought wonders of goodness into our lives and our children’s lives. I also knew that to honor Julie and live according to her dying wishes, I needed to continue to walk that path with my children, especially the youngest ones. That thought at that moment at least gave a new, small sense of peace and calm, which was just enough.

I am still learning how to walk with God without Julie physically present. As I walk this path I am trying to keep her memory alive and invite her spirit to touch our lives. It has helped me to do many things that she did for us, such as morning devotionals with the kids, cooking for them and reading books to them. I have taken up a few of her joys, like baking bread, bottling salsa, and planting flower pots. I take our children to church and try to teach them to walk the path of faith that she did. I am not consistent as I want to be, and sometimes I have a bad attitude and fail; but trying to walk as Julie would have me, gives me enough faith to find happiness in my life again, and that is something!

My faith is in a god who lets us experience pain, and doesn’t often intervene in obvious ways. I also believe that we want it this way, that mostly we really want to do this life on our own terms, like the young toddler who defies a helping hand and proclaims, “I do myself!” But I truly wanted God to intervene at that time and give me clear answers, and more than anything I wanted to just sense Julie’s spirit a little, to know that she still existed, and not feel all alone.

I am not truly alone. I like to believe that God speaks to me through other people, that perhaps others are guided to help, prompted to visit and to say something I need to hear, or maybe just gifted to listen and empathize. I have good friends who do this, and some mere strangers who have also spoken the right words. My children are the best at this, as we are in this together. Thanks to all of you for your patient ears and good words. I hope I can find the divine words to help others as you have.

I am not a particularly spiritual person, but I am emotional. I am careful not to confuse emotion with something else, and that has both helped and hurt me. My gift, if you can call it that, is to think logically about things, and seek evidence for what is claimed. As a result, I am not blessed with a mind that always sees a divine hand in all that happens, although I do look for that hand and often wonder, “was that God?” I think a lot about how I can better see God, and hear His voice. I am also hoping to better see, hear, and especially feel Julie again.

The Hero

Julie is one of millions who have suffered with cancer.  Every cancer story is unique, and often in them we are presented with stories of great heroics.  Julie was a hero, but not how most would expect.  She did not face death with the heroics or hope that most people want to credit people with who are dying.  Many people see what they want to see, a brave hero, unafraid of pain or death, so brave, and so full of faith and peace as she bids her family farewell with reassurances that she will be with them always, and all will be well because they will be together forever. This was what many believed about Julie, and what they mistakenly believe about others who pass on. It may be true of some, but I wouldn’t assume that of most… anymore.

I did not understand the full depth of her sorrow early on in her course, but I did learn, oh how I learned. Julie taught me the depth of her motherly love, and of her will to live with us as long as possible, no matter what pain would come. She taught me that suffering pain and death are the greatest fears people have. I saw in her greater sorrow than I knew existed. She was sad beyond expression about leaving us, and we cried, sobbed and wailed together as she slipped away over the years. Later I realized that for her, she was loosing all of her children and me to death, as much as if we were all dying and leaving her all alone.

I believe most people who die of cancer would relate to Julie’s story, rather than the stories of stoicism and bravery in death.  Stoicism is not everyones way. Julie was as true and as pure in her faith as anyone I knew, yet simply saying “all is well” was not her way either. Her pure faith did not prevent her from great despair and asking “WHY?” In some of her darkest moments she felt forsaken, and she would shake and recite like a mantra with sobs, “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

Julie was forced to choose another brave course.  Most who really knew her and watched her suffer commented that they had never seen anyone fight harder to stay alive.  She would not let go.  On several occasions doctors and others advised her to consider quality of life over living longer.  She would listen and could see the logic, but she refused that course.  Instead she chose to suffer longer and endure more pain, and chose to delay death no matter how much she suffered.  This brave course was the only option she would choose, driven by her love of us, and her refusal to leave us.  

Her story is tragic and human, but there are many moments of transcendence and triumph.  To be “Mother”, that was her drive, and that made her happy despite her suffering.  She fought just to continue to be “Mother”, and in that she was no mere mortal. In that, she found the divine.

I have felt very compelled to write this. I hope whoever reads it will find great meaning in Julie’s struggle, and the courage and faith and love of life here. I hope you experience tears and a washing of your soul as you connect with Julie, and that after you cry, you feel grateful and happy, and that in life you can laugh as much as you cry.