Heavy

I still have days left to write about O'ahu, many beautiful and wonderful things to document, but I can't today-- cancer is just too heavy.

Caden's health has drastically declined since returning from Hawaii, even declining rapidly since Homecoming.  He went to his room for a nap yesterday at 3:00pm and has not been well since.  His pain has spiked to a 7, pain that is not just one spot but his entire body, prompting him to ask specifically for the Morphine.  Indigestion is rampant because of the tumor that is growing front and center, pushing his already misshapen stomach and intestines in ways and places that they should not go.  He has been throwing up all night, not because of nausea, just throwing up at random.  Oh, and the swallowing thing started in Hawaii-- he coughs a lot after drinking "light" liquids, like water and milk.  When I asked him if he wanted our nurse to come out today instead of tomorrow at 9:00am, his response was like a bullet in my heart.  Dejectedly, "There is nothing she can do."  He knows.  He's dying right now.  Can you imagine knowing you were dying at 16 years old?  Coming to the point where you know there truly is nothing else to do but wait and shove morphine down your throat?

Our life has been such a roller coaster for four years, but it feels nothing like the one we are on right now that has to be setting some kind of Universe record.  First we have a low at our first Hospice meeting two Tuesday's ago, then a high that we get to go to Hawaii, then ups and downs all throughout that week as we watched him decline while in paradise.  We race home on Friday for another Hospice meeting to hear them "educate" us on things that we weren't prepared to hear again.  Imagine this being spoken about your own child right now:

"Just so you know, when the time comes, you have as much time with him as needed-- no one is going to come in and take him away before you want them to.  No rush.  You will also have the choice whether he be taken out to the van-- oh, it won't be a hearse, so it won't be starkly noticeable to your neighbors what has happened-- so... taken out to a van on a gurney, or whether you carry him out."

How can I process this kind of "education?"  Beach one day, visualizing carrying my dead son in my arms to the van the next.  And then we closed the door on them, only to turn around and begin unpacking and getting ready for the excitement we hoped for with Homecoming the very next day.  After news like that, what better way to begin date night than to go to the cemetery to find plots to buy for yourself, your husband, and your child?  It feels SO WRONG to say that we found three plots that feel "right," that we have them on hold, just waiting for a down payment.  They are right next to a statue that has a Father, Mother, and three kids running together.  It is aptly named, "Families Can Be Together Forever."  Then the lows and searched-for highs of Homecoming to today.  My son is dying.  Prayer got him through Saturday night, for which we are grateful, but unless Heavenly Father sees fit to bless us with one more HUGE miracle, prayer is not going to stop what is currently happening.  Caden is dying.

My son.

My heart.

My world.   

Breaking.