I realize now, eight months after his death, that Mike was mostly angry about having cancer. Sad, too. And I couldn’t help much with that.

He spent a great deal of time praying, meditating, studying the lives of the Christian mystics. I can’t imagine how emotional he would have been if Merton hadn’t helped him get through his days, or Julian hadn’t assured him that all would be well.

But oh, how I wish he could have been more at peace with the process. The gift of cancer is time … to appreciate, to thank someone, to love out loud.

There were times, toward the end of his life, when I was very angry with Mike. Why? I couldn’t tell you now.

Maybe because he wouldn’t accept that he was dying? He thought he could miraculously recover from Stage 4 esophageal cancer. Late last fall we were at the hospital every other day for IV fluids. I was frustrated. Exhausted. And angry. 

I’ve forgiven him. And myself. I couldn’t know how he felt. My faith told me all would be well. His told him he would be healed.

And, in every way except the one he wanted, he has been.