Reset button...

Sometimes in life we need a reset button.  I know our family would like to have one.  I would reset it to October 7^th, 2011, when we were checking into our favorite cabin atop Mt. Nebo.  Oh, to be able to go back and savor every moment of that trip. (There is a life lesson to be learned, you are never promised tomorrow and you should never take things for granted.  Cherish every moment.)  Dad was already exhibiting signs of neurological issues, but we had no idea that just a month later we would get the “inoperable brain tumor” diagnosis.   Fast forward a year and Julie and I have made the painful, excruciatingly so, decision to cancel our 2012 trip to Mt. Nebo.  Dad’s health has declined past the point of being able to travel that distance safely.  We do not feel right leaving him and Mom behind with no one available as back up.  I don’t even think if we had back up that we would be able to enjoy ourselves without them with us.   So here we are…

Each night Juju stops by Mom and Dad’s on the way home from work.  She is the favorite daughter after all.  After Dad had a rough night Wednesday, I decided to head down after work yesterday.  Mom and Dad have been without Wi-Fi for about 2 weeks now.  Juju has tried all of the tricks she knows and that I know.  We have had zero luck figuring out what was wrong.  Juju decides to take another stab at it last night. Geek Squad we are not.   We start with the unplugging of everything.  Nothing.  In the meantime, Dad decides he needs to come supervise our efforts.  This really needs video to do it justice.  Juju is on the floor, crammed up under the computer desk, pulling cords, plugging cords back in, trying to see where the cords go.  There are more power strips than you can shake a stick at and we are getting nowhere.  I decide to head to the living room.  I am a quitter.  Not Juju. She’s still in there rebooting the computer after the keyboard came unplugged.  Bless her heart.  She is a warrior.  After a few minutes in the living room, I hear Dad’s voice, but can’t make out what he said. Then I hear Juju holler excitedly, but still not sure what they are talking about.  Then I hear, “Reset button.”   Yep, there is a reset button on the back of the Wi-Fi thingy box.  You need to hit it.  Then your Wi-Fi starts working.  Guess who came up with that? Dad. That’s right. Dad.  He’s had 6 rounds of chemo followed by 25 rounds of radiation followed by 2 more rounds of chemo directly into his spinal fluid, and HE’s the one who came up with the reset button.  Cancer in the brain may take other things away from my Daddy, but it can’t take the knowledge that sometimes you have to hit reset. 

Now, if only we could hit the reset button on the cancer.

Not your ordinary kind of sermon...

Last Friday night we got a call from one of Dad’s cousins.  He is a special guy to our family.    He was the first family member to be in the waiting room 6 years ago when Dad underwent emergency surgery during his first battle with cancer.  He is faithful to call and check in.  On this particular Friday night, he was calling to say that he was coming to see Dad, if he was up to visitors.   He arrived Saturday and there is no doubt that the visit lifted Dad’s spirits.  (He also let us know that he had been in touch with Dad’s brother and offered to bring him along.)  We were all glad to see Cousin Shelby.

On Sunday afternoon, when he was getting ready to head home, Shelby sat Dad down and asked if he could speak frankly for a moment.  Juju and I excused ourselves to the living room feeling that this was going to be a heart to heart that would be best left between these two men who share great roots and a lifetime of special Carothers’ history.  Shelby is one of those guys that would do anything for family.  He puts family first.  It matters to him like it matters to us.  (As a kid, I remember pulling into town after a long road trip and hoping that Dad would stop by the gas station Shelby ran before going on to Grandma’s house because it was a 100% guarantee that he would get the key and open the vending machine to let Juju and I have a treat.) 

Shelby started his conversation by reminding Dad that he had cheated death a few times in his life and that he knew the battle that Dad was facing.  (A truer statement was never said as Shelby has had at least 2 vehicle/motorcycle accidents that put him in the hospital for a significant time with extensive injuries, but here he is today, with us, trying to lift our family up.  He is a great man.)  Shelby shared with Dad that “mind over matter” was a strong healing device.  Tears began to flow down my cheeks.  He put the power to get better in Dad’s hands.  He told Dad that he knew the  kind of man he was, and that man wasn’t the kind to give up.  He was a fighter.  He reminded Dad that the doctors had gotten him as far as they could; cancer free, and that the rest was up to Dad.  Juju and Hubby and myself just kept looking at each other, thanking the Lord above for these words.  Words that we have shared a million times, but we could feel the impact of them coming from this man with a desire to help, a desire to encourage and to uplift his cousin.  His voice was strong and full of passion.   I think Juju and I both had moments of saying “Amen” throughout this conversation.

Shelby left after hugs all around and a promise from Dad to “do what needs to be done”.  Dad moved from the kitchen to his chair in the living and reflectively said, “that was a good sermon Shelby shared.”  Yes it was Dad.  Yes it was.