Worth fighting for

I watched The Lord of the Rings the other night with a couple of my kids. And by that I mean I fell asleep on the couch while they watched it. But I did wake up for the best part. 

Good ol’ Sam:

“It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going, because they were holding on to something. That there is some good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for.” –The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers 

Watching Sam and Frodo’s weariness on their quest to destroy the ring was so incredibly relatable. (hence, I even took a nap for them myself) This cancer journey is so draining. Yes, physically it takes a toll on Anthony, all this wretched chemo builds accumulatively and he has reached the point where he feels generally awful most of the time. There is a lot of sleeping and nausea and dry heaving and setting timers for meds. Then there’s insomnia and headaches and persistent yuckiness. Meanwhile, there is also a lot of soccer and school and places to be and chores to be done and meals to cook and needs to be met. 

So I think this is why I love this quote so much. There are many things in life you simply can’t turn back from. You can’t turn back from the death of a child. Or a cancer diagnosis. You have no real choice in the matter.

But every day after is made up of thousands of little choices. Choices of turning back, of giving up, of not entering the fight. Opportunities to choose between despair and hope. Doubt and faith. Fear and promise. Bitterness and joy. Passivity and intentionality.

It’s a weary road. Some battles are obvious. They are easy ones to fight. The sides of good and evil are pretty clear.

But most battles are sneaky ones. They are annoying and inconvenient. Deciding to care about who was actually the one wronged in yet another sibling squabble. Focusing on the longest story ever being recited to me by a child with a very detailed and excited imagination. Making dinner with joy instead of resentment. Allowing myself to be interrupted. Cleaning up after people. Again. Apologizing. Again.

Sometimes these battles consist of embracing the mundane with a smile.

Sometimes it’s persevering during the long conversations late at night when hearts are being poured out in the quiet of the day. It’s the questions asked when the to-do list feels front and center and interruptions feel bothersome. It’s teachable moments that take so. much. effort. to grasp onto when the weariness of the day says this one time just isn’t that big of a deal – let it go… 

I’ve failed many a time at the pivotal moments of nurturing, parenting, and discipline. I’ve said it’s too exhausting and it will all be fine and please just leave me alone. 

Grief is a valid reason to let things slip on by. 

But it’s also a deceptive excuse.

And knowing when I’m using it as an excuse is one of my biggest battles.

I look at these kids entrusted to my care, the ones being shaped in my home, the ones who have lived a big chunk of their life in the shadow of grief and loss and now have another dark mountain looming over them and you know what? They are more than worth fighting for. They are the good in my world and I don’t want to lose any of those daily battles.

Every January I pray for a word as a theme for the year. This year, it is “fierce.”

When I first heard it from the Lord I thought, I’m too tired for that one. It sounds like a lot of front line fighting. Can I have a different one? Rest? Abundance? Healing? Anything that isn’t so exhausting.

We don’t get to pick the battles we fight. But we do get to pick how we fight them. 

So here we are at infusion number 9. These months of doctor appointments and scans and bloodwork and good news and not-so-good news are a roller coaster. Never having been much a fan of theme parks, I’m ready for this to be done. 

All I really do on infusion day now is sit next to my man. We used to play cards. Sometimes he has phone calls and work to get done. But lately, all this poison is taking its toll. He spends much of the time sleeping. A gift, really, to escape the reality of it all for a moment. 

So I read. Or write. Or make grocery lists. And then drive us home. 

And when I walk through the door I am so utterly exhausted. It doesn’t make any sense, right? I wasn’t the one just injected with chemo for several hours. Why am I so tired? 

Why? Because it all takes such an emotional toll. I learned this in grief. After losing Mason I fully understood bone-deep exhaustion. Our physical body carries our heavy mental and emotional weight. And it’s simply too much for a person to realistically bear.

But alas, there are humans here who need me. And need one hundred million snacks. And need homeschooling. There are spelling tests and math lessons and research papers. There are also all the wrongs that occurred in my absence that need to be aired and of course the perpetual mess that either makes me want to yell or cry. And then dinner and practice and laundry and… 

In the midst of this are the battles that matter. Grace and kindness. Looking my kids in the eye. Listening to hearts. Remembering that sometimes the drama is less about whatever thing and more about the heaviness of cancer hovering over all of us.

Sam was right. In the end, it really is only a passing thing, this shadow. But it is still very real. And very defining for life. The decisions made in the shadows shape the reality lived in the light. 

A new day will come and it will indeed be brighter and clearer. And it may not be in this world and that’s ok. Because it will definitely be in the next one. And that’s the one truly worth fighting for.