Lessons from Lou

This blog is about my journey through the brain tumor world with my dear husband, Lou. While not a journey I would wish on even my worst enemy, it is a journey that has enlightened and awakened me to what lies within us, and around us, each and every moment of each and every day. There are lessons here....lessons in this journey.....lessons from Lou....that I would like to share with you.

My Photo
Location: Chicago, Illinois

Picture of Lou (sick) and I at a party, circa 2005, long ago and faraway. I'm now a middle aged widow, trying to get my life back together. Mother of two young adult sons, living with two adult cats.

Monday, June 12, 2006

Cruel and Unusual

Sometimes, as I watch poor Lou struggle with something so simple, like his fork, as he did tonight, I wonder what we did to receive such cruel and unusual punishment. I say "we", because we have all been punished it seems by this beast. It's the Catholic in me I suppose, who thinks maybe we are being punished for something...but what? What could we have possibly done that would warrant such a fate? Oh sure, we've had our arguments, I know that. But what family doesn't? There is no doubt we love each other. I don't think that's it. What else? Lou is the most generous person on earth, surely it is not for being selfish. And he is so kind, it can't be because he was mean. How is it that a national debate champion, university student body president, an outstanding student, successful businessman, volunteer board member, donator to just about every cause that comes knocking, loving husband, father, brother, uncle, and friend could be stricken by something so mean, so nasty, so unforgiving? HOW...or is it WHY? It's cruel. It is cruel and unusual punishment for someone with such amazing verbal skills to be unable to remember where his son lives. It is cruel and unusual punishment for the man who made pages of "to do" lists in tiny print, and got it all done in a day, to no longer be able to sign his name. It is cruel and unusual punishment for the man who knew the name of every waiter, cleaning person, doorman, etc to not know the address of his office. It's hell, really, right here on earth. Watching this incredible man become so greatly diminished...it's hell. Watching my son try to get ready for finals after a day like today..it's hell. Knowing it won't be any better tomorrow...it's hell. I used to be able to find the "good" in this...it's getting harder to. Prayers needed, definitely.


Blogger Sue said...

And we are here in prayer and more prayer. Wishing we could be closer to do more. . . . .wishing we had more words but we have prayer.

7:28 AM  
Blogger Leiann Neubauer said...


Sometimes (but rarely) James will ask the "why" question. I have always told him (and believe it) that he has a brain tumor because God chose someone that he knew would trust Him to have this tumor in order to show the world how God can take care of someone that will trust Him. So, he chose James. James will think about it for a minute and then say, "That's right - and I will." And he does. I don't think the tumor is because of what we have done WRONG, but what we have done RIGHT. He will not give "more than we can bear." NOW, having said all that, it doesn't make the days any easier, I know. So, for that, I send a BIG ((((((((((((((hug)))))))))))))!!!

Love and prayers,

James' Mom

1:53 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Cathy, I often felt just as you did: how could my brilliant father, author of scores of medical articles, several books, and lover of Shakespeare, the man who taught me to love the English language, be robbed of his own language by his gbm iv. It felt so wrong, and I constantly struggle against the bitterness I could so easily slip into. Lately I have been able to ask, "but why NOT my father?" "Why OTHER people?" I think gbm ivs are non-discriminating. I still hate them, however!

8:49 PM  

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