Happy Hans Day!

Hans Peter Bonde....(March 24, 1989--September 28, 2000)....Leaving us with Joy Forever

A week wrapped in love and a "rain-set"

Last night's "rain-set" (a combination of rain and sunset) was spectacular. Here is a photo of the sunset through the gentle rain that had fallen all afternoon ( out my book door). As Pete and I stood on our back steps and watched, I kept thinking that this was a week wrapped in love and prayer. The sun and rain helped me see that. Let me explain.

I have to back up a ways. At the end of June, our son noticed a bump on Pete's neck which we decided should be checked out. then there was a doc visit, an ENT visit, a CT scan, a biopsy and an ultrasound. On August 4, Pete was diagnosed with papillary thyroid cancer. That whole first week after the diagnosis, I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. It took all my strength to not jump to horrible conclusions. And actually the news was good. This is a cancer with a 95% cure rate, even after 20 years. And Pete is one of the healthiest people I know. But I've been down the path that runs through the shadow of death before and I've lost people, including my 11 year old son Hans (in 2000). Just because everything looks good doesn't mean it is. I know this truth in my bones and deep in my heart. So I reached out for support and prayers because no matter how things turn out, life is just better when the community focuses on blessing and supporting each other.

On Wednesday, September 14, (just two days ago) Pete had his surgery at the U of M hospital with the same surgeon who did my parathyroid surgery 5 years ago. This helped give me confidence in the outcome. I totally trusted Dr. Evasovich. Then on the day of surgery, my friend Cheryl, and Pete's sister Kris (and later my children) joined me in the family waiting room. It was a long, long day which included a 3-hour delay before the surgery started. But we weren't wrong about Dr. Evasovich. She did a great job taking out his thyroid and several lymph nodes as well as avoiding all the risks of nerve damage. She even caught an extra problem in one of Pete's parathyroids and removed that.

All the while, I knew people were praying and sending love and holding us tenderly in their hearts. It was exhausting to wait but inside, at the center, I felt a peace that passes all understanding. It was similar to something I had felt before when our son Hans got brain cancer...the mystery of beauty in the midst of pain and chaos, the mystery of how people can hold one another with love.

Yesterday, Thursday, I brought Pete home from the hospital around noon with every hope that he will fully recover. He has a very sore throat but was able to eat and spent most of the afternoon resting. And then in the evening a very sweet thing happened. There was this poetic movement of the sun echoing off of every raindrop as it sank into the horizon. Yellow and orange filled the sky as the rain continued to fall. I couldn't help but think this is what happens when everyone prays...the light shines and echoes off of every teardrop, every deep sigh. Tears wrapped in love turn to gratitude and joy. This is another truth sinking deep into my bones. Light and love change everything, even a week spent fighting cancer.

So I offer my gratitude to God, to all of you, to the mystery of how love can make a rain-set appear on your back steps at the end of day full of struggle. Thank you for wrapping my week in love!

Love, jules ~ 9/16/16

Bitter and Sweet

Life is bittersweet at its heart, perhaps at its best. For it is in those moments of deepest sorrow or pain that we also are suddenly keenly aware of the amazing gifts and beauty of our lives.

I'll never ever forget the 16 months we had with our son Hans after he was diagnosed with stage 4 brain cancer (glioblastoma multiforme) the summer between his 4th and 5th grade years. I can't remember the excruciating pain without also remembering it as one of the best times of our lives. Being faced with the total and complete vulnerability of life for each of us (no matter how healthy) made all those unimportant squabbles and desires melt away. Money and success and being right ceased to matter. All that mattered was love and the moments.

Hans following one of his surgeries.

In some ways it seemed like time stopped. We suddenly had time to enjoy each other and be with each other in ways we hadn't before. We celebrated every day we had together. We went camping, biking, played games, laughed, hung out with extended family. We talked, we sang, we prayed. We hugged and cuddled. We fell in complete love with each other. Honestly, it was an amazing time for us. We lived with joy. Each day was so precious that we closed with a ritual of good night with blessing and goodbye.

Of course, one day we did say goodbye forever as Hans moved on to the next life. (September 28, 2000) And of course there was some pretty wrenching and dark days of mourning to follow. But even those gave birth to a deeper sense of gratitude and honor for this sweet person we were privileged to have among us, even for a short time. And eventually that expanded to a deeper gratitude for all of life, however flawed it is.

What I'm trying to say, is that the bitter and the sweet are so closely tied, that I can't separate them. I'm not arguing for cause and effect, just for the constant companionship of them both in my life. Bitter whispers in one ear with how tragic life is and Sweet sings in the other how fantastic and amazing it is. And peace grows in me, I am transformed, as I learn to dance with both these partners.

Peace!
Jules, 9/2/2016