Fighting Darkness and the Heavy Weight of a Strange Guilt

I got quiet, speechless.  Lately it has been difficult to find words.  I search for them but don't find the exact ones that represent things I've been feeling.  I can think of one descriptor- dark.  It seems like I've been on my knees feeling around for a flashlight but as soon as I think I've located it it rolls away and the search begins again.  I won't abandon the search but it's been a trying few weeks.  These have been dark days.  There are definite moments when the skies break and I am bathed in light but the dark inevitably returns.  And, in the dark the words I seek disappear. The silence is eerily soothing.  I think I'm breathing and regrouping- going through a valley, about to make a climb toward the light. 

Several of the women in my support group have buried their husbands the past few weeks.  One just made a call to hospice and she and her husband have decided to suspend treatments and let the disease take its course.  They are busy making memories with the time that remains.  These women are incredibly strong.  They share their stories to light the way for those that may have to walk the same journey in the future.  They are flashlights in the dark world of cancer. 

I wrestle with their losses and their stories.  I have a sense of guilt.  Brett is doing well.  His side effects have been fairly manageable.  His treatment has a large chance of being successful.  He very well could be "cured" or at least achieve a lengthy remission.  I feel badly that they have suffered such losses and we are having a very different experience at the moment.  I know they don't begrudge me this hope.  I know they are truly happy that we are on a different side of the disease.  But, the weight of this strange guilt has been sitting on my chest today- been difficult to catch my breath.  And, honestly, there's fear because I want to stay on this side of the disease.  I don't want to follow them.  They display amazing strength, faith, and grace.  Would I in their shoes?  Sure makes me examine myself deeply. 

I took a night hike once at a teachers' camp in Wisconsin.  It was amazing.  We sat in the dark for a few moments allowing our eyes to adjust.  We really could see our way in the darkness.  Because we were in the quiet darkness we saw and heard beavers alerting our arrival with slaps of their tail on the water.  We startled a deer.  We didn't see the bugs and critters that would normally startle me.  It felt incredibly safe there in the dark.  I feel safe in my recent darkness and I'm letting my eyes adjust to the darkness and walking the path.  I don't want to fear the dark but I don't want this hike to last much longer.  Time to find the flashlight.  I'm certain I'll reach it soon.