I’m going to say things today that I’m going to assume most people are thinking, but, because it’s rightfully sensitive, very few are in a position to ask. My assumption may be wrong, and perhaps no one is thinking any of this. In that case, I may instead sound like a crazy, even dark and morbid, person. Proceed with caution.

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There are many things in life I have trained to do and to be. For example, I trained to be a doctor. Many moons ago, I trained to run sprint triathlons (see above photos as proof that we both did). Even the Bible talks about training for the race of being a Christian.

Dream. Goal. Plan. Act. Persevere. Achieve.

That has been the way of most of my training journeys. While not all achievements panned out the way I planned, I trained nonetheless because there was potential in the future to work toward – to become someone or something else, better.

With Jason’s cancer diagnosis, immediately something changed about the future. Instead of dreams, the future contained nightmares – figuratively, and literally. Regardless of whether my emotion toward the future is anticipation or dread, the fact remains – it’s coming.

Miracles aside, grade 3 IDH-mutant astrocytoma brain cancers (it a mouth full, I know) are not curable. Let me clarify – it’s treatable, but it’s not curable. Jason’s 6 weeks of proton radiation in Rochester and oncoming 12 months of chemotherapy cycles are treatments designed to, more or less, stabilize the tumor – to destroy or alter the abnormal cells so much so that the tumor stops growing, atrophies, and dies -ish. But just like the weeds in a garden, despite pulling them and spraying buckets of Round-Up, weeds always find a way to come back. Grade 3 astrocytomas always find a way to come back (unless something else kills you first).

After we finish this round of treatment, it will be a waiting game of repeat MRI, after repeat MRI, after repeat MRI until eventually we get bad news. It’s coming. Then we’ll go through treatment again… and again… until we don’t. The length of time between recurrences is a big, fat question mark – anywhere from 0 to 4, or 8, or 10, maybe 15 years is a broad, unhelpful guess.

Jason’s goal is Quinn’s wedding. For reference, she’s turning 10 tomorrow. It’s hopeful.

When Dr. Newman saw the first brain MRI, before Wife Newman even had a chance to breathe, the doctor in her knew it was a death sentence. Now, we hear about it all of the time – doctors can be wrong. However, my medical training isn’t empty, so I’d take the DraftKing odds that I’ll be a widow because of brain cancer around the time my nest is emptying.

So, unwillingly, I’m training for something new. I’m training to be alone (unless something else kills me first).

Sure, there are so many friends and neighbors and family members who will pour themselves out to be here with me. That’s already happened. But, it’s also not the same. We all know it.

How does one train to be alone? What is the protocol, the regimen, the plan?

Hopefully, I have several years to plan, get it right and build up the strength. If the widow-marathon was tomorrow I’d be toast, but if it’s not for another few years then maybe I can start running a little now to be more prepared then.

Month 1: Run 1 mile 5 days per week, and ugly cry on the bathroom floor.

Month 2: Run 2 miles 6 days per week, and double check the life insurance policy.

Month 3: Run 3 miles daily, and Google “How long do widows wear their wedding ring?”

Month 4: You get the picture.

My nature is to be a Type-A planner. Can you tell? Having a detailed plan means having expectations. It means having order (i.e. control – insert guilty gulp). It means having no surprises. And, I hate surprises. That’s why I plan. That’s why I study. That’s why I train.

Like a final exam in college, death is not a surprise. It’s inevitable – in our mind until it’s in our hands.

So, this mind and these hands are ready to train. Go. Give it to me – books, blogs, podcasts, mentors, spreadsheets, checklists, and the Bible, of course. The dread is here. I’m not ready. I’m unfit. And I can’t conceive that I ever will be.

My desire is to only fear God and to trust His plan, but it is so, so hard not to fear what’s next in that plan.

Enough of that, Debbie-Downer. Let’s pick our heads up!

Keep praying – Give me this daily bread.

“Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory.”

Romans 5:2

(This precedes the popular “rejoice in trouble” verse; I’m not sure I’m ready to digest that truth today)

Addendum: This past week was the first week that I was in Grand Island with the kids while Jason stayed in Rochester for radiation. Hence, the wave of loneliness.