I hate death

After finishing my favorite fiction book last night, still crying like a baby even though this was my third time through it, I decided something.

I hate death.

Granted, it is a little more raw this time. But these words gripped me, and nailed it right on the head: "Cancer is the ultimate identity theft. It's a vulture--it doesn't care how old you are, where you're from, who your daddy is, how much money you have or how important you think you are. It is no respecter of persons...Cancer hurts beyond the pain. It is a cycle of diagnosis, prognosis, and scan. We live not paycheck to paycheck, but scan to scan. Every time we stand in the doctor's office and hear the scan results, we think, It's getting bigger and I can't do a single thing about it. That may be the single worst feeling in the world...We feel as though we're always just one scan away from hearing the words metastatic, which is often followed by, I'm going to miss you..." (from Where the River Ends)

Charles Martin hit the nail on the head. Reading those words delivered me straight back to a year ago...to that doctor's office, where we did exactly what he describes. Hoping, praying...and then trying to catch our hearts as they sank below our knees.

Death is ugly, and I hate it. I told God that last night as I lay awake into the wee hours of the morning, and He said to me,

"ASH, I hate it too."