Wednesday, December 13, 2023
I am so sad. I came to our elephant group to laugh, but I’m crying now.
I’ll never forget that night two years ago when I bumped into Jules in the hallway of the classroom floor of our church. I was searching for the source of the constant laughter bursting out of one of the classrooms.
“Are you looking for a group to join?” A warm voice greeted from behind me outside a classroom I was peeking into. It was Jules! She wore a mask, holding a bag full of books. “I heard laughter and I desperately need to laugh!” “Come on in!” This was how I joined our fun-filled Elephant group!
In the following weeks and months, I got to know more about Jules and her cancer. I also did have many chances to laugh. Mostly I was amazed how “normal” Jules was. She didn’t present herself as a cancer victim—she never looked sad, haggard nor dispirited. Her hair wasn’t thin. Her face wasn’t gaunt. She walked a leisure pace. She drove Andrea and me to the little tea house in The Plains in August like a carefree youth, and she ate and drank just like any other cancer-free ladies there did. She lived her fullest seemingly with ease. Most important, she kept our elephant group together while suffering quietly inside. If not for the regular updates of her Hopkins tests and procedures, no one could tell this strong lady had endured needles, pain and frustration for seven years!
She conducted herself with faith, courage, grace and dignity. She never whined while facing the utter unfairness of life and the permanent mystery of why bad things happen to good people. She had managed to “turn” several times and shared her scariest moments bravely and brilliantly through her beautiful prose. Yet, she didn’t turn this time. She moved forward. Pain and needle free.
Jules, you go. You deserve peace and comfort by Jesus’s side.
We will sorely miss you, our dear Jules, before eventually joining you.
We’ll still manage to laugh, but it’ll feel a bit different without you.
