On Earth as in Ireland, Pt. 4

Part 0 (The Dream) — Part 1 (The Fog) — Part 2 (The Hike) — Part 3 (The Colors) — Part 4 ( The Flu) — Part 5 (The Flowers) — Part 6 (The Cathedrals) — Part 7 (The Rest)

Cassie was always proud of her zealous work ethic. To the point that even when she was sick, she would refuse to use up any of her sick days. So long as she could make the drive to work, she still would. My wife joked that it started when she was in elementary school, when her parents wouldn’t have let her miss school for anything short of the plague—but considering the Black Plague wasn’t really contagious, she said she probably would have shown up with that too.

I was a different story. If I woke up with the sniffles, I would do everything in my power to convince Cassie that 1) I was dying, 2) I had to stay in bed all day to sleep if I was going to recover, 3) my tradition since Freshman year of college to build Legos when sick was more important than work, 4) I needed her to make me some soup to feel better, and 5) “Stop hitting me, Cassie! I’m sick!”

Cassie admitted she had no empathy for my colds, flus and sore throats. Even if I tried to pamper her to no end when she was sick—getting her favorite Oreos, keeping her stocked on her favorite Powerade, cleaning up her used tissues (before taking a picture of her, like above)—if I got the same bug a week later she would still shove me off the couch to cook up my own soup. Granted, if I was feverish she would still be nice enough to me in the evenings—she would still make sure I stayed hydrated, she would put up with whatever show I wanted to watch, and she would still rub my back for all of 5 seconds before her baby fingers got tired of it.

The day after visiting the northern coast of Northern Ireland, I came down with a nasty head-cold that would linger for the rest of the trip. The first day was definitely the worst though. My nose was running like a faucet the entire day, my sinuses were throbbing, my body was aching, I was beyond exhausted, my blood sugar wouldn’t level out, and I still had mild fever after taking all kinds of ibuprofen and acetaminophen. There was no way I could keep up with any of my friends while they explored Belfast. After a 3 hour nap in the middle of the day, I thought I might be able to do something, but after walking around the nearby Belfast Botanic Gardens for about 15 minutes I was ready to drop again.

This was, hands down, one of the worst I’d felt since Cassie passed. Not only physically, but in the way of heartache. I’d chalk most of it up to being so tired. For as long as I can remember I’ve always been exponentially more emotional without sleep. So, combine that with the disappointment of not being able to do all the things Cassie and I had planned while my friends went on ahead. Then add that to the discomfort of being in a strange city, staying in someone else’s house. All that, while wanting nothing other than to be able to complain to Cassie about how frustrated I was at this cold, constantly reminded of the comfort her presence brought me, the comfort I couldn’t have when I wished for it most.

Sickness, even minor ones, can’t easily be made sense of. I generally prefer to believe in a more mechanistic and clockwork world—if I touch everything in an airport, airplane, and train while not washing my hands enough and getting behind on sleep, I will get sick. But others prefer to believe that God has a lot more say in our health and the way our plans work out. God is big enough to make a world that incorporates both, I’m obliged to profess. But whether or not God might cause illness, I will never hesitate to say that He can redeem any situation. I will never hesitate to say that His good plans can be carried out despite troubles. The Apostle John makes a point to tell the story of how Jesus addressed this issue:

As He passed by, He saw a man blind from birth. And His disciples asked Him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he would be born blind?” Jesus answered, “It was neither that this man sinned, nor his parents; but it was so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”

With that in mind, I could at least be thankful for the unexpected vacation from my vacation. See, my ideas for the evenings in Belfast likely would’ve conflicted with everyone else’s preferences, based on conversations the previous night (I’ve not been known to have the best ideas since I’ve had to think of them alone). I was sick, I was sad, but I could at least say my friendships were safe from my decidedly bad plans—even if I didn’t want to admit it then.

Part 0 (The Dream) — Part 1 (The Fog) — Part 2 (The Hike) — Part 3 (The Colors) — Part 4 ( The Flu) — Part 5 (The Flowers) — Part 6 (The Cathedrals) — Part 7 (The Rest)