Boom! On May 30, 2014, I received the news I had Stage 4 lung cancer. Typically, individuals in my situation have roughly a year left to live, and now my focus is on making that year as comfortable as possible. There are other options, like experimental treatments, which may come into play later, and I’m keeping my spirits up, but the reality is clear.
Flashback to the summer of 2010. My family and I were at a beach getaway in Bethany Beach, and everyone was having a blast—building sandcastles, splashing in the waves, and soaking up the sun. Well, everyone except me. I was buried under a mountain of unread emails and blog post ideas that I didn’t have the time to put into words. Surrounded by sand but lacking in coffee, I struggled to enjoy myself. I tried to fit in, but it was evident to those around me that I was uncomfortable and, frankly, reluctant to be there.
The true light bulb moment hit me on the drive home. It dawned on me that I was missing out on the joy of the moment. I realized that I had been caught in the tragedy of human existence: here I was, on a perfect day, and I didn’t even know it.
That realization was transformative. Once I made the conscious choice to embrace life, everything shifted. Now, instead of a living Hell—where I felt perpetually behind and dissatisfied—I found myself in a living Heaven. I learned to appreciate what I had, even if I often wanted more.
Finding Heaven in Everyday Moments
I believe that Heaven can be found right here on Earth, wherever you choose to look for it. Here’s where I discovered mine:
I found Heaven on long drives with my kids. Sure, I could have grumbled about the hours spent shuttling them back and forth to school, but instead, I turned those trips into opportunities for conversation. I got to know their worlds and shared mine, introduced them to music, and even made up silly songs together.
I also found Heaven on the gritty floor of a basketball court. My then two-year-old daughter finished her preschool early, leaving us with hours to kill before her brother was done. Those afternoons became unforgettable. We’d share lunch, play pretend with plastic sandwiches and tea, and create a game she called “Going to the Birthday Party,” where I dribbled behind her as she led the way on the black line. We’d sit on the floor, rolling a ball back and forth, and embrace while chaos unfolded around us.
Of course, even a slice of Heaven can have its challenges. We moved to a new house in March—my dream home where my kids will grow up—and that brings a bittersweet pang to my heart. I’m not worried about myself; I’ve had a life filled with incredible moments. But watching my children grow is something I desperately want to see.
I’ve raised joyful kids. Sure, they whine sometimes, but overall, they are my pride and joy: two loving, smart, and funny individuals. I can’t let my absence cast a shadow over their happiness. I want to be there to support them, to share in their lives.
And my wife—she deserves happiness too. I wish I could do more to make her smile.
Embracing Acceptance
Acceptance and sadness can coexist. Sadness is part of the human experience, and trying to pretend otherwise only adds to the burden. But I accept the reality that life is finite, and my time may be short. I recognize that my life has been a precious gift, even if I won’t witness my children grow up as I had hoped.
Should I lament my fate? Should I cry out, “Why me?” Or should I embrace the fact that, even now, despite the confusion and fatigue, I’m living my best life?
What lies ahead for me physically is uncertain. But one thing is crystal clear: I am surrounded by love from those I cherish most—my amazing wife and two incredible kids.
So, here’s a small favor I ask of you: my daughter, she’s a bit shy. If you see her playing alone, don’t hesitate to join her. She thrives on connection. My son, on the other hand, is incredibly sensitive. Every word you say will stick with him, so please treat him with care. He’s a bright kid, and he deserves to be treated like the intelligent person he is. Lastly, my wife—give her the space to relax. She’s a force of nature, but she also needs to unwind. Help her find joy and don’t box her into any one label. She’s the kind of mother every child dreams of having.
In March 2015, Avery Thompson passed away from terminal lung cancer at the age of 42.
For more insights on family and parenting, feel free to explore other articles on our blog, like this one on home insemination.
Summary
This reflective piece chronicles Avery Thompson’s journey of acceptance and joy amid the challenges of terminal lung cancer. Through personal anecdotes, he highlights the beauty of everyday moments with his children and wife while grappling with the sadness of impending loss. He emphasizes the importance of cherishing life’s fleeting joys and offers heartfelt advice for nurturing his family after he’s gone.