Finding My Way in the Dark

by Ronei Hardin
as told to Teri Modisette

My name is Ronei, and this is one of the darkest hours of my life.

It’s very hard for for me to say, but I’m losing my husband.

This is my life now–I go to my first job and teach high school English all day. Then I go to my second job. When I’m done there, it’s back to the hospital to be with my husband, Sam. We are introverts as individuals and as a couple. What I have is special, so I’m cautious, protective of my family, and deeply private.

Sam worked in the stage lighting and production industry for several popular country music and popular touring artists. He was in the middle of programming Toby Keith’s lighting exactly one week before our daughter’s high school graduation on May 25. That meant Sam would get to go with me, see our daughter graduate, and hear her commencement speech.

He finished Toby Keith’s rehearsal schedule the day before graduation. When he came home, I knew something was very wrong. His whole body was a terrifying, glowing, zombie yellow–so yellow he scared his co-workers. I said, “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” He insisted that he wouldn’t go to the hospital until he watched our daughter graduate and heard her commencement speech. I was adamant that he go to the hospital immediately. Neither of us would budge, so we struck a compromise: he’d go to graduation if I could take him straight to the E.R. afterward. We went to graduation, she delivered her speech, and we left as soon as it was over.

We spent the next six days in critical care. The test results said hepatocellular carcinoma: liver cancer. Sam has faced cancer twice before and kicked it in the teeth, but the doctors are very clear: the calendar is our enemy. At five months into his 12-month best-case scenario, we are regularly in and out of hospitals. I joined Round 2 of the Start Experiment because I knew it would give me a chance to be part of someone else’s story. I wanted to keep pouring into people the things I have to offer. I needed to know I wasn’t the only one walking through the darkest hour of my life.

While everyone in the Experiment was talking about whether they were going to the Start Conference, I sat in the area of Vanderbilt hospital reserved for family members of those having serious surgery. There were moms crying because their kids’ lives hung in the balance. Grandchildren weeping because grandpa had had a heart attack. I was surrounded by high-level drama and to top it all off, the START Conference was literally going to happen right down the street from my second job. All that happiness and inspiration, right down the street.

I sat in that waiting room and thought, “I can’t listen to this.” I was crying and thinking, “Why is this happening to me?” I put on my headphones, got my laptop, and found a corner. I was at the end of my hope. I remember telling God, “When Sam goes, please take me too.” At that point, I didn’t care anymore.

At first, I didn’t have it in me to say anything about my situation, but sitting in that waiting room, I thought, “Crap. I need to say something. I have to write something to help me lay this all down and let it go.” I logged into my blog–which was full of tumbleweeds and dust bunnies at that point–and started drafting a post. Actually, it was my “Dear Jon” letter. I was scared the letter would come off as a whine letter when I was honestly trying to be funny. You see, if I can find the funny in any given situation, that’s when God shows up for me. He knows my sense of humor and that’s how He comforts and supports me.

I posted the letter. Then I put the link in the Start Experiment with the headline, “Here goes nothing.”

I burst into tears, then dried it up and went to my husband’s bedside.

A few minutes later, my phone blew up with notifications. When people started posting in the START Experiment, saying, “Hey Jon, look at this!” I got scared and almost deleted my post. Jon was actually going to read it. He was going to think I was whining.

But then… I got a private message on Facebook. It said, “Do you still want to go to the conference?” I felt like Cinderella, scrubbing the floor, all covered in ashes, when the invitation to the ball arrived just for her.

The day I walked into the Start Conference was so surreal. I stepped outside of my own living hell and into a world of new beginnings. People sought me out at the conference: women who’d lost their husbands. Cancer survivors. Complete strangers showed extraordinary kindness. There are hands to hold now. I couldn’t have asked for better support.

Anyone who is walking through a terrible place, please listen to me. Be honest with God about how you feel. Scream, cry, shake your fist. Let Him know how much it hurts. Picture Jesus in the Garden, sweat rolling down like blood, saying, “Is there any other way?” He’s heard it before. He gets it.

God didn’t want me hiding in deeper shadows in this dark hour. He wanted me to put my big girl pants on and walk into the light of a conference hall where I knew no one and let miracles happen. God helps make our darkest hours our finest hours, but He’s not going to do everything for us. We have to trust Him.

If you’re out there, and you’re in a bad situation, and you think nobody sees you, God knows. I can’t even begin to detail the blessings I’ve been given since my husband’s diagnosis. Sam is too sick to work, but our bills are paid and we haven’t lost the house.

God makes a way for you when you step out in faith, even if it’s a tiny step. All I did was hand God the little bit that I had, and it’s like He said, “Okay. I will take it from here.”

Ronei Harden is a teacher, wife, mother, writer, and Round 2 Starter.
Teri Modisette is an author and social media guru based in Texas. Find her on Pinterest!