My Mom.

My mom is dying. It's amazing what a roller coaster my emotions have been on, having freshly emerged from a season of shock and numbness, now it's all too raw. My thoughts are painted with anticipatory grief and sadness of the weeks to come - the physical and emotional anguish this family is watching her go through. Here are a couple of journal entries (edited a bit for my Mom's sake):


February 19, 2016




I sat with Mom today in the dark, quiet of her living room. I walked into this moment feeling like I was entering a field of land mines - she doesn't want to speak of cancer because she believes the healing is coming. She doesn't want to hear anything sad because she already struggles with sadness. She probably doesn't want to hear about the future because how long will her future on this earth be? Mostly I went into today wanting her to rest and not feel like I'm company that she must entertain. I wanted to meet her right where she was - sadness, anxiousness and all. I was afraid my sadness would take over, spilling onto her. I was afraid my presence would be detrimental to her frail self. When I settled into the small chair directly across from the couch she spends all of her days and nights on now, I just knew. I knew I needed to tell her to sleep - that I was there to meet her needs. The woman that brought me into this world, who changed my diapers, brushed my hair, taught me about makeup and the life lessons she wanted to pass down - that woman I could now pour into.
And it felt right. I spent hours there, watching her doze off, relieved she was getting rest, knitting, reading, fighting back tears, quiet, quick conversations between her naps. I opened a book I'm reading called "The Hiding Place" and read her particularly poignant passages that stopped me in my tracks when I first read them. I want to do things like brush her hair and apply her makeup, but I don't know where she stops and I begin - the line feels so blurred right now.


March 5, 216


Today I struggled. Some days I can cope. I can do laundry and break up fights and just do life without tears misting my eyes continually. Without the tangible weight of my heavy heart. Today? Well today tears misted my eyes and I had a lump in my throat. And at one point as my daughter was crying for the umpteenth time about whether she would have any friends attending church tonight, I stopped her and said "I'm sad. My mom is dying. Frankly, I don't want to be at church tonight. But you know what? I'm going. And I'm not crying about it." And for a moment, she thought outside of herself and understood to the extent a seven year old can understand grief. Parenting isn't always pretty these days. When the kids bicker sometimes I just ask them, "Is YOUR mom dying? Then you shouldn't be crying over this." But most of the time they continue to be upset, because in their microcosm, wiping down the table vs. sweeping the floor is a matter worthy of tears. 


I keep visualizing Mom, her frailty, her body becoming weaker by the moment as cancer invades. Her spirit feeling defeated by a God that did not cure her and Western medicine that no longer has treatments for this aggressive disease. Visualizing Mom only makes me more sad for her. And us. Mom was always so independent. And that's what she still fights for - the independence that this cancer threatens to steal from her.


Today I struggle wrapping my head around death. The fact that my mom, the one who gave birth to me, will soon leave this earth. And while she doesn't talk about cancer or death, I have to let go of the hope of those last conversations I want to have with her. What will goodbye look like? I feel like it's all happening so fast, but really she's been fighting this for years. And you know what? As I blink away tears, I am grateful to have had this long goodbye with her. And the goodbye continues. I get these weeks/months to read to her, to comfort her, to help her have dignities in some big and small ways. While I may never be able to have and official end of life discussion with her, I guess I get moments to act out my love - making her food, folding her clothes. Isn't this what she did for me? What an honor to be able to return these acts of love. Soon she will be with the Lord and everyday she is closer to heaven. My prayer is that I can help her have a peaceful transition, even if in small, practical ways.