When the Way is Fraught With Grief and Fear

I am in the throes of grief and anxiety. This week has tested me sorely, and I have felt isolated and alone in the midst of it all. Yes, I cling to the Lord, but that doesn't hold the fears and sorrows at bay. Sometimes the trials pile on in ways that feel overwhelming and unendurable. While I cannot share all of what plagues our lives at the moment, even the smaller details loom large on my heart.

I will back up some, to Wednesday, 6/18, when my husband finally could address the pain and discomfort he has endured for months. We arrived at 9 to prepare for his 11 a.m. hernia surgery. Sadly, just before they wheeled him to the OR, the power went out in the hospital (and, we learned, all over Danville, IN). They do not perform elective surgeries when they are on back-up generators, so we waited for the power to be restored. The wait was excruciating for John because he had consumed nothing since the night before. This left him parched and unable to receive any liquid. Once they restored the power, we faced new delays. They had to reduce the humidity that had grown in the OR rooms during the outage, and every surface had to be re-cleaned. They didn't wheel him back until 3 p.m.

Praising God that the surgery went well, and he woke from it. Apparently, there had been three hernias to address. Recovery went far more quickly six years ago, when he had hernia surgery on his right side. That is probably because of age (after all, he is over 60 now) rather than the number of hernias found. The pain in that area persists. He assumes it is from the mesh inserted that is still healing with scar tissue to settle in place. He gets stabbing pains, especially when trying to get in or out of a car. I asked him to check with the doctor to see if they consider such pain normal, but he wanted to wait for the follow-up appointment in several weeks. Thankfully, he called on Friday, but they have not yet returned his call. We continue to wonder why his body is in such pain after the hernia repair.

Meanwhile, my mother was declining. She forgot how to eat and my dad had to feed her meals. She struggled with breathing, so they reduced many of her meds and put her on oxygen. On Saturday, 6/22, she was no longer chewing and swallowing the food, so they instructed my dad to stop feeding her solids. By Monday, 6/24, her body began shutting down (high fever and swelling) and they said if anyone wanted to come see her before her passing, they should come soon. 

I felt torn. Much as I would have wanted to have some final moments with her, I doubted she would recognize my presence or absence and going then would mean two trips to Florida (on top of all the many flights we have paid for this year to Florida and Texas). I did not go. Of course, some may have felt we should all rush down there, but the distance and cost made it challenging. Moreover, I prefer memories of her in a communicative state, instead of the bedside vigil with her barely breathing. (Albeit, my last day with my mother did not leave pleasant memories, so I cling to the happy moments we shared during my week of caring for her in March while my father recovered from heart surgery). My sister flew down immediately and my older brother arrived the following day.

During all this, we were dealing with intense chaos at home (prodigal related and marriage related). The marital friction only compounded my feelings of isolation and loneliness in approaching my mother's departure. I no longer have the outlet of counseling. The troubles with my son often seem more than I can bear. My husband and I are not in agreement as to the best course of action, so instead we retreat into inaction, clinging solely to prayer (begging God to intervene where we seem incapable).

As for my mother, there was the uncertainty of when the passing will occur. They said she had pneumonia. What if she battled and rallied, only to linger in hospice for a long time? That is not an unusual occurrence. The waiting and the uncertainty added depth to the grieving process.

My mother passed away on the afternoon of Thursday, 6/27th. Although she has been mentally gone from us for almost a decade, I grieve her loss nonetheless. We shared a special bond, joined by our love of writing and reading. She was the most supportive individual I have had for my writing. She read my blog religiously and encouraged me to keep plowing away, when public recognition of my writing has seemed out of reach. Even apart from my writing, she boosted my spirits by always writing back to my letters (something she said she appreciated from me, as well). We shared books we had read and loved. We often read books at the other's recommendation. She nurtured, she loved, she encouraged, she uplifted me. She listened without plowing straight into instruction and advice.

I wish I could be more like her. She never felt ill-will towards others. Despite a reserved personality, she expressed love and encouragement to those around her. Her voice, reading anything, was eloquent and sweet. Her handwriting, impeccable, with precision and beauty. My handwriting used to be like hers, but over time, mine has become a scrawl. And her laugh! What a beautiful laugh. It tinkled with joy.

I spent some time re-reading some emails I still have on my computer. Her sense of humor shines through. When a paint can fell on her head, requiring six staples in her skull, she regaled me with details of the event: "The doctor comes in and tells me that everything looked fine - I still have a brain... They did let me take a shower... but couldn't let the shower hit directly on the area. It was hard to do because I had so much blood in my hair. I looked like a 'punk rocker' with red hair sticking out all over. Unfortunately (no make that fortunately), we didn't take a picture. So that's why I didn't write yesterday." 

After a kidney stone interrupted their trip to a St. Louis Salvation Army conference, she ended her letter with "Love, your cast-in-stone Mom." Another time, she wrote, "We have two books we've bought regarding selling things on E-bay, but apparently just having the books in your house does not accomplish anything." Ha! I can relate. Sometimes she responded with humor to my faux pas: "Regarding the movie [you intend] to show John, please don't look for one called 'God is Dead' because that would not be a good movie. The movie was called 'God's Not Dead' and hurrah for that!"

In February 2016, when she failed to write me back, I feared I had offended her. I wrote to her, "I worried I offended you by asking how you were doing with the ability to retain what you read. I hope you are doing very well. I so enjoy talking about books with you and when the dementia was first diagnosed, I felt such incredible sadness that we might lose the tender bond books give us." She assured me she was not offended, but all correspondence with her evaporated after June 2016, so my fears came true. Our bond over books dissolved.

My dad captured this beautiful image of her in 2022. She is in the dining room where she so often smiled and greeted others with repeated messages of love and encouragement.

This is the last photo I took of her when her mental acuity was fully intact. It was from the vacation Trevor and I took to visit my parents in Florida during the spring break of 2015.

This is the last photo I had taken of the two of us together during my visit to care for her in my father's absence while he recovered from his heart surgery.

Here is a link to a video I have of my mom reciting a poem for another individual's celebration of life. It seems fitting to share this video and these words upon her own passing. I apologize because I could not figure out how to increase the volume. It is very soft, but the words, and my mother's fine reading are sweet. (You can click on the CC - closed captioning - button and the words will appear for you, to make it easier.)

As difficult as the grieving process may be, the troubles in our home loom far more threatening. If you are a praying person, please lift our family to God's throne. We need His intervention desperately. We are hanging by a thread. That careless and flippant phrase rises to the surface: "God never gives you more than you can handle!" Not true! Indeed, He gives us more than we can handle to remind us we cannot handle things on our own strength. We have a thorn in the flesh and nothing will remove it. But may God grant us grace to live with what we've been called to carry and wisdom to pray and act in ways that are pleasing to Him.