Letter to My Mom

Dear Mom

You were glad to see me today, and seemed to appreciate the visit and the fresh fruit I brought you.  We had a nice visit this evening, sitting in the TV lounge and reading a silly magazine together.  And last night we watched that wonderful PBS show about Emperor penguins in the Antarctic, sitting side by side on the bed.  The new medicines seem to be working for you--you are less depressed, and not as agitated.   And it is days like these that make me second guess my decision.

This horrible, burden of a decision as to how and where you will spend the rest of your days.  A decision I have been taking on, at first reluctantly, and now willingly, for the past decade.  A decision I would willingly and gladly share with your other daughters, but they are not ready for that yet.  They are where I was 20 years ago--happy to chalk up your behavior and your outbursts to the eccentric, unpredictable craziness we've come to expect from you our entire life. Gladly using that as our ticket to denial of your worsening dementia.

The days when you are mad, or sullen, or abusive, or withdrawn--those days validate my decision, give me that "I knew it!" smug satisfaction in being right.  But days like today and yesterday--they make me lose sleep, and cry, and look for someone to talk to, to understand.  

And then, actually just now, I realize I am wanting to talk to YOU about this.  I wanted you to hear me, to understand me, to offer me sage advice, to know something was wrong just by the tone of my voice or the look on my face.  

I want to talk to you, confide in you, know you are listening, that you will have wise advice and motherly wisdom to impart to me.  I have always been able to talk to you about just about anything.  That umbilical cord was always there...stretched to the limit, but it was there.  A connection.  A bond.  But that cord has broken.  I cannot ask you for advice about this.  You would not understand.  Or maybe you do understand what is happening to you, to your beautiful mind.  And you push it away.  Unable to deal with the reality of losing yourself.

I want to hold you, to have you hold me.  To tell me everything is okay.  That you trust me.  That you understand I am doing what is best for you, that you approve.  I want you to tell me I am right, that you ARE safer where you are, that it IS too much for me to handle, and that you want me to live my life and just be your daughter, not your nurse.  That you still love me, and that you know I love you.  I want to explain how I am so happy, so blessed, to be able to get to know you again, or finally, after all these years  That I do not regret moving you here.  Not at all.  

I smile and blithely change the subject when you tell me you are almost ready to come home.  And when you proudly announce how well you are doing at physical therapy, I rejoice with you, but I am sad.  Sad because you are doing it all to achieve an insurmountable goal--coming back home.

The guilt I feel is almost too much for me to bear, but I will bear it...for you.

I will put on a brave face and go through this again tomorrow...for you.

I will endure the bad days along with the good days...for you.

I'll play the game of "when you come home"...for you

When you wonder out loud why my sisters don't call, I will lie and tell you they have...for you

I will help guide you through this difficult stage, and I will always be there...for you.

Being right is not all it's cracked up to be

Yesterday I stopped by the Oaks to talk to the Senior Care Coordinator, Nancy--we talked about Mom, her care, my insecurity in my decision to place her there, my lack of support from my sisters, and the need for Mom to have a psychiatric consult. I expressed my concern over Mom's agitation, and inquired how I could best help her adjust, as I felt my daily visits were actually more upsetting to Mom than they are helpful. She set my mind at ease, told me that everyone goes through this uncertainty, that the first month is the hardest, and if I can "tough it out" for 30 days, Mom will adjust, and she will be safer and happier. We shared stories, as her mom is also suffering from dementia, we hugged, and I left, telling her I would keep in touch with the staff.   

Today, after walking the dogs, I checked my voicemail, and there was a message from the chief nurse; she said to call her back so she could go over the medication plan for Mom. After my visit yesterday, I assumed this was just a routine call following up the psychiatrist visit, so I called back, half expecting to hear my mom was fine, just depressed, that she could come home soon, and that they had prescribed a new antidepressant. I have been in semi-denial for so long, nearly ten years, and no one in my family, not even my sisters, believed anything was really wrong, that I had serious doubts in my powers of observation. Maybe I am the one with dementia. Maybe I am crazy.  

But when Clair came on the other line, and gave me the list of drugs the psychiatrist had ordered, and told me they were drugs specifically for Alzheimer's dementia and depression, part of me was relieved, but another part of me sank. I wrote down the drug names, and then looked them up online. "Oral medication used to treat patients with Alzheimer's disease..." and "for most patients, this drug will not result in a dramatic improvement, but it may slow the progression of symptoms."  I thanked her for calling me, and then just sat there, staring at the words on the Alzheimer's Association site. Most common form of dementia...worsens over time...not a normal part of aging...no cure...no cure...no cure

This is not exactly a moment of celebration, and it is no fun being right this time.  The worst part of today was I cannot even call my sisters to tell them I was right, and they were wrong. Because they will not believe me.  

I am frightened, and scared, and freaking out a little bit.  

God is sufficient. I will trust in him. But it still sucks.  

Things you should never say to a caregiver

1. I'm sure your mom is so very grateful.  Yeah, but if she isn't, saying that only rubs salt in the wound.

2. If you need anything, let me know. Too vague and noncommittal. If you really want to help, decide on something concrete, and do it. Like bring dinner. Clean the house. Come walk the four dogs.

3. Hey if you ever need a break, just call me! Usually just an empty nonsense thing to say, because when she tells you she needs a break, you know you are going to have some tennis match to watch or tires to change. See #2

4. Just count yourself lucky your mom is still alive to be with you.  Really?  Lucky? Taking meals to your caustic, passive aggressive mom there times a day and being told you look like crap, after you just cleaned up the poop on the floor from her emptying her ostomy pouch there? Lucky? Uh, no. Lucky would be winning a 3 billion dollar lottery so she could hire her own private duty nurses 24/7 in a separate house.

5. Well, at least you have your siblings to count on. Go ahead, wave that red flag in front of the bull. Because more often than not, caregiving of an elderly, especially difficult, parent, falls on only one child. The rest beat feet.

6. Don't forget to take care of yourself. If you aren't healthy, how can you help your mom? This is total nonsensical, non-advice. Of course she knows she has to take care of herself. See #2 and #3

7. God never gives you more than you can handle. Okay, while it is true God controls the universe, he quite frequently gives us more than we can handle. That is why He is God, and we are not. Saying this just reminds the caregiver how woefully inadequate she is.

8.  Oh I met your mom.  She is so sweet and adorable.  See #1

9. There are tons of resources out there. Have you looked on the internet?  Seriously?  As if she hasn't already looked up resources? Be a LOT more concrete in your advice. Like, "there is a caregiver support group meeting next Monday. I will pick you up and take you." Dr. Google is not the answer.

10. I could never do what you're doing. Never say never. Because the caregiver probably said or thought that same thing. And now look at her.

11.  I never see you anymore. You should get out more. Duh! See #3

12. You should lower your stress/join a gym/make sure you eat right/get more sleep.  see #6

Bottom line:  Just listen.  Pray.  And hugs.  Lots and lots of hugs.  

Brothers and Sisters

I am sitting here trying to think of clever, witty, and insightful things to say about taking care of aging parents, but all I really want to do is cry and then sleep. We are in the middle of a perfect storm right now...Alex is down in Florida (again) and he and his brother are dealing with life changing decisions for their parents, both of whom are currently in rehab facilities. Here in North Carolina, I am dealing with the same issues for my mom, sans the sibling support from my two sisters. I hear it from everyone who has gone through this, is dealing with it now, or is in the eldercare field--it is "normal" for one sibling to take on most of the responsibility. But just because it is "normal" does not mean it is easy. Or right. Nor does it make it more palatable.

Alex and I have seen the inevitable on the horizon for our respective parents for years now, and have gone through the process of denial, anger, rejection, and acceptance.  We moved my mom here to try (again) to get her a quality of life with safety and health, knowing full well this move was merely a stepping stone to 24/7 care in a licensed skilled nursing facility. I knew mom would be a handful, not just physically but mentally. Dealing with her caustic comments and passive aggressive communication has never been easy, but add ostomy care and frequent falls and you have the recipe for disaster. I also knew that, at some point, we would have to transition Mom to that facility. I just didn't realize how soon. Less than six months after moving her here, caring for her has become impossible for me. Frequent falls, refusal to eat, confusion, staying in bed 18 hours a day, limited mobility, dizziness, poor hygiene, verbal abuse, to name a few, made it painfully obvious something had to give. Either my sanity, or her living here. God took that decision out of my hands, thankfully, but that doesn't mean it is easy to live with.

I feel guilty, overwhelmed, overloaded, alone, and abandoned. Alex is overloaded with his own parental issues, and dumping my worries on him only makes his life harder. His brother calls me and texts me, and thanks me constantly for sending Alex there. They talk, they discuss options, they are on the same page. I am jealous of that. My sisters are not here for me. They are resentful, accusatory, hateful, and mean. I am not surprised. But I am saddened. My sisters may be my siblings, we share the same parents, but we do not share the same values or sense of duty.

But God in His wisdom knew all this would happen, before I was even born. He placed us here, led us to Cornerstone PCA Church, urged me to volunteer at a local store, put other women in my life to be my sisters who have different parents, and I count on them for the emotional and spiritual support lacking from my own sisters.  Marianna, June, Melissa, Andrea, Christina, Denise, Brandy--I lean on these women and gain strength from their strength, encouragement from their words and actions. They support me, help me with my decisions, pray with me and for me.

Anticipation

Anticipation...“..that sanguine expectation of happiness which is happiness itself” Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

Our youngest daughter is in labor...with her first baby.  Our fourth granddaughter, Sophie.  Due sometime between February 17 and February 21, she made us all wait the entire 40 weeks.  Becky went into labor yesterday, but the nurse told her it would be another week.  Nope...labor continued into the following day.  Today.  And they admitted her from their weekly doctor's appointment this morning.

That was eight hours ago.  Ben of course is busy with Becky, so the updates stopped about three hours ago.  I am not a patient person.  And we live 12 hours away, and I am not flying out there until two weeks from now.  

But she (meaning Sophie) will be here soon.  

Right now I am cherishing, relishing, no, reveling in the sweet, sweet anticipation of her birth.

Jane Austen hit the nail on the head!

A day in the life of a caregiver

Alarm goes off at 7:15, but I am already awake--for the past five months, I have gotten used to getting up early. Granted, not as early as when I was working, but hell, I am retired! I selfishly just want to sleep in. But, I am up, put on my flip flops, and herd all four dogs, including my mom's poodle, downstairs and outside to do their business. I let them back in, one at a time, rinsing their muddy paws in the dog shower downstairs, and then they all clamor up the stairs, ready and raring to go. And hungry. But they are going to have to wait a couple minutes while I pee, brush my teeth, and wash my face.

Next I heat up the coffee, and get their food bowls ready, making sure to add their vitamin powder and a little water to each bowl. I fill up their water bowl, pour my coffee, and sit down to say a couple short prayers. By now it is almost 8 am, and I am streaming my favorite radio station, Spirit FM from Tampa, on my iPhone over the apple TV device.  I check my FaceBook messages and posts about various items I am selling, and get ready to do my errands. I do a quick once over in the bathroom, and make the bed, and make sure the floor is clear of obstacles that might trip up the little robot vacuum that runs daily. I wash the dogs' bowls, get my list for the day, and grab Benji, Mom's dog, to go to the groomer. I get a text from my daughter that she is having contractions, but she is not dilated at all, so I say a quick prayer for her.

At 9 am I drop Benji off at the groomers, then head over to the gym to sign up for a 16-week fitness challenge. After that, I stop over at the Oaks and drop off a critical healthcare form with the social worker there, pop in to see Mom for about 30 minutes, then I am off again, promising to return with a groomed dog later that day. Next stop is the little store where I volunteer, and I spend about 2 hours helping clean, price, and post items for them on FaceBook.  

After two hours at the store, I head out to Toxaway to the storage unit where Mom's furniture has been sitting since October. I load up my car with Mom's Christmas decorations to store in our attic and head back towards town at 1:20 pm--the dogs have not been outside for four hours, so I am in a hurry. 

I get back home by 1:45, let out my dogs, then grab one of them to go to the vet for a nail trim. I get there by 2:10 pm, Haley gets her pedicure, and then I am off to the SavMor to deliver something to someone. A quick text to the groomer lets me know Benji is ready for pickup, so I stop by the ATM, get some cash, and head out the opposite end of town to get him and also to pay the pet sitter for three nights this past weekend. By now it is 3:30 pm, and I have not eaten anything all day other than a candy bar and coffee, but I head back to the Oaks and take Benji in to visit Mom. I explain I need to eat, so after a brief visit, I leave the dog with her, and take my dog back home, stopping at Arbys on the way home for some "lunch".  

At 4, I sit down and go over my mail and bills, and figure out the schedule for the next 24 hours. The tags and laundry markers I ordered came today, so I begin the tedious task of marking Mom's clothes and belongings.  I pack a suitcase with some tops, pants, underwear, and essentials, and by 5:45 pm I am ready to head back to the Oaks. I deliver her clothes and listen to her talk about her day some more, touch base with the nursing staff, and after about an hour, I head back home to drop off Benji. I call Becky to see how she is doing, cheer her up, and say another prayer.  

At 6:45, I am back out the door on the way to CVS to get something for this irritating cough I have, and call my friend Marianna to plan for tomorrow. While at CVS,  I pick up some snacks and Boost for Mom, then I go BACK by the Oaks, drop off her snacks, and make sure Mom's chart has a code on it. When I get home, I talk to my brother in law on the phone, then some friends show up and visit for an hour or so.  

At 9:30 I strip all the beds upstairs and throw the sheets in the wash, and then carry the Christmas decorations I brought out of storage up to my attic. I let the dogs out one more time, wipe their feet, and then head back upstairs, grabbing Mom's checkbook on the way.  I eat a mango and a bowl of dry cereal, and spend the next hour checking FaceBook posts and balancing Mom's bank accounts. I make my list for tomorrow, and realize I have barely spoken to my husband today--my husband who is dealing with his own "day in the life" while he and his brother make decisions for their parents, 800 miles away.  

It is now nearly 11 pm. I set my alarm for 7:15 am, and head off to take a nice warm bath.  

Earlier I was angry with my sisters again, for them not supporting me. For daring to accuse me of overreacting, of making all this up.  I could stay angry. But, 

Adjusting

Mom moved yesterday.  I have stopped by there at least six times in the past 24 hours. Tonight I asked her nurse, "How's Mom today?" "Adjusting," she said with a sad smile.  

My husband is with his mom, who is still recovering from colon surgery and a heart attack. She is not doing too well today.  She is weak and Alex has to feed her every meal. Her diabetes and her pain levels are not under control. And she misses her husband.  She is having trouble adjusting.

Alex's dad is in rehab following a nasty fall and several broken bones and stitches. The staff there is trying their best to get his complex schedule of Parkinson's disease medications down right. He misses his wife and home, but so far, he seems to be adjusting.

My daughter and family arrived from India for a short six month visit only one month ago, and have moved into a rental home in Georgia, where everyone finally has their own room and they can get into some sort of routine, at least for the next month. I talked to them via FaceTime tonight and asked how they were all doing. They are definitely adjusting. 

Our youngest daughter is due to have a baby any day now, after 10 years of marriage. She is going to have an interesting time adjusting.

Alex and I retired and moved to our log home 18 months ago, to spend time together. To be with family more.  To enjoy the fruits of our labors. To travel.  To relax. And while reality is quite different than what we imagined it would be like, we are, of course, adjusting.

God, grant me the wisdom to lean on you when I have trouble adjusting.

Social graces

Mom says some of the darnedest things, I just have to write them down. They are not always nice, and they are not always in line with Amy Vanderbilt's etiquette guide, but they make me smile, at least eventually. Sometimes it is her age, sometimes her brash personality, and other times her dementia, but she gets away with it! Some of the most recent:

At the hospital her nurse came up to her bedside to take her blood pressure. Mom looked up, patted the nurses tummy, and asked an obviously not pregnant young lady if she was pregnant. The embarrassed young lady told her she had a two year old, at which point Mom chastised her for not losing weight right away, like she did.  

She has named both her arthritis (Arthur) and her ileostomy pouch (Oscar), and refers to them as if they are her friends, which confounds her caretakers.  

During her husband's memorial service, as the honor guard was folding the flag to give to her, she loudly announces, "Oh I remember teaching you girls that in Girl Scouts!"

"Look at that fatso! Buddha, buddha!" she will say just about anywhere

While at Wendy's, she announced loudly, "My physical therapist is a lesbian." 

When the hospital nurse manager came in the room to see her, Mom somehow cajoled her to carry her dinner tray out of the room and bag up her leftover chicken.  

And my absolute favorite so far, she calls her private parts "possible". Not sure why. Possible what? But the other day she gave one of the CNAs a lecture on how you have to fold the toilet paper, not wad it up, or how in the world will she be able to wipe Possible? Thankfully, the nurses did not know she was referring to a body part.

I no longer get embarrassed.  

And the way everyone is so attached to their phones and tablets these days, and the seemingly invisibility of the elderly, I doubt anyone even notices.

A letter to my family

Today was the second hardest day of my life.  The first was the day my daughter was diagnosed with cancer.  Today I put my mom in a skilled nursing facility.  It has been a 9 year process getting to this point.  I wrote about that already.  And yes, I know it is the right choice, the safe choice, the best choice, the healthiest choice.  But that doesn't make it easier.  And I could not have accomplished this without you.  So this is a thank you letter to the two of you.

To my sisters, Nancy and Mary Beth, THANK YOU:

• For making it so hard to talk to either one of you about Mom and Bill's care eight years ago when they lived in central Florida and we moved them to independent living
• For not helping us provide a consolidated front for their care and well-being
• For being totally unaware of their financial straits and defaults on car and home loans, and for leaving all those legal matters up to us
• For turning a blind eye and a deaf ear to our pleas for help and support
• For not realizing in 2012 I was suffering from clinical depression and had to be hospitalized for 10 days due to the stress, and for adding to that stress by undoing all our hard work we had done to set the stage for Mom and Bill's eventual transfer to assisted living and fully paid eldercare, and then...
• For sabotaging our efforts by moving them out of independent living up to Nashville TN, instead of convincing them to stay
• For having them incur even more debt by driving them to buy a car
• For constantly complaining about how hard it was to have Mom and Bill in Nashville
• For complaining about each other to Dad and Sheila every chance you had, for putting each other down, and saying hateful things about each other
• For being unfeeling and cold during Bill's memorial service and not acting like a family
• For not caring enough to realize Mom's financial predicament of being nearly $11,000 in debt to her residence, and for offering ZERO constructive suggestions for care
• For being cold and mean and dare I say, bitchy and self centered, when we tried to meet and discuss things
• For not bothering to help with finances or logistics of moving her belongings four times, and for insisting we drive 6 hours each way in one day because Mom's belongings in your house were "stressing you out"
• For totally ignoring repeated letters outlining options, the situation, and requests for help, and then replying with acid-tongued text or emails
• For not offering to help move an 88 year old mom nearly 300 miles, but leaving it up to us
• For not having the common courtesy to check in with us routinely to see how it was going, or if we needed anything
• For asking if we had cable because "Mom loves HGTV" but when I asked for help to pay for it, crickets
• For constantly bringing up the past, and getting irrationally upset on phone calls, only to hang up or to harangue me so much that I had to hang up
• For not providing any financial or even emotional support during the transition
• For accusing me of convincing Mom to have unnecessary surgery when her hernia was about to rupture and was causing problems with her ostomy
• For getting me to listen to you badmouth each other
• For not understanding what Mom has been going through for the past nine years, and not caring enough about them to see the signs of an elderly couple needing more help than they would admit
• For accusing me of exaggerating Mom's health and mental state
• For allowing us to absorb nearly $7,000 of extra expense to get Mom here
• For not coming to help when we had a triple crisis of both of Alex's parents in the hospital in Florida, and Mom in the hospital here
• For telling me I always control things and make the wrong decisions and don't give you voice, even though you only have that voice after all the decisions have been made
• For offering no respite or relief, not even emotional
• For calling Mom at the hospital when she was sick with heart arrhythmias and high blood pressure and a concussion and telling her what I asked you not to tell
• For being completely and blissfully ignorant of all the paperwork and steps we have to take to make sure Mom's health and welfare are taken care of, including paying her bills and selling her car
• For focusing on yourselves, not what was best for our mother

For all of these things, I thank you, because it made me realize how much I need God, how I can rely only on Him, not on you.  Without you, my faith would not have grown, and I would not have felt His warm embrace. Without you, I couldn't have done it. Or appreciated His grace

Lamentations 3:25-26  The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him,  to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord

Talking to the wall

We have all experienced the sheer frustration of trying to explain ourselves or a situation to someone who just does not get it.  We try and try and get nowhere, only more frustrated. And it is ESPECIALLY irritating when we are trying to talk to those who have known us the longest, who think they know us the best: Family.  Like I said previously. Ties that bind. And sometimes gag. Folks that think they know us the best (namely parents and siblings) see us through the lenses of the past, sometimes rose colored, but more often than not, some other unflattering color, like grey or brown. Or a sickly green.  

Especially when we become changed by God's grace, and are being sanctified. Past wrongs and hurts and faults are seen as blemishes and scars never to be removed.  Despite us being made a new creation, to those we grew up with, we are the same old selfish, mean, shy, bossy, childish, overbearing person we were decades before.  And in some ways, we contribute to that perception by expecting a less than supportive reaction. (Even if we are right)

My mom has to be moved to a skilled nursing facility when she leaves the hospital this week. She has been living here, but her health and spirit are declining quickly. She is no longer safe here. Her doctor filled out the form last week, and I took all the appropriate steps to get her Medicaid and pay her bills.  Found a room for her at a nice facility nearby.  Talked to friends. Prayed.  Prayed some more. Tried to figure out how to get her there. Prayed some more. Then it was (thankfully) taken out of my hands. Actually I gave it back to the Hands that created the earth. He can handle it. 

I'm heating up Mom's dinner Friday night, blissfully ignorant to what is going to happen in the next 30 seconds. BAM! Down she goes. Out for the count. Blood. Calling 911. Holding her down until the paramedics arrive. Calling the dispatcher back because I am downstairs and they are banging on the door upstairs and won't come in the house. Twelve emergency workers in my basement. They take over. Under God's guidance. Even something as scary as a fall and calling 911 to your house works out according to God's plan. Because when she got to the ER, that is when the doctors found her kidney and heart problems.  And confirmed what the nurses have been saying all along. She needs 24/7 care. Now she will just be transferred to the nursing home. Where she will live out the rest of her days. Hopefully in peace and dignity and without further stress.  

So I called my family-- my two sisters and my dad and stepmom. I was not going to because I knew the reaction I would get.  I got it 7 years ago when Alex and I tried to intervene in Mom's care. I was foolhardy, silly, a glutton for punishment. One sister actually swooped in to "rescue" Mom, undoing any and all progress we had made. Anyway, I was not surprised when tonight turned out as it did.  Mean words and accusations and anger thrown at me. Me in tears. Unable to counter their accusations. They hear but do not listen.  One sister refuses to believe any of it.  My parents insist they have been nothing but supportive, even though they put conditions on it. My other sister only wants to talk about her problems, or how hard she had it that year when Mom lived near her.  

We find ourselves right now going through a lot of trials, but these trials are so light, so easy to bear, because of Christ's sacrifice, the Father's guidance in His Word, and the encouragement of the Holy Spirit. For months we have been incredulous that folks we've known for only a few years, or even a few months, are praying for us, pulling for us, supporting us, while some who have known us for a lifetime keep us at a distance, or completely shut us out, refusing to understand. Not even praying. Or even listening for that matter.  

Because they cannot. They have eyes that do not see, and ears that do not hear.  They are not worse than me and I am not better than them. But we speak a different language. Even Solomon couldn't get through to the people, for "the words of the wise are as goads, and as nails firmly fixed are the collected sayings," (Ecc 12:11).  

So I am left talking to the wall, my words falling on deaf ears, getting nothing but crickets.  

I give up. I am going to talk to folks who listen, and to Someone who always, yes ALWAYS hears me and knows what I mean, if without me uttering a word.  

"The end of the matter, all has been heard. Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man."  Eccl 12:13

Cancer

My mother-in-law, who I call Mom,  is the sweetest person I have ever met.  She is my strength, my prayer warrior, my role model, and of course, the mother of my husband.  She is supposed to live forever, and be there for me.  But the past 45 days have been really scary for me.  She had a heart attack and then a month later was even sicker with low blood counts.  After two more admissions and a lot of tests, we got news that knocked us straight onto our knees.  Connie has colon cancer--they discovered a large mass yesterday, and it is malignant.  She needs surgery ASAP.   Her surgeon and cardiologist cannot agree on anything.  She is supposed to be invincible.

I miss her.  I need her.  But God is teaching me to rest in Him, to rely on Him.  To count on Him.  I cannot make her better.  I can pray.

Cancer really sucks.

But I find peace and assurance in knowing her name is written in the Book of Life.  That we will spend eternity together.

When will it end?

You cannot make this stuff up.  

My mom moved in with us after her husband died.  She is a very difficult person, to put it mildly.  She has almost no money. And she has an ileostomy 

My mother in law had a heart attack in December. She is the sole caregiver for her husband of 52 years, who has advanced Parkinson's disease.

My mom had hernia surgery which had complications in November; an outpatient stay turned into 10 days in the hospital.  

My mother in law was hospitalized twice in January, and is currently awaiting results of a biopsy of a very large mass they found in her colon from which she is losing a lot of blood.

My husband has spent more time gone the past three months than he has spent here.  We had a huge blizzard during one of his absences, and I was snowbound with my mom for five days.  And the snow shovel was locked in the shed.  And Alex had the key with him in Florida.

My father in law was found, unconscious and in a pool of blood with numerous injuries from a fall, at 6 am today in his garage.  Thank God they hired that private duty nurse to come check on him daily, especially with mom gone.  But now he is in the hospital.  A different hospital than his wife.  But both are in hospitals.  

My husband flew out this afternoon to be with his parents and his brother.  

My daughter and her family are stateside for six months from India; so far the two visits we have had with them have been cut short by one or more of the above situations.

Our youngest daughter is due to have her first baby any day now.  They live in Missouri--a 12 hour drive.  We have no one to watch Mom.  

My siblings are no help.  At all.  They live in the past or in an alternate reality of their own.  I cannot count on them for anything.   Not even to listen.

My dad and stepmom refuse to visit us here now because my mom lives here.  Even though they divorced over half a century ago.

I have more questions than I have answers.

But I have friends.  And I have prayers.  And I have my Savior.  And my heavenly Father.  And a caring church.  

Today I have been humming that old hymn by HG Spafford, "It Is Well With My Soul".  And when I spoke to my friend Marianna tonight, she mentioned how it was so weird how trials and tribulations seem to just billow at us like waves,  like they will never end.  Just as HG Spafford penned.  

But it will end.  Christ has already won and paid the price.  And He has given me a strength I did not know existed.  

It is well, it is well, with my soul.