Monday, February 28, 2011

Another ER...

My Exhausted Kev

We were sitting in church, and Kev's back started kind of seizing. That's weird in itself, but it only got worse as time passed. That was 11:30, and by 2:00, he could not find a comfortable position to save his life. The pain was horrible, and when the spasms persisted, I drove him to the ER in Chewelah at around 7 p.m.

I don't know if the pace of everything in a small town is slow or if we were just terribly impatient because of his pain, but it seemed to take a really, really, really long time to get to the next thing. Having retold the story three times, he was seen at about 45 min intervals.

No pill or injection seemed to quell the tsunami of pain that ambushed him rhythmically like labor pains. Finally, they gave him a cocktail duo in his behind of something that would help the pain and stay the nausea the drug would cause.

Ten seconds later he said, "I'm really light-headed. I think I'm going to pass out." He slid off the bed in slow-mo, and the nurse grabbed him. I gripped his hands and tried to pull him onto the bed as she said, "Stay with us. Get back onto the bed."

He lolled onto the bed by no means of his own, and then he just laid there. Just laid there. No response. We rolled him over. He was as pale as hospital linen, he was unresponsive, and his eyes were open and vacant. NOT AGAIN, LORD! Oh, please, not again, not so soon. I just lost Mom in an ER! Oh, please don't take him, please please please don't take him! This cannot be happening!
Everything felt unreal, like I was a player in someone else’s nightmare.

The nurse yelled for the attending provider, an ARNP. I ran into the hall and started yelling for her myself. When I saw her coming, I collapsed against the adjacent wall as surely as my world was collapsing. Another nurse told me firmly, but with compassion, "It's all right. It'll be all right." I needed to hear that. That was my Lord reassuring me through her words.

They revived him, and four and a half hours later, we were home. His will to be home played as much into it as the angel nurse who was God's own servant in it all. I am immensely grateful for His very present nearness, His tremendous compassion, and His delight in delivering us not from the trial, but in the midst of it. This is not something anyone would choose, but the deepening of faith and trust because of it is of an eternal value we cannot conceive, and certainly of practical value here.

Monday, February 14, 2011

From my Mae...


It singeth low in every heart,
We heart it, each and all—
A song of those who answer not,
However we may call;
They throng the silence of the breast,
We see them as of yore—
The kind, the brave, the true, the sweet,
Who walk with us no more.

It’s hard to take the burden up
When these have laid it down;
They brightened all the joy of life,
They softened every frown;
But oh, it’s good to think of them
When we are troubled sore!
Thanks be to God that such have been,
Though they are here no more.

More homelike seems the vast unknown
Since they have entered there;
To follow them is not so hard,
Wherever they may fare;
They cannot be where God is not,
On any sea or shore;
Whate’er betides, Thy love abides,
Our God, for evermore.
~John White Chadwick

Wednesday, February 02, 2011

Leaning Hard

Dad scanned Mom's obit on Sunday and made a few copies. I never thought I'd be the one to have to write it. I think I thought that kind of thing "just gets done." Like growing up, my clothes just reappeared all clean and folded in my dresser without me ever having to do anything but wear them. Someone you love leaves this earth, and a little ditty magically appears in the paper. But I got it done with His great grace and very little pain.

I'm experiencing that right now--a total immersion in His felt presence. He's closer than my breath, and He is literally my strength and endurance. I am NOT an organizer. The thought of what has to be accomplished by Saturday is daunting, and I burst into tears when I realized how much needs to be done. He reminded me that 1) I do best with small raised beds, so don't future trip and take in the whole week as one titanic chunk; and 2) I asked Him to do the driving, and He is doing just that. I only start to sink when I take my eyes off Him. I keep asking Okay, what do we do next? This is leaning hard and resting well.

Prayers are going up for us all, and I know that's why we're doing so well. Even Jylle said she's doing better than she thought she would, and that makes her happy. My mom always told her not to cry when she goes, so she's tried really hard to honor that. Doesn't mean she's still not feeling the intensity of her loss, but at a time like this, any little thing that helps is perfectly okay.

Death certificates arrived. The PowerPoint is coming along. The flowers are ordered. Dad's delivering Mom's Bible to Pastor Dale today. The check marks are encouraging. "My God is humongous." Yes, My Mom, He is.