Mercies

The medical world has you rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10 (worst), and Kev's gone from a 12 that had him in tears several times, to about a 5 today. He's a little ditzy on these drugs in a humorous way. He's sleeping now, and it's the sweetest mercy from God that he can sleep. I've tasted only a drop of what my dad went through for three years with my mom, helpless and thoroughly piercing to see your very best friend trapped in a 24/7 pain that nothing can touch.

Kev's convinced that he's going to work tomorrow because they need him, seeing it's the end of a trimester and a bad time to be gone. We shall see how that turns out.

The fridge has given up the ghost, so I have all its contents in four coolers and three boxes out on the deck. The insides of the fridge and freezer are now all ice white clean, thank you very much. Even in this is there mercy as it's still cold outside, and nothing is rotting, and I had the time to get 'er done.

I don't know if the big toe on my left foot is broken, but it's red, swollen, and doesn't like to bend in any direction. I'm pretending it's a moody diva hamster that just likes to be left alone in her moody diva preferences. It's worked so far.

Watching the Academy Awards and the red carpet show afterward on DVR kept me entertained all day as I busied myself with endless fridge stuff. Funny how His still, small, precious, present Voice resonated as I needed it during times like spilling spaghetti sauce all over the cupboards while emptying the fridge, boxing up its contents & trucking them out onto the deck, stubbing my maybe-broken toe, juggling one phone call after another on a limping Bluetooth, and attending to my still-broken Kev... His nearness and presence are priceless gifts that will somehow carry their import into the next life with me.

It is like a violence how a life can be there one minute and glaringly absent the next and all the next minutes after that. I don't know but a smidge of how my poor dad must feel every single hour of every single day without his lifelong love. What I do know is that He is there in that every single hour of every single day, everpresent, evernear, everloving, and everkind. We take of that grace, mercy, and kindness as we will, and there is always, always enough.

And so shall there be Enough always...

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.

From my Mae...

TO OUR BELOVED

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

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.

Sprint Week

There's so much to do. I've never planned a memorial service before. I still have to pick out music, select flower arrangements, help with the PowerPoint, meet my dad at the bank to sign financial papers, cancel some credit cards, and notify family friends. I want to balance this responsibility with being here for my own little family.

I know people are praying for us, and that makes me know why we're doing as well as we are. Dad is better today, but he still can't talk to people about her. At least his meltdown yesterday morning was helpful. I knew it would be, and I'm glad he's well enough to be on his own now.

You are providing deep grace for deep need, and we are so very, very thankful. Help me this week, Lord. I need You like crazy. And if You could heal my cell phone, I'd really appreciate it. Give Mom a hug for me, and tell her I'm sorry I couldn't do what she asked about her secret stash. I'm sure she won't mind now. XO

Readings and Ravings

The responsibility for writing and arranging for the obituary for Mom somehow fell to me. I looked at several examples and finally finished it on Saturday. I picked out the picture and cropped it, emailed it, and all that was left was to have the proof okayed for the newspaper, which Alan took care of for me since I was on my way back home.

Dad said he had the closest thing to a meltdown this morning when he opened the paper to find it. He found it, saw her beautiful face, and it was all over. This will be so good for him though. The healing that will come from it will be worth the tsunami. I love this quote from Doe: A crushing hurt comes to our heart and the sympathizing, scarred hand of Christ presses the wound; and just for a moment, the pain seems to intensify... but finally the bleeding stops. ~Beth Moore

My Mom

It's been a week and a day since I lost my precious mama. It all happened so fast... My poor dad...

So much has gone on this past week that I wish I'd have kept some kind of journal so I can remember it all. But like my dear friend reminds me, He will bring to my remembrance at least the important things.

Kev and Alan took this past week off, so I'm extremely grateful for their help and support. Somehow certain tasks get taken on by each of us, and everything important is getting done. Dad wasn't sure he could even make himself take a next breath, so we were glad that was automatic.

I guess I'm kind of in charge of the service. It's set for Saturday, February 5, 1:00 at their church. They're putting together a PowerPoint with the package of pictures I sorted through, both prints and digital. I'm still deciding on songs. "How Great Thou Art" for sure. I still here her walking around the house singing that.

It would be a sin to not mention somewhere here how terribly wonderful their church family has been not only through this, but throughout Mom's whole debilitation. Food, cards, visits, hugs, genuine sentiments. The word "wonderful" is a common adjective they use about Mom. It's endearing. I'm sure it makes my dad feel good. His usual response is, "She was one of a kind."

I ordered the urn yesterday. Dad said "something blue." Neptune has blue ones in stock, but they start at $200, so I looked online. It's weird to know that Costco sells that stuff online, but they didn't have anything that caught my eye, and neither did ten other sites until I found just the blue we were looking for--cobalt. I knew it as soon as I saw it, and so did Dad. Turns out the guy who runs this business is a retired mortician (40 years in the biz) and now runs this from his home. He has just the right touch, plenty nice without being too familiar, and he knows his stuff. It should arrive next week. We take it into Neptune, and they make the transfer there. I can say the words, but it makes my stomach flop.

Those first few days were agony. Seeing Dad just sit there in his chair, eyes open but not seeing anything, hardly able to speak was just agony. All Friday I kept remembering "My God will supply all your needs, my God will supply all your needs," (Phil 4:19).

It was a no-brainer that I'd stay overnight for a few days. When Alan volunteered to stay a couple of nights on Wednesday, I knew Kev and Jylle would be grateful. She keeps smiling and saying, "You're in my house!"

Dad's gotten to the point where he said he doesn't need anyone to stay the night. He even said as we were leaving for Jylle's game that we don't even need to come during the day. I still will for a while though because it makes me feel better to see him and be there while I'm taking care of business. What a swift and powerful answer to prayer though! "My God is humongous!" Mom was always saying that.

I hear her still.


I love you, My Mom. xoxo

Unheld Pain

There is a pain that cannot be contained, cannot be calmed, cannot be comforted. Like a tin roof that will not hold water, it bears down the rain fast and constant, holding none of it, save the few maverick drops at the last that hang uncertainly. This pain rain is a ruthless tyrant, and if not for the grace of my Abba, I would be swept into the gutter with it.

I woodenly do the next thing, unsure of anything. It's like walking through a breathable mud--I cannot see, but I can still function. I have no other help but the One I've asked to drive me through all this. My poor dad can hardly speak. I don't know that Alan knows what to do. No one seems to be in charge of this show, so we find ourselves somehow given the next thing. It is a thoroughly difficult mission, yet not without great, great Grace and Provision.

Thank You, Lord. XO

The Tears I Feel Today

This is a poem from a book called Dragonslayer by Anne McCaffrey. In it, Menolly composes this after her beloved mentor passes away. She is heartbroken and grieving deeply, but there is still much to be done, and the urgent tyrannizes the important.

There is much to be done in these next two weeks, many phone calls, emails, and inquiries. I will schedule a meltdown afterward. For now, the tears can flow at night where I am exhausted, but held and loved.

Song For Petterin

The tears I feel today
I'll wait to shed tomorrow,
Though I'll not sleep this night
Nor find surcease from sorrow.
My eyes must keep their sight;
I dare not be tear-blinded.
I must be free to talk,
Not choked with grief, clear-minded.
My mouth cannot betray
The anguish that I know
Yes, I'll keep my tears till later,
But my grief will never go.

Sunshine

Everything seems so much better when the sun is shining brilliantly, especially in the winter time when most of our days here in the Pacific Northwest are overcast and c-o-l-d. When the sun is full and so very present, every room in my house knows it. Not one goes unaffected by its permeating beams, as every facing wall and window absorb its warmth and radiate it collectively.

My Kevin goes about a little more joyful, Jylle dons those funky-cool yellow shades, the horses gambol in the fields, and there just seems to be a lightness that comes in proportion to the bright. Even when there are ongoing problems that need to be dealt with and worked out, there's a sense of it'll be all right...

As a Christian, I've heard the analogies of "sun" to "Son" and appreciate their truths. In learning what it means to live in the power of His resurrection, I'm experiencing this "Sonshine" in the bitterest of weather--literally and figuratively. In the storms and clouds and hail and ice, there is an imperturbable calm that neither grows nor shrinks. It is steadfast, unshakable, serene. This is the place out from where I want to live His Life. This is the place out from where others will be blessed as His power and living water flow.

Sun or no sun, the indwelling Son is Enough. There is no need that has ever been for which He is not Enough. This truth and the others He is revealing are invigorating, inspiring, and rejuvenating. Even when windows are darkened and wild winds force through cracks, I AM safe, and Enough is more than enough.