The Purpose

Ok, I obviously have not blogged in quite some time. I think about it often, but then remember where I left off. It seems that the thought of reliving the most painful parts of my life is keeping me from doing the thing I have felt called to do. I have prayed and prayed about it…not just once, but every time I think about writing. However, the prayers haven't been about WHAT to write, they have been about asking for the STRENGTH to write.

This morning, I woke up - feeling overwhelmed by all that we commit ourselves to - and began to pray. As on most mornings, I felt the call to write. And, as on most mornings, I began to plead with God.

It normally goes something like this, "Oh man, seriously? Ok, but first I have to get my coffee." As I go down the stairs, I trip over a cat meowing at me for food and/or to be let outside. When I get to the kitchen, I see that the dogs got into the trash can…again. Then, in my head, I begin to blame my teenage daughter for not taking out the trash instead of laying on the couch all afternoon with her boyfriend. When I go to the kitchen cabinet to retrieve my coffee mug, I find that there are no clean mugs…in fact, there is a sink full of dishes (pretty standard, really). Again, I begin to think blaming thoughts about my children for not doing their chores. Upon rinsing out a mug, I begin to prepare my coffee. While I wait for the coffee to be ready, I go from window to window, pulling back all of the curtains to let some light in. As I go from window to window and room to room, each area greets me with some form of neglect (again, nothing new): dusty furniture, stains on the carpet, mail thrown onto my desk that needs to be opened, cups on the floor from the trash in the kitchen, snack wrappers left on the coffee table...

And so, the day begins.

The bell on the kitchen timer "dings" to remind me to get my coffee.

On a normal day, I would get my coffee and either begin to clean up any of the afore mentioned messes, (completely forgetting about my earlier conversation with God) or I would continue my conversation with God as I cleaned, all the while pointing out that "I do not have time to spend doing things like blogging!"  Sound familiar???

However, this morning, the prayer in my bedroom went a little differently. As I felt the usual dread creeping into my thoughts about writing about my first marriage (and believe me…there is MUCH to dread!) and subsequently, the deaths of my husband and father, God gave me something different…a sense of peace. That's how I know it is God. It is that "peace that passes all understanding". You don't just go in an instant from your heart racing and an overwhelming feeling of doubt in yourself, to having an answer and feeling like you could easily go back to sleep.

Here is the answer:

This blog was not meant to be a place for me to relive the past, but it is meant to be a place to write about my present; to share with anyone who wants (or needs) to connect with someone else who struggles to get through each and every day in a world that is too busy to stop and ask, "Are you still ok?"

So, that is what I am going to do. But there is still the question, "Why should anyone listen to me?" This question prompted me to write about the "painful stuff" in the first place. While it is important to know what my life experiences have been, God has revealed that the details are not as important for this task. Let's suffice it to say that I have experienced quite a bit of loss. As I wrote in a previous post (a year ago!), I lost my Mom to cancer when I was a teenager.  After that, I spent 6 years in a physically and emotionally abusive marriage to a man with bipolar disorder – with whom I have a teenage daughter. (This is the story that is most difficult to write about. I think it is because it is an issue that I continue to deal with because of my commitment to my daughter and because it was the one situation in which I could have done things differently.) I then married an amazing, funny, Christian man. Six months later, we found out on a Monday that I was pregnant (yay!). That Friday, we learned that my husband had terminal cancer. He died of metastatic bone cancer (like my mother) 18 months later. I was 28.  Then, 2 years after that, my father died of a heart attack. I praise God he did not have to suffer like my Mom and my husband.

In a nutshell, that is my story.

My goal now is to write about my daily experiences and pray very fervently that if anyone feels alone, they will find this blog (or another one that they need to read) and know that they are not.

1 Thessalonians 5: 14-15 tells us to "…encourage the disheartened, help the weak, be patient with everyone. ¹⁵ Make sure that nobody pays back wrong for wrong, but always strive to do what is good for each other and for everyone else." This is the purpose of this blog. Who knows? Maybe it is my purpose.

Most importantly for the lonely, God IS there. As Rev. Diane Presley pointed out in her sermon yesterday, "He is in everything".

But the only way you will sense him and his peace is to turn to him. Just like a parent, he is always waiting for you, ready to help. But, like a parent, he cannot force you. You say, "I have called to him!" I say, "Have you truly listened?" Or have you given up when you didn't hear what you expected to hear? Trust me, I did! Never give up.

" ¹⁶ Rejoice always, [even when it hurts!]¹⁷ pray continually,¹⁸ give thanks in all circumstances [because, as Rev. Presley made clear, God is there, "moving", even if you don't always feel him]; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." - 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

 Heavenly Father,

I love you so, so much. You have been with me when I have felt like no one else was. You were there even when I doubted you. And, as the years have gone by and I have looked for you, you have revealed yourself to me, again and again.

Thank you for the Holy Spirit. Thank you for your forgiving ways and for never giving up on me. Thank you for showing me each and every day where you want me to go and what you want me to do, if only I will ask and if only I will listen to YOUR answer.

I pray, Lord, that you will wrap your amazing, loving arms around those who are hurting. I pray that you will gently, lovingly fill them with the strength to call upon you. I pray that you will lead them to this blog or to wherever they need to go to find the strength they need and that when they read it, or hear it, they will be able to discern your will, Lord; not mine, not anyone else's, but yours.

In the name of YOUR son, Jesus Christ, Amen.

The Glass Breaks - Goodbye Mom

"I want to be sure you know where this stuff came from." 

 "Um, Okay?" I said,  in the sarcastic tone of a 17 year old daughter. 

 I don't remember if I actually said it, or if it was just the thought that was going through my mind, but what I remember feeling and maybe even saying was, "Why do I need to know?  I know you are sick and you don't feel well, but you are going to be fine.  And I don't really have time right now."

You see, I was 17, an honor student, obsessed with theater and performance choir at school, was the youth lay representative at my local church, active in the youth group, sang in the chancel choir at church, took voice lessons and participated in vocal competitions, worked a part-time job, was deeply engrossed in the college research process and was preparing to be "the best" at whatever I chose to do as a career (namely, vocal performance - which included auditions at any of the major schools I was considering).  And all of this had to be done without my parents.  My Mom was nearly completely bed-ridden with bone cancer and my father was out of town most of the time on business.

As much I was trying to be empathetic, I really didn't feel like I had the time and I was having difficulty focusing on what my mother was trying to tell me.  Not to mention, I just couldn't accept it.

(I had planned to write this blog the day after the last blog I wrote which was November 12.  But for some reason, I haven't been able to do it.  In fact, now that I think about it, it's kind of like that evening my mother wanted to give me a history lesson about the family heirlooms...it hasn't been a conscious decision not to write.  Once again, subconsciously, I have allowed a full schedule and the fact that I am incredibly "busy" be my excuse.  I simply haven't had time.  It has been nagging and nagging at me and I have been doing what I have always done...AVOIDING it.  But, just this morning, The Daily Bread from "Love, Serve, Shine! Ministries" reminded me that sometimes, the "nagging" shouldn't be ignored!  Many times, it is GOD's way of answering our prayers about, "What am I supposed to be doing, Lord?  Tell me what you want me to do!"  So...I'm doing it...)

November 13, 1988

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon which, as always, involved UMYF (United Methodist Youth Fellowship).  I don't remember the exact schedule, but I do remember that I had a full evening planned.  And, oh, by the way...my Mom was in the hospital again.

She wasn't at the Morton Cancer Research Center in Dallas this time.  She and Dad had become frustrated with the doctors there, so she had visited with our local family doctor who had treated our family for years.  He immediately checked her into the local hospital to run more tests.  My sense was that we were starting over with a "clean slate".

I had a regular schedule when she was in the hospital that involved visiting her first thing in the morning and then again in the evenings on the weekends and just the evenings on the weekdays.  In fact, that was my schedule even when she was at home.  But I ALWAYS went.  I LOVED to go.  It helped me to cope.  It was sort of like my therapy.  The doctors and nurses did what they do best...took care of her and took care of me.  And Mom was always so funny and positive.  I loved to talk to her.
And, let's not forget the food!  Strange as it sounds, I loved hospital food.  I was always there for breakfast and dinner!

So, this Sunday morning, I visited her before church, as usual.  I distinctly remember that it was a gorgeous day and I was very thankful for it...cool, but not cold, sunny, and a vibrant blue sky.  When I got to Mom's room, she was in a great deal of distress which was unusual.  Usually, her complaints were of pain - which was managed with pain medication - and fatigue.  But she was clearly having trouble breathing; not just a little, but she was really struggling.  She was on the verge of panicking.  Mom kept reaching for her chest and asked me to call the nurse.  She kept saying she felt like she was drowning.  This was particularly disturbing because she had always been extremely fearful of water.  She never learned to swim because she was always afraid of drowning. 

When the nurse arrived, she was irritatingly casual.  My Mom felt as though she was drowning and this woman came strolling in, routinely checking tubes and saying things like, "Honey, you're fine.  You're breathing just fine.  You're sats are fine."  But Mom repeated that she was not.  You could visually see her trying to calm herself.  She always tried to do exactly what they told her to do.  I think the nurse thought she was simply having an anxiety attack...that had apparently been going on all night.

Fortunately, the doctor was making his rounds and walked in during this.  He, thankfully, was immediately concerned.  He knew my mother well enough to know that she didn't often complain about this sort of thing and could see that something was not right.  He listened to her breathe with his stethoscope and became quite alarmed.

I don't remember if I ended up going to church that morning or not.  I feel like I probably did because the next thing I can clearly remember is being with her now in the ICU.  I had my best friend from church with me.  We were smiling and talking.  Mom seemed more relaxed.  Then, all of a sudden, the ICU nurse came over and said that they were going to be transferring her to another hospital in Dallas.  They had determined that fluid was building up in her lungs and needed to be drained off.  The procedure needed to be done elsewhere.  Ironically, the Dr. that was going to do the procedure was my father's cardiologist, whom I had also come to know well.  So, I was sure everything was going to be fine.  It was simply a routine procedure that needed to be done where they had the right equipment. Then, as if in a  whirlwind, I began scrambling to figure out what needed to happen next.  I had my friend, Kristi, with me and needed to get her home.  My Grandmother (my Mom's Mom) was at my house.  I needed to get to her to tell her what was happening.  I had notify the rest of my family that they were moving her.  I asked the nurse if they could wait until I got back.  She indicated that they had already arranged for the ambulance to transport my Mom and that when it was time to go, it was time to go.

So, I gave my Mom a kiss and told her I would meet her at the other hospital.  If I remember correctly, she seemed much calmer as if she was just glad they were going to fix it.  So, I was calm as well...just had to hurry.

I took Kristi home and went to my house to get my Grandma.  I don't remember how my brother found out what was going on.  (Heck, he may have even been there.  The only faces in the ICU I can see in my mind are my Mom and the nurse.)  But, the next memory I have is of my brother, my grandmother, and I getting into a car in front of my house to leave for the hospital.

Oh!  And where was my father, you might ask?  It seems that he, too, felt comfortable with all that was happening because, as so many times before, he left to go on a business trip earlier that day.  He always drove because he was a petroleum engineer and worked a lot out in West Texas.  I don't remember seeing him at all that day, although I'm sure I did.  I have a faint memory of him talking to Mom about whether or not he should go and of her telling him it was okay; but I don't know if that really happened or not.

Again, things get fuzzy except for the profound moments.  The next thing I recall is being in the elevator talking to my brother and my grandmother.  We had to figure out where to go as we had not been there when Mom arrived.  I cannot remember the details of the conversation, but I have a strange sense of irony about the conversation, as if my brother and I were trying to analyze the significance of what was happening.  It seems as if we had been told that we could not see her and didn't know why.

Suddenly, in the waiting room, I very clearly remember a shift in the way I was feeling.  My mood went from one of frustration from not knowing what was going on to one of intense dread in merely an instant.  The feeling swept over me so quickly that I felt nauseous.  I don't know if I actually fell down on my knees but I remember feeling very dizzy as if I couldn't stand up.  I believe my brother even asked me what was wrong.  Shortly thereafter, the nurse, who - amazingly - was a friend of the family whom I had known for as long as I could remember, came into the waiting area...and I knew.  Mom was gone.

The hours that followed are indeed, as they say, "a blur".   I'm not sure who initiated the search for my Dad.  I think it was probably my brother.  All I know is that it took hours.  We were there at the hospital just waiting and waiting.  I'm not even sure what for.  I don't remember if we were literally waiting for Dad, or if we were taking care of the "arrangements".  But, finally, we learned that a state trooper was able to pull Dad over and give him the news.  And we were still at the hospital when he arrived.  By the time it was all said and done, there was quite a gathering of people at that hospital there to support us, mostly from our church.  Even my friend, Kristi, came with her parents.  Before leaving, we all formed a circle, held hands, and the pastor of our church led us in prayer.

It turns out, that Mom had endured so much chemotherapy, that it had actually began to destroy the pericardium - the protective lining - which surrounded her heart and somehow, blood was backing up into her lungs.  My mother was, indeed, drowning.  When they aspirated the fluid, which turned out to be blood, a clot loosened and moved into such a precarious position that it prevented her from getting the oxygen she needed in order to survive.

At that moment, I became an adult.  My father continued to go "on business trips".  My grandmother went home and decided she could never return because it would be too painful (and she never did).  My sister (who lived in Austin) returned to college, and everyone else went on with their lives.  For the first time, my "schedule"- my "busy"- didn't help; nor did it matter.  This, I could not avoid.

Proverbs 15:13 (Amp):

A glad heart makes a cheerful countenance, but by sorrow of heart the spirit is broken.