Not really lost

My mom left this world and entered heaven at 8:48 p.m. on Sunday, September 29th.  It was both unbearably expected and yet completely sudden.

I still am struggling to realize that the phone call I made the day before was the last time Mom heard my voice before she left. I told her that we were okay, and that I loved her with all my heart. But I still wish I could have talked to her one more time.

My husband and I flew back East three days later, thanks in no small part to our church family here, which supported us by helping us obtain stand-by tickets for about 1/4 the regular price; one couple taking care of our kitties while we were gone, combining to give us around $300 in cash to help us with "incidentals," and the church offered to pay our mortgage for this month so we could use the money to get home. We were wholly overwhelmed by the generosity of all involved.

Being home was hard. It was hard staying in the house without Mom in it. It was hard seeing all of the things that Mom had bought me over the years - like the stuffed animals she would get me when we went on a trip together or for special occasions, books that we had read together, so many memories filling the entire house.  I tried to do what I could, cooking my best casserole for the entire family for lunch on Thursday.  It was nice to spend time with the extended family, but sad as well.

Thank goodness for baseball.  It served as our escape most days.

The service was on my birthday.  It was an oddly surreal experience.  My brother wasn't able to be there, so I called his conference number at work, put my phone on the podium where the minister would be, and he listened in for the entire service.  I tried not to sob, but I couldn't stop for most of the service.  I had to tell a few of Mom's closest friends things that I thought she would want them to know. I barely got through that.

The world isn't the same.  It's a bit skewed, suddenly. My beloved desert wasn't quite as beautiful. Food just doesn't taste quite as delicious. I find I look at the stars more often, but instead of thinking of the majesty of God's creative work, I wonder what Mom might be doing in heaven.  I find it hard to concentrate on, well, anything.

I know I'll see her again. I know that she is perfect. I know that she is in perfect joy with her Savior. I know where she is.  In that way, she's not truly "lost."  But she's far away.

But I'm selfish, and want to call her and hear her laugh and tell her how much I love her. I miss her every minute. And now I have to figure out how to move forward without her advice and humor and love to guide me.

Nearing the end

Last night, about 30 minutes after I got home, just after my husband and I finished our late dinner, my phone rang.  I knew immediately it wasn't good news, because it was my dad calling.  And considering that it was around 10:30 p.m. Eastern, my heart just sank. 

Dad told me that it looks like my mom's cancer fight is nearing its end. She is rarely awake for more than a few minutes, is barely eating or drinking, and gets very agitated when asleep, crying out for her mom often.  The hospice nurse doesn't expect that Mom will be with us for more than a few weeks.

I had thought that, seeing as how I have been bracing myself for this part of Mom's journey for four years (the four-year mark of hearing the word "cancer" is on Wednesday) that it would be easier, less painful.

I was wrong. The long, slow trudge toward the end is no less painful, no less devastating because I knew it was coming.

Please pray for us.

Wisdom

"If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you." ~James 1:5

Wisdom is one of those things that we desperately need right now.  Everything just seems so uncertain.  The biggest question in my mind right now is: when do I need to go be with Mom?  It's not an easy question to answer.  My brother, grandparents, uncle, as well as another aunt & cousin have all gone to see Mom since she went on hospice care. I'm one of the only ones to not be there at all. 

I live a good 3 days' drive or one long day of at least two flights away. I don't have any vacation time and don't really have any personal time to speak of for job #1/2, and we don't have the ability financially to go anyway.  So the question becomes: do I go now while Mom's still aware and still has time left, or do I have to wait until it's the very end to say goodbye? I have no idea what to do.

From what I have gathered from Dad, Mom is definitely in a decline.  The hospice nurse confirmed that Dad was seeing what he thinks he was seeing.  Obviously no one can say, "that means you have exactly 4 weeks left," but she did confirm that it looked like Mom was starting the stage where patients begin to withdraw and food becomes less important, and the weakness is bad enough that she can't get up and down or walk on her own any more.

This has sent me into a bit of an emotional tailspin.  I read a short booklet (really, a long pamphlet, as it was only about 16 pages long) that called what I'm experiencing "Anticipatory or Expected Grief."  Apparently, it's common for families living with a family member in hospice care.  It's exactly what it sounds like - grieving for the expected loss before it actually occurs.  The pamphlet described it well - rehearsing the death of your loved one in your mind, feeling intense guilt because society expects that you only grieve for a short time after the fact, experiencing all the physical symptoms of grief but feeling a need to hide the pain for fear of others thinking that you somehow want your loved one to be gone already, and questioning how you will move forward after the eventual loss.

The pamphlet didn't really give me any ways to cope with this grief - which I've been dealing with for just under four years now.  (It will be four years since we first heard the diagnosis of "cancer" on October 3rd; it will be four years since the diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer on October 16th.) But at least it made me feel like I'm not completely insane... says the woman who completely broke down within the first five minutes of our church service this morning and spent most of the sermon trying to recover her composure.

Anyway, wisdom is definitely needed these days. 

Update

So I haven't written in a long time, mainly because life has been really, really stressful, and I figured no one needed to hear about all of it. But since Jayne asked, here is the cliff's notes version.

Work: I'm working two jobs, and am beyond exhausted.  For three months I was an assistant teacher/floater at the preschool our church runs.  I worked 40 hours a week, but it was supposed to be a short-term gig. Ultimately, they asked me to stay on, and three weeks ago they promoted me to one of the two office staff.  So now I work 10-6:30 five days a week, plus I still have my part-time college teaching gig.  I was trying to pull back from my volunteer duties at church, but seem to be pulled back in each week. (And next Sunday begins VBS... which I'm in no way ready for...) My husband is still unemployed, and hasn't had a response in a long time, despite applying to more jobs than we can even count.  I keep praying that God provides something for him soon, because I am so ready to go back to only working one job, and really need my husband to feel good about himself again.  We trust that God is fully in control, but we are so ready to be done with this season in our life.

Family: My parents called in the middle of last week and told me that they have made the decision to place Mom in the care of Hospice.  Essentially, medically there is nothing more to be done.  The oncologist's only suggestion (actually, his only suggestion for at least the last six months) was aggressive chemotherapy.  But considering the progress of Mom's cancer, there wasn't any real promise that chemo would improve her quality of life, and wouldn't necessarily prolong her life much, either. So a hospice/home health nurse has been assigned and is beginning to help Dad with Mom's care at home.

I go back and forth between being at peace and being an emotional wreck. On the one hand, I've been expecting this ever since Mom's diagnosis 4 years ago.  I thought it was going to come that Christmas, when things were going so horribly.  Knowing that Mom's suffering might finally be coming to a close and she'll be able to go home to Jesus is not a scary thought. But on the other hand, I'm in emotional turmoil.

I told my husband the other day that I'm grieving, and have been for 4 years, in a sense.  When Mom first got her diagnosis, I grieved for Mom's pain.  I grieved for the loss of a potential future that I had expected to have with her. I grieved for the spiritual and emotional turmoil my parents were in.

But then things improved, Mom was doing fairly well, and was well enough to help me plan our wedding and was my de facto wedding coordinator.  When things started to get worse earlier this year, I feared that all the progress she had made might be slipping away. Once her leg broke and she needed surgery to repair it, I was sure of it. As things got worse, my grieving changed. It has been mainly about the loss of our relationship as it had been, the loss of my best friend as she was unable to talk with me the way we used to do, and as it got harder for her to be the person I have known for 30 years.

Now, with the decision to go to hospice, I'm grieving again, in a new way. Now, it's grieving the loss of hope - at least for this life.  It's grieving the suffering that I know is here - for Mom, for Dad, for my brother and me, my grandparents, and all those who love my parents.  It's grief for the suffering that I know is still to come as we approach the end. It's grief for knowing with certainty that Mom will never live to be a grandmother, that she won't be there if and when God allows us to become parents.  It's grief for the future that Dad won't have with Mom.

This new grief is more certain, less rooted in my natural pessimism and more in medical fact.  Perhaps that is what makes it so much more gut-wrenching. Before, there was always the hope that we could keep the cancer at bay for a few more years.  There was the hope that I was looking too much at the negative, in the hopes of sparing my heart the trauma of a sudden turn-around.  But now, we know that the medical options are done. It's now solely about trying to get ahead of the pain to help her have a better quality of life for however long she has left.

I don't fear for Mom in death - I have confidence that "to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord," as Paul said so beautifully.  But I dread the slow walk to death, for her and for all of us.

So this is where we are. It's been a hard, hard year. But I will still rejoice in the LORD, will praise Him for providing for us.  I know that I know that I know that He is good, and that He loves us, and He is wholly in control, even of Mom's cancer.

I could never do this without Christ, or without the amazing man God gave me to two years ago.  He is my partner and my strength, always ready to hold me and pray for me.  I am so grateful for my husband, for his strength, and his encouragement. 

Speak up! Proverbs 31:8

"Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute." ~Proverbs 31:8

My life is very blessed here in the U.S.  I have always had a roof over my head. I've always had food on the table.  I've always had enough clothing to keep warm in the winter.  And I've known Jesus since I was a child.  My parents carefully taught us about God, about what Jesus did for us, and how much He loved us.  I've had education (too much, perhaps) and have had jobs to earn money by for the past 16 years.

But my heart breaks. It breaks for those who have none of these things.  It breaks for the child whose life has been destroyed by AIDS, or the child who has been sold into slavery by parents desperate to raise enough money for medicine for a sick sibling.  It breaks for those dying from preventable and treatable diseases because they don't live near clean water.

My heart didn't always break.  At least, not this much.

As a child, I wanted my mom to sponsor a child in Ethiopia, and we did so, but I easily went on with my day without thinking of him.  In college, I co-sponsored a little girl in Honduras with a friend, and we enjoyed writing to her and receiving her letters, but my world was not seriously engaged by hers.

But in the past year, my heart is now breaking.  It breaks for the little boy we sponsor in Mexico who cannot attend school because he does not have a birth certificate, and so he still cannot read or write at 7 years old.  It breaks for the little girl we sponsor in Ghana whose mother works as a chop bar attendant and cares for 5 children on her own.  It breaks for the girl for whom I serve as a correspondent sponsor, wondering whether she will be able to make her dreams for the future come true.

The verse that spurs me on, the one that pushes me to write about them and to them every two weeks, and the one that tells me that my heart is breaking for what breaks the heart of God is Proverbs 31:8.

I first noticed it while reading Too Small to Ignore: Why The Least of These Matter Most, by Dr. Wess Stafford (the president of Compassion International).  He mentioned the verse in passing early on in the text, and I immediately wrote it down and decided it was my next scripture memory verse.  Only later in the text did I learn that this is the verse that is inscribed on the walls at Compassion's headquarters in Colorado. 

As soon as I read the words, it was like God whispered to my soul, "See, this is what I want from you.  I've given you so much and blessed you so much, you cannot remain silent when others are desperately in need of me.  Of food. Of shelter.  Of medicine.  Of freedom."

And so, I have decided: I will speak up.  I will not allow the suffering of others simply be an academic consideration.  While I might not be able to travel abroad or work for an organization that specifically meets these needs, I can speak.  God has given me a voice and a platform and a passion.

What about you? Will you speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves?

Review of "Too Small To Ignore"

Over the past four days or so, I read Dr. Wess Stafford's book, Too Small To Ignore: Why the Least of These Matters Most (2007).  Stafford is the current president & CEO of Compassion International.  (Though I believe that he is set to step down soon, after serving as the head of the organization since 1993.)

The goals of this book are three-pronged:

• To relate the lessons Stafford learned while growing up as a missionary kid in Nielle, Cote d'Ivoire, West Africa in the 1950s/1960s
• To move the reader to compassion for children - not only children living in extreme poverty, but all children, everywhere
• To make a systematic case - based both in Scripture and in personal experiences as a child and the head of Compassion - that children are the most important people in the Kingdom of God. 

Stafford seamlessly interweaves stories of his childhood among the Senufo peoples of Cote d'Ivoire with his case for children.  Many of the stories of his childhood are charming and laugh-worthy.  He tells goofy stories, like his people's fear of bottles of Coca-Cola (the first one opened exploded from sitting in the hot sun, and they refused to go near it after that), or a hilarious event that involved the men of the village and frilly nightgowns & negligees from the US.  He reveals his own vulnerabilities when he relates his praying every night as a child that God would "turn him black" so he could look like his best friends in the village, and the disappointment he felt each morning when he checked his arms and saw that he was, sadly, still a little white boy.

Some of the stories are heart-rending.  For nine months of the year, he and his sister and the other missionary children from their mission organization were sent to an English-language boarding school.  There, they were subjected to horrific verbal, physical, and sexual abuse for years.  Stafford describes the spiritual and emotional consequences that he and his classmates suffered from that abuse - many of them, long into their adult lives.  If you can read the two chapters and afterword that recounts this abuse and not have your heart utterly shattered, I'm not sure that anything could reach your heart. 

Throughout the book, Stafford consistently insists that the kingdom of God elevates children to positions of utmost importance and thus, cannot be ignored by the Church.  He also insists that the ultimate, spiritual root of poverty is the belief that you do not matter, have no worth, and have no future.  Stafford - who has ministered everywhere from Cabrini Green in 1970s Chicago to Rwanda after the genocide to the most remote parts of Asia - knows that poverty is an extremely complex issue.  He discusses the multi-pronged factors that contribute to nearly 50% of children around the world living in poverty.  But in the end, Stafford argues convincingly that the first step to changing lives is to show them that they are valuable, loved, and important.  He explains that poverty and abuse both rely on planting the seed that the person is, in the end, worthless. 

This book has the potential to change your life.  At the very least, it should change your heart.  As a child of the Living Christ, you cannot look at children the same way again after reading Stafford's manifesto.  It is nothing less than a call to compassion and love for the least of these - those whom God holds in the highest esteem. 

Get this book. Read it.  Discuss it.  Use the Bible study/Discussion questions at the back of the book. You can start changing the world, one child at a time. 

Comfort & Afflict

While reading Wess Stafford's book, Too Small to Ignore: Why the Least of These Matter Most, I came across a phrase that's been on my mind.  On page 30, he wrote this:

"On one side of this international bridge, my role is to minister to the poor, to 'comfort the afflicted.'  And then I cross the bridge, coming back to the Western, more affluent world, where my role is to speak and write to 'afflict the comfortable.'"

I love this sentiment.  It resonated with me, because I feel like this is part of what God's calling me to do as well.  I long to comfort the afflicted - to provide security and love and hope to those who have none of these.  But I also want to afflict the comfortable.  I know I have only a handful of readers (and at least 3 of them are family members!), but my hope with the last few months of posts has been that something I'd write would help prompt those to whom God has given much to see where they can impact another person's life tangibly.  I long to be doing more, and wish I had the gift of writing that moves people emotionally. 

I don't know who said it, but it's true - God never promised that following Him would be easy; He only promised to never leave us to do it alone.  We aren't guaranteed a comfortable life.  We shouldn't be sitting in total comfort and ease when our cousins both here and abroad are suffering. It's not a comfortable life, it's a life of sacrifice and suffering, with joy and love.

I'm praying that God gives me the ability to do both of these things.  For now, let me leave you with a link and an opportunity to give from your heart.  A couple with whom I went to college, Brandy and Sam, have been on a journey to adoption for the past few years.  They are godly, loving people, and today they were informed that they have been matched to adopt a newborn.  The precious little girl's due date is in only 3 weeks!  They have been working for the past year or so to get everything in order, but they suddenly need to raise all of the money for the adoption immediately - as in the next few days!! 

If you want to share the blessings that God has given you to help this wonderful couple provide a loving home, please go to the blog that Brandy and 4 other friends from college manage - Cherokee Chix  - and donate whatever you can via the donation link at the top of the most recent post.  

If you are one of the millions of people who mourned the 40th anniversary of abortion on demand today and wished there was something you could do for Life, I hope you will give abundantly.