Transitions (but not the good kind from LensCrafters)

A coffee filter flower that Mom made and gifted to me

Many kind people ask me, "How's your mom doing?"

I usually answer, "Not great, but she's in a wonderful facility with wonderful caregivers so we're blessed." That's the short answer and the truth. It's not the complete answer, because the truth is often too long to report, and sometimes, I can tell that people aren't prepared for it or desire to hear it.

That's why I'm grateful to have this blog so that I can boldly write about my family's experiences. One of the comments I hear most from readers, particularly Christian readers, is that you appreciate my candor, especially with difficult subjects. I want you to know that I appreciate your support of this blog, and I doubly appreciate the encouragement.

I also want you to know that my candor is a deliberate choice. I hope it is one that glorifies our God. After my dad died, I often felt as though I couldn't just be a sad kid at church. Very few kids my age (11 at the time) had a frame of reference for the loss I had suffered, and adults at church, well, they usually caught a whiff of my mom's polarizing behavior and our extreme neediness and relegated us to that infuriating corner of our faith reserved only for food baskets served with a condescending smile.

I don't write that to shame or hastily judge anyone; I'm just telling you what we experienced in our church. It was so painful that I wanted little to do with Christianity for close to 20 years. (How Jesus rescued this sheep from her grief is a story for another post.)

Anyway, I have found that there is often a disconnect between the struggles in our lives and what we choose to share with others. Sometimes this is appropriate, of course - maybe we don't want to share or shouldn't share for whatever reason and that's a fine and good thing! And sometimes at church, if I only have 20 seconds to talk to a friend, we probably can't get a deep conversation going.

But my default is to spill my tea all over the place. What good is it to publicly honor a Savior who rescues us from sin and brokenness if we won't reveal the pockmarks and shattered corners that will be or have been restored?

In that vein, I will continue to share with you honestly. My prayer is that the Lord will be glorified throughout. And if you consider it unfair, unloving, or unseemly for me to write so specifically about another person's struggles, let me be the first to offer embarrassing and shameful details about myself. Here's 2 off the top of my head: First, I cheated on science homework in 5th grade. I had been out for a week with the chicken pox and purposely didn't turn in a worksheet packet. When my dear teacher, Mrs. Bird, asked me about it, I feigned innocence and told her I put it on her desk. She believed me and didn't count it against me. I have never admitted that I did that wrong thing until now.

In 1997, I caught a stomach bug and messed my pants on the way back from a college French class. I had to leave class quickly and walk back to the dorm with my shirt tied around my waist. I dropped that class after that incident, too embarrassed to return. Literal merde, y'all.

(Maybe Mom and I have a more even playing field now.)

She has good days and bad days. Good days are days when she calls me as soon as I get to work to tell me she loves me and asks me not to ever forget her. On good days, she plays Bingo or goes to Bible study or eats poundcake that she and the other residents make together. I breathe a little easier because I know she is not miserable. This is a good day.

On bad days - and there are a lot of them - she calls me as soon I get to work to tell me she loves me and asks me to forgive her, because she is positive she brought mini-strokes and vascular dementia on herself. Often, she adds that God is punishing her as well. She asks me, will I know her when I see her again? She thinks she looks so different now that I will not recognize her. She then calls me several more times throughout the day, increasingly hysterical, sometimes telling me that the staff is laughing at her or not helping her clean up after an accident. Her obsession then changes to telling me her teeth look terrible, her skin is drawing up and falling off, and she can't swallow. All of her clothes and bedsheets feel wet. Everything is cold and wet. She says she wants to die, but she doesn't want to die slowly like she is. She will choose to have supper in her room, and then go to bed shortly thereafter. This is a bad day. Rinse and repeat, at least 4 times a week.

When Mom has a complaint, I call the staff for an explanation and an update in her treatment. Ben and I are on a first-name basis with every nurse and CNA on her floor. I've written before - her nursing home is top-rated and has a good reputation in our area. Inevitably, Mom's problems turn out to be functions of her disease and not negligence. Despite our trust in the staff, we always check again when we visit - twice a week, every week. We have never had a concern or question go unaddressed for long.

Mom is taking a cocktail of safe and well-proven medications for anxiety and depression. She has access to daily activities and additional mental health resources if she is interested in them. And she has prayers - so many prayers - offered up by loving hearts.

It is a lonely thing when a life-long Christian loses hope in the Lord. Mom cannot or will not accept that God is not punishing her with vascular dementia. I do not know if this is supernaturally-weaponized despair from the Enemy or just sheer narcissism on her part. It doesn't really matter either way. My solution is the same - I try to pray with her every day over the phone. I remind the Lord that she gave her life to Him many years before I was born, and I ask that He fill her with peace, wisdom, health, and hope. After each "amen," I feel a small victory.

A sweet friend at church shared with me that her mother, also a life-long Christian, similarly despaired at the end of her life. While I have no doubt that I will see her mother and my own in Heaven one day, it is sobering to bear witness to their anguish. It is painful. It is honest.

There are events in our lives that we must experience alone. The transition to our death, whether quick or agonizing, is one of them. I will die. You will die. My mom will die. I do not understand why we must face it at all, or when we do, why it is so much worse for some. I have my logical, theological answers, of course, that have to do with our fallen world and our satanic Enemy. Those answers, while trustworthy, are often drowned out by the emotional cacophony that a daughter experiences when she sees her mother suffer. And yet, my faith remains. It is a gracious miracle.

It's hard to know how long this season of our lives will last. I wish I had a succinct and uplifting ending to present to you. But I don't yet have one. All I can offer is my honest plea to ask you to pray for my mom and every other suffering person on this planet. Please pray that their heartache be soothed, that their physical symptoms be eased, and that they may only see the goodness of God as they convalesce.

Pray that those of us left behind remember our loved ones glorious, triumphant, vital, and reborn as they enter their eternal rest and celebration of our Father, who art in Heaven. May they give their earthly life only the briefest consideration as the gates swing wide open to welcome them Home.

August 29, 2018