The last four months have been some of the hardest. To be faced with a diagnosis of leukemia that was ruled out by a painful bone marrow test. Then to be told that I have “Valley Fever” that I contracted in the Nevada desert when my Mom was dying two years ago. A potential diagnosis with a worse mortality rate than leukemia…it was ruled out by sinus scopes & scrapes, CT of my sinuses and lots more blood work.
I had such moments of panic. Do I have enough life insurance for my family? Will I see my little girl grow up? With my husband already out of commission and in bed 95% of his days…who would care for my daughter? My son? He has his own life to live. These panicked thoughts I let in and allowed.
It had to stop.
I called out to God. I cried to Him:
You gave me breath! You wake me up every morning. You are the rock on which I stand.
In those darkest moments with thoughts racing…I made a choice. To believe His word & that these diagnoses, these diseases were NOT unto death. God will renew my strength. I am healed. I am strong. I am a overcomer. God is good. God is for me. God loves me.
My life has purpose bigger than my now. Bigger dreams. Bigger goals that wrap around His will only. When those waters would not part in those months of unknown, I still stood in my trust in Him.
Today I stand in joy, I’m alive! Not unto death. God has plans & purpose for my life….it is good. I trust Him, period.
Today I was having lovely text conversations with two amazing friends. We started talking about our Mom’s and how hard it is to leave them when they live out of state. It was always hard to leave my Mom. Instead of saying “Good-bye”, we’d always say, “See you soon.” We got that saying from my Grandpa and Sister.
It’s always hard to say good-bye. When I had to leave my Mom on her deathbed, when I bent to kiss her goodbye for the last time that’s what we said to each other, “See you soon.”
Grief is different for each person. Acceptance takes time and healing is like a roller coaster. Where does my strength come from? As I grieved today one of my favorite songs came on from Dara MaClean titled, “You Are All I Need”
This is where my strength comes from, this is how I lift my head and keep steppin daily. Grief is a process… acceptance takes time.
The movie about time (while some language is rough) had me crying the other night. I literally cried into my homemade tacos during the scene where the son & his family leave his father knowing that he only has weeks left to live.
I get it. I too had to leave my mother…I couldn’t stay and walking away from her knowing it would be the last time I would see her. It was the hardest moment of my life. I wanted to flee. I wanted to fight. I wanted her to live. Regret in not staying until she died still haunts me to this day. She died 8/5/2013 at the age of 69.
Two days into our visit (we drove like the wind from Florida to Nevada to get there in time), her hazy morphine eyes looked into mine and she asked, “Do you think I really have cancer and am going to die? Do you think there is a chance the doctor’s are wrong?” Her twinkle of hope floats in my ears, her voice raspy and dry. I smile at her sadly looking at her abdomen that in just these few short days has doubled in size from the cancer that is ravaging her body. I swallow hysterical tears, clear my throat…look into her eyes, “I think they might be right about this one Mom.”…. I’m dying inside when the words come out. She blinks rapidly, trying to clear her vision. “Yeah… I was just kind-of hoping…” Me too Mama, me too.
Her box of jewelry and trinkets arrived on 12/1/14 the same day my brother Scott died. I looked at the box and knew immediately what it was. Petrified I opened it and there she was…every piece of jewelry holding a memory, a moment of time within my childhood. A laugh, a giggle, a thought. And then… her perfume hit me… all the velvet boxes and cloth sacks smelling of her perfume. I inhaled and cried…quickly closing the box in effort to preserve her and contain that smell and those moments that right now… I simply can’t deal with.
I miss her. Every day is precious and fleeting. Am I living my now? These things I think about when I look at that box and of the woman who died too soon. My friends…we must continue to live.