from an article originally posted August 9, 2014…
Some days all the edges of this world feel too oppressive. The headlines of the day are heartbreaking. I can barely stomach the titles. I hurt, my heart hurts so desperately for pain in this world I cannot comprehend. I’m too weak to even look. Ann Voskamp calls us to pray. My prayers are broken and limp. The familiar, Help, oh, help dear Jesus.
Marmee died almost 2 months ago, and I’m still tucking away things to remember to tell her, checking my calendar for when we can pop over for a visit, and thinking about her as I mentally make our holiday plans. A friend I hadn’t seen in a while recently asked how I was doing in my grief, and I tried to explain that losing my 95-year-old grandmother is such a beautiful thing compared to my parents’ dying in a violent car accident when I was 20 or my dear friend dying of breast cancer before she was 40, leaving her 4 babies behind. I tried to explain that the beauty of sitting at Marmee’s side, holding her hand and reading out of the Psalms to her as she took her last breath, cushions my sadness in such a way that my grief almost doesn’t feel sad. After all, since Marmee died, a nephew of a close friend left the house headed to work and died in a car accident 2 miles from home, devastating his adoring family. And another friend’s brother has just died of aggressive cancer after celebrating 30 years of marriage to his beloved bride—a godly, joyful man taken too soon from this world. I can’t help but praise God for Marmee’s long life and all the time we had with her; I have absolutely no complaints, no why’s I’m crying out to Jesus to answer. Dying peacefully at 95 with family at your bedside is the best death can be, really.
from an article originally posted August 8, 2014…
Yesterday a dear friend asked me if I was tired of this battle. I simply sent her this.
Which was totally unfair, because I know it made her cry. But it is a bit true—looking at these faces, I will continue to take the treatment. I know I’m fading. I know new corners of cancer are taking up residence in my body. I just know. But these faces, these blessed faces, make the swallowing of pills a little more bearable.
I remember years back at a get-togethers with some close friends, the husband walked in our house and said, Huh. I didn’t know you listened to this kind of music. I thought you only listened to one kind of music. I immediately defended myself and explained that of course I liked different kinds of music and, of course, I only have one kind of music on during the day because my children are so little, on and on I bumbled. Fast forward a few years to another get-together with another couple of close friends and a different husband says, Huh. I thought you’d need a nap today. I thought you were just like me that way. Again, I responded with flustered responses and a hint of irritation. Hopefully he didn’t notice…
from an article originally posted August 6, 2014...
I awoke early, early this morning. Eyes wide open, I tried to attempt to fall back into the slumber I had been enjoying. Dreams have returned to my sleeping moments, and I so love a great dream. I started to think through my retreat talks and my mind took off. Then, all at once, I heard the blessing of the crackle of a pull-up walking to my side of the bed. I looked upon the sweet face of my youngest and simply said, I was hoping you would come. She smiled up at my face and crawled to her spot between Jason and me. I smothered her face with kisses and hoped she would stay awake with me at 4am. Sadly, or not sadly, she reentered a contented sleep beside me—arms tightly gripping my neck and one leg draped over me. Soon her grasp loosened and she fell back into deep sleep with my guy deeply breathing and enjoying sleep beside me. Both of them sleeping soundly, I decided to make my way downstairs.
