Archives for March 2019

The Perfect Morning

The day started out fantastic! I woke up early, my kids woke up in a good mood. All was good at Casa Granillo! I carried on with my morning, doing the typical mom things: picking out clothes (yes I still do this…because I can’t stand my son’s choices…no you can’t wear a button down shirt with sweatpants, I don’t care what you say!), preparing Pop Tarts, making lunches, checking backpacks, doing hair, telling them to brush their teeth…etc. We were doing great on time, we had 15 minutes to spare.  My son grabbed his iPad, my daughter played in her room, and I had a little time to read. 

Ten minutes later I warned the troops, “Five minutes until we leave, put your backpack by the door!” I repeated this instruction multiple times as the countdown continued. With the clock expiring, Izzy emerged from her bedroom with a face full of make-up and play jewelry accessorizing her outfit. I didn’t have time to clean her face or edit her accessory choices. The kids climbed into the car, and we left for school. On our way we were having a lovely conversation about one of our friends who was growing tulips. We prayed together... Izzy prayed for the tulips to grow strong so they can make it through the cold weather…my heart was beaming with pride! Is she not the cutest little human ever? I can’t even!

She Did it on Purpose

When we arrived at school, Izzy noticed that she didn’t have her backpack! In an instant my day went from being lovely and peaceful to rage and frustration.You see, all I wanted was a sugar-free hazelnut latte from Augies. With all things going as planned, I would have had enough time to grab one and make it to a scheduled appointment. I was so irritated that I would have to give up that latte, to drive the ten minutes home to grab the little heathen her back pack, and drive ten minutes back across town, so that she could eat and have water during the course of the day. It crossed my mind to let her deal with it; however, the thought of her teacher having to scramble to help her out and the potential call to CPS for neglect (not really) stopped me.

As I left the school to get the backpack, I vented to fellow parents on the way to my car, my neighbor outside her house as I drove by, and I texted a friend about how Izzy had ruined my plans! This perfect morning had been sabotaged and I wanted others to know about it. But none of the venting actually changed my situation or made me feel better. The reality was that the more life I gave this situation the more angry I became. 

The Enemy is Real

On my way back to the school with the backpack in hand, I questioned why I was feeling such strong emotions.  Then I thought about how the enemy is alive and real.  I gave him the ability to steal this morning from me in the matter of seconds. The Bible tells us in 1 Peter 5:7-8, 

“Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you. Stay alert! Watch out for your great enemy, the devil. He prowls around like a roaring lion, looking for someone to devour.”  

When the day was beginning to take a left turn, upon realizing the backpack had been left, I should have stopped and prayed for my response.  Instead, I allowed my emotions to take charge. If you know me, you know my emotions aren’t exactly reliable.  But I didn’t stop to think or pray, and Satan like a lion devoured me and my morning in one swift move. 

Satan seems to attack me where vulnerabilities intersect with my pride.This day was perfect…I should have been on alert.  I am currently in a season where I feel like I am trying to make up for a period of time where I neglected my kids while caring for my parents.  So, when this perfect morning highlighted that I couldn’t even get my kids out the door with all the basics for school, it sent me for a ride on the emotional roller coaster. 

Emotional Control

Satan doesn’t have authority over us, we can control our emotions and our responses to the actions of others.  We get to choose how we react.  After 36 years of life, I am finally beginning to understand that emotional control is possible! Slow learner here! 

First, whenever a pebble in our footpath causes us to stumble, we need to pray. In verse 7, Peter tells us to give our cares to the Lord because He cares for us. Pray that the Lord of all the Earth supplies us with the wisdom to handle the situation.  Second, see the pebble as a pebble, not a boulder. Peter goes on to tell us in verse 8 to stay alert. See the inconvenience for what it is…the enemy trying to knock us off our game. Finally, where our pride and vulnerability intersect know that the enemy is lurking and waiting for an opportunity to exploit our weaknesses. 

In the end, I dropped off Isabelle’s backpack. She was thankful and so were her teachers. I decided to grab a latte, because my adult-sized tantrum was a clear indication that I NEEDED the caffeine. And, I made it to my appointment on time. When I arrived, I felt even more ridiculous for having wasted so much emotional energy for nothing! But see, this is how the enemy compounds his attacks and shifts them to other areas of our lives. He is a crafty one!

I pray that one day a forgotten backpack won’t put my sanity at risk. I hope that the next time this happens I won’t see it as a personal assault, but a simple accident. Albeit, she’ll get hot lunch and a bottled water and have to deal, but I won’t lose my morning to it! And most of all my thoughts and actions will bring glory to God rather than anger leading to regret.

In my experience, people do not know what to say or do when someone they love is hurting or suffering. I know that my friends wanted to help me during the hardest times of life.  The problem is that when I was going through it, I didn’t know what I needed, and I really didn’t want to stop and think about what I needed.  I just knew that I didn’t want to be asked.  It sounds crazy, but I have a hard time asking others for help. Anyone else? Just me? So, I decided to write a list of five things that I believe were the most helpful to me.

Pray for Them

I heard a woman say this weekend that the Holy Spirit shows up first in prayer.  We should be praying for our friends…not just talking about them.  Pray specifically and consistently for them.  Pray for comfort, understanding, and for their faith to stay strong throughout. When I couldn’t find the words to pray, I relied heavily on my friends to pray for me. James 5:16 says, “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results.” I am part of a group of women who meet each week to pray for one another.  During the toughest days, I would not miss a meeting, and I left our prayer time feeling strengthened and ready to face whatever was next. I encourage you to pray for your friends in need!

Show Up  

Don’t wait to be asked. When someone is really hurting, they don’t know what they need.  For example, when my dad was in his final days, I had friends show up with food to feed all the people at my house.  If you are in Redlands, Oscars has these little burritos…and HELLO…they are manna from heaven. My neighbor showed up with two dozen! They were gone in minutes.  Also, Panera was a Godsend, to-go coffee, bagels, and pastries kept everyone satisfied. Think about the kids too, stuff they can grab on their own, or can easily be packed in a lunch box for school. If their house is full of visitors, think about dropping off practical items like paper towels, toilet paper, etc. 

Use your best judgement on the length of your visit.  It might be a porch drop off, accompanied by a text. Or an hour sitting with your friend, not saying much.  As a general rule, when you don’t know what to say, its best to say nothing.  Just having a friend next to me during the final days and on the day he died gave me strength when I didn’t have any left.  

Believe What They Say

If you ask a friend if they are ok, believe their answer. And try not to ask too many clarifying questions.  This is an extremely sensitive time.  Truly emotions fluctuate so quickly that my answer at 8am is not the same answer as 2 pm.  Don’t have any expectation on how your friend should be feeling. In the beginning people expected me to be a mess, and if I wasn’t then I imagined they thought I was in denial.  I often heard, “How are you doing?” After hearing my response, they would quickly say, “But how are you reallydoing?” I kept finding myself giving an answer I thought they wanted to hear, because my original answer didn’t meet their expectations. 

“Comfort In, Dump Out”

Know where you are in the Ring Theory! The person most effected is the nucleus and is surrounded by concentric circles, each circle contains family and friends based on relational proximity. Know where you stand. This theory is based on the concept of “comfort in, dump out.” You cannot not emotionally vent or desire comfort from a person in a circle closer to the nucleus than you.  And you can express your sadness or frustration to those in outer circles. The person at the nucleus has the freedom to let their crazy out as they wish and the rest of us just have to deal with it! 

It’s a weird thing that when you lose a loved one, you become the person who comforts others.  Trying to convince people that it’s going to be okay.  It is exhausting! Below you will find the link to Susan Silk and Barry Goldman’s original article on the Ring Theory. It’s definitely worth a read!

https://www.latimes.com/opinion/op-ed/la-xpm-2013-apr-07-la-oe-0407-silk-ring-theory-20130407-story.html

Don’t Forget About Them

Be sensitive to the fact that life goes on around them, yet they may feel like they aren’t quite ready to start a new normal. The months that follow a loss are difficult. Send a card, a physical card, just to tell them that you are still thinking of them and love them. Drop off a latte just because. You never know which days are going to be good, which will turn out to be tough, or even which nights have been difficult to find sleep.

My dad passed away six weeks ago, and I recently received flowers from a friend.  The card read, “We are thinking of you!” It meant so much that someone took the time to tell me that they still recognize that this could be a difficult time. I’ve had a friend just stop by with a hazelnut latte more than a couple times, as it would happen each time she did I was in need of caffeine and encouragement. 

Not forgetting about your friend’s difficult time over the weeks, months, and years that follow is another way to ensure that they stay connected.  It’s really easy to fall into isolation after all the dust settles. My friends who have reached out to me have helped me feel that my parents aren’t forgotten and neither am I.

My dad went to glory on February 5, 2019; one year and one day from the day he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. While he lived he made clear to us on what he wanted; how he wanted us to communicate with each other and what he wanted done for him after he left this world.

Leading up to his death we would talk about his celebration of life service. These were always interesting conversations, because he’d suggest things that he knew I’d never allow. The conversation usually ended with me walking away telling him it didn’t matter what we did, he wouldn’t be around to see it. We eventually compromised with a church service and a reception at his archery club.  He even checked with his friends to make sure everyone was on board. Let me tell you, his friends took care of every aspect of the reception! Talk about stress relief. 

The Service

At the church service I looked out to the crowd of over 300 guests and reflected on his life.  What a good life he lived. Those of us left behind think it was all too brief but my dad might say it was too long.  He lived his 66 years of life well, he lived for others, and he never complained.  The service was beautiful. Memories were shared. Hugs were given. Many friends and family even joined us at the reception. Then…everyone went home.

Friends this was the hardest part. He occupied so much space in my life, and now there was a large void. People went home and went on with their lives. I went home and stared at an empty room. I kept thinking he’d come out and grab a Dr. Pepper.  But he was gone.  It was weird. 

After my mom died, I likened it to being on a ship anchored just off shore.  I can see everyone doing life, but I was stuck.  I was bitter and mad, that people moved on so quickly. If I moved on too quickly it would make me a bad daughter. So, I stayed away from everyone, it was a dark time. I remembered what that isolation felt like, I remembered how the enemy deceived me. How he showed me to blame others for the pain, to blame God and to question His goodness. 

We Have a Choice

When I woke up the day after my dad’s service, I was weepy. Not full on crying but my eyes couldn’t dry up.  I couldn’t get out of bed to get my kids to school, so I let them have the day off, which is totally out of my character! (I pay private school tuition, they are going!)  My morning was filled with coffee, carbs and Christian authors.  I was feeling stuck, stuck in sadness, stuck in grief. Then I read that I have a choice! I get to choose to be stuck or unstuck in this weepiness. Wait, I get to CHOOSE to stay in this or take a step.

I thought of my dad, and I know what he would say, “Kayla, live your life.  Don’t be sad for me.” So, in that moment, I chose to get up, pull on some clean yoga pants, running shoes, and workout top (Did you think I was going to go work out? HA! That’s just all that would fit, the carbs were taking a toll on my jeans.).  I ran the errand I had been avoiding…the mortuary.

Am I Being Punked?

On the way to the mortuary to pick up my dad’s ashes, I threatened my kids with all things Chick-fil-a, “If you so much as breathe too heavily you will never eat another nugget for the rest of your life!” They were scared! Truthfully so was I. The anxiety ball in my stomach was bouncing around. I kept questioning myself; am I ready to do this? Is this the moment where I will crash, and the floodgates of tears will open? The official led us to the meeting room, I signed papers, showed proof of ID. He left and returned in minutes. I will never forget this moment! As he placed my dad’s ashes on the table, he said, “Mrs. Granillo, I am so sorry for your loss.” I honestly thought I was being “punked.” I burst into laughter, like full belly laughs, and tears in my eyes laughs.  

You see, my dad had warned me, that he chose a really ugly box for his ashes.  I imagined it to be a tacky wooden box, with some ornate carving.  Something like a bald eagle with its wings wrapped around the box.  But no friends…that would have been a dream.  What they placed before me was an amazon knock off, plastic Tupperware container, sealed with packing tape, PACKING TAPE!  I wish I could say I was kidding, but I’m not.  As I left that place with my dad hidden in a grocery bag, because God forbid anyone on Earth actually see me walking out with him in this tacky container, I couldn’t help but smile.  My anxiety turned into joy.  

Two and half weeks after his death, he was still doing things his way, and ensuring that I kept my promises.  He was still taking care of me, encouraging me to move on, to be ok. He knew that there was no way I would keep this tacky container and will honor his wishes and make his final resting place where he wanted.  I like to imagine my dad in the mortuary a year prior. I can see him passing over each urn that cost anything and opting for the “free with crematory” container.  He knew it was hideous. I can see him chuckling at the thought of me picking him up. Good one dad! 

When I got home, I placed my mom and dad next to each other and once gain began laughing uncontrollably. My dad’s “urn” was sealed with tape, hardly durable. My mom’s urn is gorgeous and has beautiful engravings of butterflies. I just can’t even! 

All the Butterflies

Another crazy part is that actual butterflies began showing up in our area at that exact time. “The Painted Ladies” are migrating through our sweet town of Redlands.  Hundreds of thousands of butterflies were fluttering through our city. I kept thinking of my mom and her urn each time I saw them. I called my brother and asked if he had seen them. He thought I was crazy.  My Izzy girl and my brother ran around my front yard trying to catch these butterflies with their hands and a large fishing net. It was ridiculous! It was just us three, and we laughed until we cried. I felt like these butterflies were in that exact spot to encourage my heart in that exact moment and to solidify in my mind that we are going to be more than just fine! And even more, that we are going to thrive.

He’s Got This

I know this all may sound crazy to you all, but these moments are just so dear to me. I felt like the Holy Spirit was showing me, if I let Him, Jesus will comfort me and take care of me.  That I am not alone…ever…that before time began our Heavenly Father knew that all of this would happen.  And most of all…HE’S GOT THIS! 

Isn’t that amazing? He has this under control. I don’t need to be put together. I don’t need to grieve the way others expect me to. I don’t need to be anyone other than who the Lord has called me to be.  He will sustain me through all of this.  

Never did I imagine that 18 months after the loss of my mother I would be sitting in the emergency room with my father receiving news that he has cancer.  Christmas of 2017 was a rough time for our family as we were still trying to understand the what the holidays would look like without our mom. January 2018 came with a terrible flu season during which we saw lots of friends and family knocked down for weeks.  With a 40+ year history of rheumatoid arthritis and psoriasis, my dad’s pain level was never zero and he had always felt the side-effects of the many medications that came with his conditions.  During that January he was nauseated and vomiting all the time.  We begged him to go to the doctor. In his mind it was life as usual with a touch of flu on top.  

He is Yellow

At the beginning of February, we realized that he had lost twenty-five pounds over the previous four weeks.  After further pleading, he agreed to go to the doctor. The urgent care doctors looked at him and immediately called for an ambulance. Dad was yellow! We didn’t even notice it, because I suppose he had been jaundiced for a while. I sat with him in the ER where a doctor ran tests; x-rays, blood work, ultra sounds, CT Scans and more. 

 That day was difficult, not just because we were in the emergency room, but because my dad was an incredibly stubborn man. He had an unquenchable thirst and was demanding a beverage, which it turns out is a common symptom of diabetes.  The nurses said no to getting a drink, that he had tests that needed to be done and they didn’t want him to get sick.  My dad yelled at me and, of course, I gave him a drink.  He vomited up blue Gatorade as they were doing a contrast CT Scan.  After, he denied drinking the beverage to their faces!  He always got his way. After more questions, one doctor casually mentioned that dad had cancer. 

Cancer…again!

After a total of 14 days in two different hospitals, we left with the understanding that pancreatic cancer is really bad.  It’s so bad that the secondary finding of another unrelated cancer in his kidney wasn’t concerning.  The tumor in his pancreas was restricting his common bile duct, which made him jaundiced, nauseated, and caused him to lose weight rapidly.  Because his pancreas wasn’t functioning properly, my dad was now diabetic.  We walked out with referrals to surgical oncology and medical oncology, but we knew that dad wouldn’t pursue treatment.  

He was given six months to live and told that surgical intervention could extend his life, but even if it was successful that his best day after surgery would likely not be as good as a normal day before surgery.  Truthfully his baseline good day was bad. He had suffered from debilitating arthritis his entire adult life.  He missed his wife, and he was just tired.  But to appease me, he went to all of his appointments, and agreed to a short course of proton therapy.  Dad’s only goal was to live well as long as he could, and when his time came, he prayed that the process would be short.

Dad the Teacher

My dad taught us and his friends a master class on how to die.  He made all of his own arrangements, pressed into friendships, poured into his grandchildren, and never stopped parenting my brother and me.  What’s crazy to me is that in our quiet alone time together he would coach me, “Kayla, lets talk about what you’re going to do with my ashes. Please don’t keep me.” “When I die don’t be sad for too long.  I won’t be sad.” “Promise me that you and your brother won’t fight.”  This one always got to me.

He and my aunt Gail (his sister who gave her first year of retirement to him and to helping us throughout the duration of his life) kept telling us, “One day you and your brother will be the only ones who will share memories of your childhood and parents.” I mean dang…so true.  One day my brother will be the only other one who remembers our parents, their crazy, their silly, their love, and their strength. One day it will be just him and me, so we need to do our best to preserve our relationship.  This is so hard, because we have a tumultuous past and we don’t often see eye-to-eye.  It was in hope of honoring this desire of his that I chose to give that relationship over to the Lord.  The Lord is the only way that Brandon and I will survive the times that are coming.  

The Routine

In May of 2018, dad decided that he would move into my house part-time, and the other part of the time he would spend at his house with his sister.  Dad would have several good days, but every now and again a bad day would pop and leave us wondering if this is the set back of set backs.  The bad days usually followed 2 good days in a row. We settled into a pattern.  He resolved that he wouldn’t miss a gathering with his friends.

He pushed himself on Wednesdays and Thursdays with his friends, only to have a very hard Friday. Then he’d push again Saturdays and Sundays, because missing a sporting event for the grandkids was not an option. Monday was always a difficult day. He developed this pattern and we understood that he was making tradeoffs and they were worth it to him.  When friends would ask me how he was doing, my response was “its hard to explain.” The bad days were really bad, but he always thought they were worth it for his grandkid’s baseball games or shooting competitions with his friends. 

The Setback

Time pressed on, August came and went.  Six months passed and dad took his oldest grandson hunting.  He never stopped setting new goals.  But when November rolled around, we noticed the bad days were beginning to outnumber the good.  He was sick. After one very scary morning I called 911 and he was hospitalized with bacterial and viral pneumonia at the same time.  He spent close to a week in the hospital receiving antibiotics.  When he left the hospital we all wondered again…is this the set back?  Looking back I believe it was.  Christmas was wonderful.  Everyone got along and Dad spoiled the grandkids rotten.  It was like Oprah’s Favorite Things in our house that morning.  There wasn’t a want or need unmet! It was straight up crazy.  Dad loved every minute.  

Dad never regained his baseline good.  He started having problem with balance, falling more times than I’d like to say. He had a hard time remembering to take medicines. While he’d previously always been mentally sharp, he began to have difficulty holding a coherent conversation. On Wednesday January 23^rd, dad went to a shoot and won $600.  He later told me that his vision was blurry and he was off balance, but he still won. HA!

The next Wednesday he went to a shoot, even though I asked him not to.  I was worried that day. There was a tightness in my stomach. I called his friends to let them know that I was feeling extremely uneasy.  The next day he seemed off as well.  On Friday February 1, my brother and I took him to breakfast, where we both noticed that he wasn’t right.  He woke up on Saturday unable to talk, walk, or swallow.  This guy was just eating breakfast with us the day before…how is this possible? I kept remembering the words he spoke over and over, “When its my time, I pray that it is fast.” The Lord honored my dad’s request.

It was Quick

I made the phone call to hospice Saturday morning, and dad passed away on Tuesday at 4:45 in the morning.  It was so fast…just what he prayed for.  My friends, when you experience death and really watch it happen, there comes a point where you are crying out to the Lord to take your loved one. The sounds are indescribable, the emotions are a roller coaster, and all you want is for the Lord to call your loved one to heaven.  I woke up at 2:30 Tuesday morning, I went to my dad’s room, where he and his nurse were, and I pleaded with Jesus for TWO HOURS.  

I suddenly felt the need to give my youngest a quick cuddle, and the moment I closed my dad’s door he took one of his final breaths.  The nurse came to get me; I got my brother and aunt.  Loved ones surrounded my dad when he took his final breath.  I was stunned…I felt like I straight up witnessed a miracle, an answer to prayer, and a blanket of peace fell over this place.  The sounds that were so difficult to hear, were gone in the final moments, the color that he lost returned.  He looked good, the best I had seen him in weeks.  And best of all he was with Jesus.

I just want to note that the above retelling of my dads last year and final days omits some serious strife. When families are placed in a pressure cooker of stress, we tend to lash out at those closest to us. And for some I was their person. I wish I could say that I handled it all beautifully, but honestly when someone pushed my buttons, I pushed back too. This is the area that I most regret and will address later.

Death is a complicated process.  In mom’s final days we saw her slip away mentally.  It was difficult to hold a conversation with her, as she would hallucinate that passed loved ones were next to her bed.  One minute she would be totally lucid, but the next unable to form sentences.  The Enemy really messed with me. Why she could recall details from her childhood but not recognize me? 

In my own humanness I had a deep desire to have one last real conversation with my mom. My frustration mounted and my faith cracked more.  I wondered why would God do this? If He truly is good, why would He strip her of her dignity in these last days? Why did He give us six long, non-communicative weeks with all of the bad? For my mom, the sickness and pain, and for those of us giving care the emotional and physical load. 

In those six weeks I was called on to do things for my mother I pray you never need to do.  It tested my physical and emotional strength. I didn’t realize then that I was trying to change God’s mind by working hard, “Look at me, God, your beloved daughter, doing all the things and more.  Answer the desires of my heart! Heal my mom!” The things we are able to do when called upon in the direst of situations will make us strong.  But be careful here friend, because it is easy to think that because you did that, you can do anything on your own.  And when your disappointment in God’s plan hurts beyond description, it’s easy to delete God from your narrative.  

Toward the end, I prayed for strength before cleaning her, or changing bed sore bandages, and He would answer. With the strength He provided I was able to perform those tasks without flinching.  But in the end, I deleted God from the story.  It became “I did that, and I wasn’t enough to help my mom.” The guilt piled on. I know now, through counseling, that I may never know why the winter of her life went the way it did. But I do know that today she is worshiping in Heaven.  I also know now that I am stronger than I was before.

After My Mom’s Passing

I faced the next months stoically.  I transitioned from caring for my mom to ensuring my family was okay. My dad was now a widower, living by himself for the first time in his life.  He had no idea how to pay the bills or manage money.  My husband stepped in to fill this role in his life that my mom occupied for their 41 years of marriage.  My brother lost his job and struggled with the loss of his mother, who was his best friend and fiercest advocate.  Compared to everyone else in my family I seemed to be doing great. But I wasn’t! Anger and guilt were crushing my spirit and it was seeping in to all parts of my life.

My attendance at church decreased, I was mad at God and figured I’d rather be “real” than fake. I began isolating myself from my beloved friends.  Placing the blame of my hurt on their shoulders.  I quit praying…because after all, I had done everything I was supposed to do, and she was still gone.  In every interaction I could feel the tears boiling to the surface only for me to push them back down.  A voice in my head was saying, “you’re not the only one who has dealt with this. Get over yourself.” I stuffed my emotions down, let them fester, let them rot in a hot bed of anger and disappointment. I was a volcano primed for eruption.  Bless the sweet soul who was on the receiving end of this eruption.  

The Eruption

Even though I wasn’t attending church, my husband and kids still were. My kids were still attending Kids Club on Wednesday evenings.  Look, I may have been on the verge of an emotional break-down and in the middle of a faith crisis, but I’m not stupid! Free childcare…hello…my kids will not miss! It was a cold Wednesday evening in January of 2017. My daughter’s eyes were watery, (as they always were…allergies I suppose.) I dropped the kids off and met my husband at home for dinner. I received a phone call from the children’s minister.  She said, “Hey Kayla, Izzy’s eyes are red, we think she might have pink eye.” I cut her off, “So do you want me to come get her?” Please imagine me saying this but more with a hand on the hip energy, rather than the innocent kind. Before she could respond I hung up and hopped in the car.  Now my husband had the deer in the headlights look, like he’s trying to say, “Please don’t embarrass us.” Too late. This volcano is erupting, and nothing is going to stop it.  I had amazing conversations in my head on the way down there.  If she says this…I’m going to say that.  You know what I’m talking about.  By the time the one-mile drive was over I was HOT!

In my mind now I’ve worked the story to be something like this:  she doesn’t like my daughter, she’s playing favorites with others, and she’s doing this because my church attendance has been non-existent! She’s punishing me! So, I walked right up to her and asked to talk to her.  I laid into her…I was YELLING...people were watching.  This sweet woman said to me, “Kayla are you sure this is about Izzy?” Pause…I wanted her to engage in this argument, but instead she was just seeing my hurt.  Bless this lady! Which made me rage inside, because in that moment I thought, “What am I doing? Is this about Izzy? What is happening?” Suddenly I was confused. My husband put his hands on my shoulders, we gathered our children.  We made our way home, he put the kids down, and he sat by me and with such sweet grace said, “Kayla, I think it’s time for counseling I can’t help you anymore.” 

HELP!

I reluctantly went to my first appointment with Nancy because I didn’t really need counseling. She began with, “Tell me about your mom.” Friends, let me tell you…I talked, I cried, my body shook; I went through BOXES of tissues.  This went on for two hours…everything spilled out! I had no idea I had this much stored up emotion.  After ALL THE WORDS flowed forth, she pointed out that all I had talked about was the last 6 weeks of her life.  The crazy divine part of this appointment was that Nancy had met with my mom when she was originally diagnosed. So, she had some insight into my history.  She told me that the way mom had grieved for her sisters and parents wasn’t the healthiest model. If I wanted my kids to learn how to grieve in a healthy way, then I had to teach them.

Through this conversation and others with her, she challenged me to read the book of Job in the Bible.  She thought I might have a different perspective at this point in my life. I left the office and threw myself into this book of the bible.  That was dumb! I’m a card-carrying member of a group I like to call “Friends of Job.” I knew that his friends were wrong, but in this season of life, theirreactions were exactly like mine. What did Job do to deserve this? What did I do to deserve this? This is the moment I realized that I have a choice to make. Do I believe what I say I do, that God is a good God.

In Romans 8:28 the Bible says, “And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them.” Do I believe this?  I wrestled with this question. The connection between my head knowledge and my heart knowledge was frayed.  In my head, I knew biblical truth. But my heart was broken. I was tired and barely holding things together. My counselor told me that God could handle my anger and disappointment, and He will heal your heart if you let him.  I felt my spirit strengthen when I was given permission to be mad at God.

I reconciled with God.  God had not done this.  We live in a fallen world full of bad things.  Sure, God allowed this to happen, but He didn’t cause it.  In allowing this to happen He has vowed to fulfill a promise in me one day for all to see. I didn’t know it then, but in retrospect, I believe that He allowed me to walk through this fire, to forge my faith for what was to come. The Lord transitioned my husband and I away from leading a young single adults small group at our church, back to our original small group.  He allowed the year of 2017 to be a time of rebuilding and repairing the broken faith that I had. 

Just as broken bones heal stronger after being broken, so did my faith. During the rest of this year, I helped my father through two total knee replacements, but neither were successful. The vision of his future wasn’t as bright as we thought it could be.  In the fall of 2017, I witnessed a general decline in his health.  I begged for him to see a doctor, but he wouldn’t make an appointment. I believe he already knew what lay in wait for us, but he longed for one more “normal” Christmas. 

I was born and raised in Southern California, to parents who were also SoCal natives. We lived in a small town; they do exist here.  For the most part, my brother and I grew up comfortably unaware of life’s difficulties. Day-to-day our biggest concerns related to the outcome of our upcoming soccer games.  In contrast to this low-stress upbringing, our extended family had one irritatingly frequent companion.  In the seventh grade I lost my Aunt Lorna to breast cancer.  It was particularly tragic as she left behind a five-year-old daughter. Years later, we lost my Aunt Eileen to the same disease. She left behind two children. During each of their battles my aunts and my mom would rally around their families. They provided care for their sister, drove the kids to and from events, and cooked every meal. I have memories of them singing Milli Vanilli, or Bette Midler classics to their sisters. When cancer came knocking on my own mom’s door, the sisters didn’t miss a beat.  They filled the waiting room of the hospital as mom had a lumpectomy performed (benign). Four years ago, my mom saw a gynecologist about some abnormal symptoms.  As she underwent testing, it was revealed that my mom had endometrial cancer. Coming from this family with an extensive history of breast cancer the idea of cancer wasn’t shocking. 

The Diagnosis:

In our family it’s not a question of IF we get cancer, it is WHEN. Having lost two aunts on my mom’s side to breast cancer, and two more of my mom’s sisters having survived breast cancer this seemed a familiar battle.  Especially with new innovative treatments; robotic surgery, more precise radiation, and mountains of research to help us, she would be fine. The first step in treatment was a total hysterectomy. We met the doctor after surgery in a tiny meeting room and he explained that mom had Stage 3C endometrial cancer. “She’s young and we will do all we can to fight this.”   UMMM WAIT HOLD UP…what does that even mean?  (Piece of advice…don’t Google it, it’s not beneficial)

My dad immediately left the surgical center after receiving this news because he needed time to process.  Truthfully, it irritated me that he left, but I quickly learned that some people need space to process.  My brother and I sat on a bench outside, as if being outside and breathing fresh air would help our lungs from deflating.  I can tell you, the feeling that a concrete block was on my chest did not go away for a long time. My brother paced the parking lot, his face covered in tears. My aunt sat inside, making all too familiar phone calls to her sisters to let them know to prepare for battle.  I, however, sat there stunned…no tears, out of breath.  A voice in my head screaming, “IT IS NOT OKAY ANYMORE.”  I think this is when my faith in God, a good God, cracked just the tiniest bit. Another voice in my head began to whisper, and I’m sure it was my mom saying, “This process will be hard. You are not the only one to go through this, and you will not be the last.”  I decided then to focus solely on my mom’s wellbeing…mine could wait (not the healthiest way, but I realize now this was me just slipping into survival mode. This lasted for the next year and a half of treatment.).

The Battle:

We left the hospital with a plan: four chemo treatments, radiation, and four more chemo treatments.  The plan seemed like a good one. I believed this plan would work.  One week after her catheter was placed, we ended up in the ER for sepsis.  We should have known then that this road was going to be challenging. The portable catheter was infected. We needed a new one, which meant yet another surgery. In the next weeks and months that followed, my mom always complained about her chest hurting to anyone who would listen. The doctors insisted the pain stemmed from the trauma of having two catheters placed.  

We went through the first four rounds of chemo like champs, we had a system, I brought snacks and books, my dad was able to get away, and mom napped. Radiation was a breeze! We started to believe that she was going to be fine. But, the last four chemotherapy treatments stopped us in our tracks.  Almost without fail, we’d arrive at the infusion center, they’d do a quick check up, then call an ambulance because her blood counts were critically low.  Off to the hospital for a blood transfusion, only to return to the infusion center two days later to receive chemo. It was then that doubt began to creep into all of our minds.  Mom no longer had the energy to walk; she used a walker, until a wheelchair became necessary.  After her last chemo treatment, she rang the bell.  We thought the battle had been won.  We rejoiced, now all she needed was to rest.  

Rest:

My husband and I took our kids on vacation to Walt Disney World. My kids needed a break, and honestly, I couldn’t remember the last time we all had been together just us four.  They had watched me spend hours each day for a year with my mom, taking her to and from appointments, making phone calls on her behalf, explaining to family members what is happening while remaining upbeat.  My daughter, who was 18 months at the time, spent a lot of time in care of others or hanging with her iPad so that I could devote my time to my mom. Izzy was not getting the attention she needed.  She needed time with us. We needed to reassure our kids, and this vacation was supposed to be a great time.

The Gut Punch:

While in Florida, my parents began to ignore my phone calls. I knew something was up.  So much so that I physically began vomiting and I couldn’t even go to the amusement parks with the kids one of the days.  Eventually they answered and told me my mom was in the emergency department for another blood transfusion.  My mind was racing, the neon sign in my brain was playing this phrase on repeat: “Treatment was over, she should be getting better.” The pain in her chest was unbearable. When I got home from Florida, mom wasn’t feeling well and insisted we go in to the ER, and she kept saying she thought she was dying. The reality is, she was dying.  I pushed for imaging, and the results came back that the cancer had metastasized; it was everywhere.  They were so sorry they missed this; the biggest tumor was in her chest!

We had a follow up appointment with her doctor the next day.  He gave us the news: Stage 4 metastatic endometrial adenocarcinoma. He told us she probably had a year to live and referred us to palliative care. My mom never walked again.  I wheeled her out, we went home, put her in bed and she never got out again.  

In the end:

She lasted 9 weeks after that late May day.  The first three weeks we managed. As a family we could no longer care for her safely; my dad was handicapped, my brother was at work, and I just could just barely physically keep up.  So, we called in reinforcements. The last six weeks of her life our family circled around us, they were there every day, they cooked meals, they cleaned, and they got along. I was still in shock over what was happening! How is it that I did everything I knew to be right, and God still allowed this to happen? My faith more than fractured at this time, it broke! She passed away on August 7, 2016.