Part 2

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.