Three years ago today, my sister-in-law and I drove to Louisville together to see Tenth Avenue North. It'd been a rough few weeks for my family. We'd learned that Mom had Stage 4 Metastatic Colon Cancer - the cancer had spread to her lungs, her spine, and her lymph nodes. We'd spent weeks in the hospital at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. They'd done radiation treatments to help reduce the tumor on her spine, to help alleviate some of her back pain. They'd inserted a feeding tube because there was apparently a mass obstructing her stomach and food was unable to pass through. She was weak, she was vomiting several times a day. But she was strong and her spirits were high! The doctors continued to give us hope that we had time! They'd treated cases like this before! Chemo treatments would give us time!
So we came home! We fell into a new routine. Mornings - Dad would go to work. I'd get up and administer Mom's medicine (the pills had to be crushed, mixed with water, and given through the feeding tube) and set up her tube feeding for the day. She was on a slow feeding schedule - one that ran most of the day. And we'd sit and watch TV together. I'd help her to the bathroom when she needed to go and make sure she was comfortable.
It didn't take long for me to wear down. I was tired...exhausted!
I tried finding ways to step out of the new routine, to take a reprieve. After getting home from the clinic I remember going to see a movie. When I learned that Tenth Avenue North was coming to the area - of course I had to go. So on October 15, I went. (The regret I sometimes deal with, of not spending that time with Mom, is another story all on it's own.)
Hawk Nelson opened the show with a great set! I hadn't seen the in concert in years! Then Mike and the band came on stage. They played a few songs - some of their hits - and then he began telling a story. He told the story of a band member's sister being diagnosed with cancer. She'd gotten the horrible news, faced the treatments....and through prayer and the work of the doctors, she got better.
Mike had no idea the struggle I was facing with my mother - being her care-giver - watching her steady decline at the hands of some horrible disease. He had no idea just how closely their story hit home with me. But he went on to tell how the darkness they faced through the family's battle with cancer lead to the writing of their song "I Have This Hope."
I cried as they played this song from the stage. It was a heartfelt song. It was beautiful.
A couple weeks after that show Mom passed away. We'd gone to the Oncologist. But he refused to treat her - said she was just too weak. We were set up with Hospice. Within a couple days, Mom was unable to handle the tube feedings - they were making her too sick.
A few nights later, we transferred Mom to the Hospice unit at Saint Joseph Hospital in Lexington.
I remember Mom being bright and alert that night. She didn't want to go to the hospital.
That Sunday afternoon - after being transferred by ambulance - the doctor came to see Mom. He talked with us, listened to Mom's gut and offered some encouragement. He'd try some medicine, to see if that could get things moving again. Maybe Mom could go back home if it did.
I remember Mom telling the doctor she had too much life to live. She had grandchildren to watch grow up - she wasn't ready to quit fighting.
That afternoon, as friends and family came to visit, I took a friend aside. She was a nurse (was actually the nurse that helped get set up with Hospice, and made the decision it was time to put Mom in the hospital). I asked her what to expect, how things would unfold. She gave it to me straight - told me what to expect, what to look for as the end drew near. There was no hope in her words.
I look back on all of this - at the words the doctors gave us - at the expressions of Mom's doctor at the clinic - and I wonder if they knew from the beginning how things would unfold for her. Did they know from the beginning we didn't have much time left? If so, why all the false hope? Why the promise of time if they knew we didn't have it?
I know I have a greater hope in all of this. I know there's hope in our reunion one day...
but that doesn't stop my heart from aching today.
"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned, the flames will not set you ablaze." Isaiah 43.2
God's promise remains true - always.
Mom was in my dream last night...or this morning. I don't think I actually saw her...but her voice was there plain as day. There's not a day that goes by I don't think of her - long to hug her - wish I could laugh with her again. God, I miss her!