Upcoming Event
M&W Ministries to speak at Hebron Worship Center
October 14, 2009
Topic: Friendship
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
There is Light
It has been almost two weeks now since I dropped my grandmother off at the airport and perhaps waved my final wave to her. I was sending her back to be with the rest of our family that is on the other side of the world. I was not supposed to have her go back for another week, but we were racing time.
In a matter of three and a half weeks from being released from the hospital, Grandma's health started declining. She was starting to not only show similar symptoms that led to her prior hospitalization, but the nature of her cancer was presenting new ones. She was now experiencing pain that could not be remedied by an antibiotic or over-the-counter pain relief medication. Confused, I spoke with medical staff from three specialties that have been following her case. I was not prepared to hear what they concluded about her current symptom. "Sorry, there's nothing else we can do to treat what she's experiencing. All we can do is get her comfortable." Comfortable? That's it? We're just supposed to wait and watch her illness take over??? Ugh, how I cried for that week as I watched Grandma grow weak and hear her slightly groan from the pain she was enduring. How can I just put her in a zoned-out state of mind when she is fully mentally sharp and able still? Could I just give her a small dose of the pain med and let her wing some of the pain in exchange for her awareness and being able to be functional? What do I do? I was at a loss for words let alone an answer. I cried out to God. I cried out to Him and asked Him for wisdom. I cried for him to deliver her from her condition. If He wasn't going to heal her, I prayed that he would grant her mercy and bring her quickly home to Him or grant her grace and give her peace and comfort until it is time for her to go Home. Nonetheless, I would trust Him with her and the situation. (At one point, I recalled jokingly, but slightly seriously asking Him, "God, are you trying to make a hospice nurse out of me?! " --This wasn't my first time dealing with pain medications as being a last resort to an illness.)
It didn't take long to see that there wasn't a reason to keep her from going back to our relatives sooner. By the day, her health was changing and it wasn't for the better. After one day of seeing her oncologist, we were able to bump her ticket 5 days earlier to fly out! We were all so excited although I knew I was going to miss her dearly. Not to mention the fact that I didn't know what kind of treatment she would have access to once she left this country and how much time she had left.
It's been almost two weeks since Grandma left and I have spoken with her a few times over the phone. Her children and the rest of our family is taking such great care of her although the pain she was experiencing here is still the same. I could hear the sadness in her voice, but I remember telling her in our last conversation to keep hoping and having faith in God and Jesus. She didn't say much after that, but I pressed on and said, "Grandma, be patient because you're still around and He's not done with you just yet." I could hear a faint sigh of hope.
One of the biggest lessons I'm reassured of from this experience is that we truly have God to lean on and to depend on in any given circumstance. That He is very real and very relational. I know it logically, but sometimes it slips my attention. I pray that I never forget the reality of it.
In a matter of three and a half weeks from being released from the hospital, Grandma's health started declining. She was starting to not only show similar symptoms that led to her prior hospitalization, but the nature of her cancer was presenting new ones. She was now experiencing pain that could not be remedied by an antibiotic or over-the-counter pain relief medication. Confused, I spoke with medical staff from three specialties that have been following her case. I was not prepared to hear what they concluded about her current symptom. "Sorry, there's nothing else we can do to treat what she's experiencing. All we can do is get her comfortable." Comfortable? That's it? We're just supposed to wait and watch her illness take over??? Ugh, how I cried for that week as I watched Grandma grow weak and hear her slightly groan from the pain she was enduring. How can I just put her in a zoned-out state of mind when she is fully mentally sharp and able still? Could I just give her a small dose of the pain med and let her wing some of the pain in exchange for her awareness and being able to be functional? What do I do? I was at a loss for words let alone an answer. I cried out to God. I cried out to Him and asked Him for wisdom. I cried for him to deliver her from her condition. If He wasn't going to heal her, I prayed that he would grant her mercy and bring her quickly home to Him or grant her grace and give her peace and comfort until it is time for her to go Home. Nonetheless, I would trust Him with her and the situation. (At one point, I recalled jokingly, but slightly seriously asking Him, "God, are you trying to make a hospice nurse out of me?! " --This wasn't my first time dealing with pain medications as being a last resort to an illness.)
It didn't take long to see that there wasn't a reason to keep her from going back to our relatives sooner. By the day, her health was changing and it wasn't for the better. After one day of seeing her oncologist, we were able to bump her ticket 5 days earlier to fly out! We were all so excited although I knew I was going to miss her dearly. Not to mention the fact that I didn't know what kind of treatment she would have access to once she left this country and how much time she had left.
It's been almost two weeks since Grandma left and I have spoken with her a few times over the phone. Her children and the rest of our family is taking such great care of her although the pain she was experiencing here is still the same. I could hear the sadness in her voice, but I remember telling her in our last conversation to keep hoping and having faith in God and Jesus. She didn't say much after that, but I pressed on and said, "Grandma, be patient because you're still around and He's not done with you just yet." I could hear a faint sigh of hope.
One of the biggest lessons I'm reassured of from this experience is that we truly have God to lean on and to depend on in any given circumstance. That He is very real and very relational. I know it logically, but sometimes it slips my attention. I pray that I never forget the reality of it.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Saying Goodbye
I cannot imagine all the feelings you must be experiencing having just said goodbye to your grandma. Though you escorted her to a plane, we both are aware the more reticent goodbye is soon to come. And I feel for you. I’ll freely disclose that I’ve felt like I’ve been saying goodbye to someone my whole life. Anticipating someone’s end can be a gut wrenching, heartbreaking thing to do. When I was thirteen, my parents sat me down in our living room, informing me that my older sister had a malignant cancerous brain tumor. I’ll never forget how I felt climbing the stairs and entering the bathroom where she’d been bathing (at any other time it might have been strange, my joining her in the bathroom) and shaving her legs. Our conversation was fragile, as doctors had explained to my parents that it would be unlikely she’d live six more months. I ached to make every word count.
Twenty years later…she’s still alive, she’s still here. The word “here” can be argued however, because she struggles with mental illness and addictions that are life debilitating. That’s a story for another time. My point is that even before her cancer diagnosis (for undisclosed reasons) I learned to await death as though it perched on my doorstep present as birds singing in the morning. I grew skilled at anticipating.
Almost a year ago my dad got the call that the spot on his lung was a 9cm. tumor. Cancer, again. And yet, he lives. He walks daily. He engages in conversation when I call on the phone. Pneumonia and other pesky signs of cancer have cropped up. It’s there. Waiting. And I’m here, waiting.
But I don’t live in the wait. Will my sister die? Yes, someday. Will my father die? Yes, someday. Will I die, absolutely (waiting for you, Jesus) someday. Until then, let my life be known for breathing, for delighting, appreciating and basking in the glory of what’s been given and not what will someday be taken away. Just as surely as we all die here; someday we’ve been blessed with the chance to live THERE. And in the meantime, to do a little livin’ down here.
I’m feeling for you, my friend.
Until someday. Living today.
Twenty years later…she’s still alive, she’s still here. The word “here” can be argued however, because she struggles with mental illness and addictions that are life debilitating. That’s a story for another time. My point is that even before her cancer diagnosis (for undisclosed reasons) I learned to await death as though it perched on my doorstep present as birds singing in the morning. I grew skilled at anticipating.
Almost a year ago my dad got the call that the spot on his lung was a 9cm. tumor. Cancer, again. And yet, he lives. He walks daily. He engages in conversation when I call on the phone. Pneumonia and other pesky signs of cancer have cropped up. It’s there. Waiting. And I’m here, waiting.
But I don’t live in the wait. Will my sister die? Yes, someday. Will my father die? Yes, someday. Will I die, absolutely (waiting for you, Jesus) someday. Until then, let my life be known for breathing, for delighting, appreciating and basking in the glory of what’s been given and not what will someday be taken away. Just as surely as we all die here; someday we’ve been blessed with the chance to live THERE. And in the meantime, to do a little livin’ down here.
I’m feeling for you, my friend.
Until someday. Living today.
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