Happy Birthday to me

Tonight my parent's called to sing Happy Birthday to me on my voice mail. They've done that many times over the years and it always makes me smile. My father is quite a ham when he sings and to be honest they both have pretty good voices.

But I could tell my mom didn't really know the words. Dad had to walk her through it and carry the tune. I noticed she was having trouble with words in songs during her last visit. I remember the sadness welling up in my heart as we attempted to sing together in the car on the ride home.

That is one of the most difficult things about this disease. You loose the person in pieces. I really can't say if that is easier or harder than a quick death. I have nothing to really compare it to. But just 6 months ago I remember enjoying singing hymns in church with my mother and daughter at my side. Now that part is fading away.

I know I'm an analytical person and that's probably why I picked up on this entire pattern well before anyone else did 5 years ago. It was on my birthday that I got the call my Dad had had a heart attack. My husband was flying back from Asia and I was on the road for home as soon as he was on the ground to be with my mom and dad.

My mother was a mess. She couldn't really sleep. She was forgetting to eat, but more than that, she couldn't play a simple game of cards with me or find her way around the hospital. (Granted - I often get lost in hospitals. Major design flaw!) A number of people said it was probably stress induced so when Dad got better and came home, we waited for it to pass. It certainly got better but it also seemed to be the start of the end.

Now whenever I am with her or talk to her, I notice something else each time. Eventually the tears come and I grieve another loss. What I don't like is it happens while I'm listening to the radio, or standing in line at Walmart or talking to a friend. The sadness just wells up in me and spills out. All I've learned to do so far is let it come. I make some room for it and let it do its work. It allows me to grieve what has passed and yet appreciate what is left.

During her last visit, my mother misidentified most of the people in my life as old friends of hers. Even the greeter at Walmart got a big hug, smile and warm greeting from this woman who could not have possibly known her. But each person was loved by this broken, forgetful woman. God does not need our mental capacity to use us to love others. Who knows? It may be easier for Him to use my mother to love people now that her mind is not in the way. That's a radical thought for me. But I watched her do it over and over again and just marveled at the way it blessed others and blessed her too, to just love without any understanding.

So I weep for my slowly diminishing mother. But perhaps that is not how God sees this at all. Perhaps this is a season of great blessing in the midst of the sadness. I may be starting to see that possibility, but I will need help Jesus.

Help me Jesus and thanks for one more Happy Birthday song on my voicemail.