Beautiful, broken love

This week my brother got out of jail. It was a good day.

For some, a 3 month stint in county lock up is really not that big of a deal. But you should have seen him before he went in. He was scared. He was scared my mom might die while he was in. He was scared he might do something stupid and turn 3 months into a year or worse and he was scared that no one would be around to make my dad laugh. I love that about my brother. He is a really funny guy, but it's humor that has attempted to guard a tender heart.

This week my father gave us a large sum of money to help us out of a financial crisis we made with our own hands. That would have been enough of a blessing in itself, but he did it with tremendous grace and kindness. It reminded me of Jesus talking to the woman caught in adultery. He does not condemn her, but rather he protects her from the angry mob and yet encourages her to go and sin no more. As John 1:14 says, Jesus was full of grace and truth. My father did that for us this week and the blessing of his words and deeds may have healed a part of my husband's heart that few people will ever even see.

It was a good week.

And all the while, my mother wanders our home lost in some far away world. She can't sit still for more than a few minutes before she is up again moving things from here to there or trying to eat a styrofoam cup. Oh how we all long for peace to come for her. The helplessness is so overwhelming at times. And yet, both my brother and I sit in awe of my father. Not just for his patience, endurance and faithfulness but for how this is transforming him into a new man: a good, kind, thoughtful man with a generous heart.

Somehow in the midst of this intense sadness, we are all being transformed for good. I have no idea how God is doing it, but the evidence is all around me.

I heard a teacher say recently that suffering gives us a platform for influence. I've thought about it many times. I suppose that does not assume it will always be a positive influence, but I certainly can see biblical examples of the transforming power of suffering in God's word. Joseph comes to mind for most people. He was a talented, gifted, arrogant and probably spoiled kid, but after many years of unjust suffering, God transformed him into a talented, gifted and humble man who literally saves the nation of Israel along with Egypt. Nelson Mandela's story is very similar.

I don't know what God has waiting for all of us in my family. My father says he lives day to day because that is all he can do. He considers each day a gift. But no matter how this plays out, I am so thankful for the richness of our relationships right now, despite the pain.

Given the choice, I would never have agreed to this plan. Alzheimer's completely sucks. Our hardest moments of the journey so far have been when my mom would just start cowering, for any number of reasons, and say to us "Are you going to throw me away?" What the hell happened to that woman as a child? What did they do to her? It would make us all crazy with anger and rage at the invisible perpetrators and our sense of powerlessness would go that much deeper. But here we sit, with no clear end in site, having endured a very intense war, where we lost one but found the 3 of us.

I did know my mother well enough to know that she would have been willing to endure this if only for our sake. At some level we all live selfish lives, some more than others, but in her own way she did attempt to love us.

One night many years ago, I challenged my mother in front of my father, as to why she would not take care of herself. Her cholesterol was insane and her diabetes was not being treated and she would not slow down enough to do anything about them. After pressing her a couple of times, she finally admitted that there was not enough money for both my mom and dad to retire, so she planned on dying first and letting him have the retirement money. My father and I sat there stunned. We both tried to speak to that lie, but we did not sway her and she has carried out her plan. But that was my mother's way of loving us. That was so messed up on so many levels, but behind it all, was love.

It's not the way I intend to love my kids and it's a severely broken form of love, but I can still call it love. And even in all its messiness and brokenness, God has used it for good. Sounds a little like Joseph doesn't it?

So I sit in awe of God somedays. And somedays I weep over watching the woman I call mom slowly disintegrate. Other days are filled with laughter and joy as my father and brother and I enjoy each other just because we are enjoyable people. I don't know when that happened. I don't know when I became enjoyable and when I started really enjoying my family, but I like it. Those are good days.

And perhaps there are many good days ahead of us. But hope can feel like jumping off a cliff when all you've ever done is survive. So this week, I will spend time with Jesus in the Smoky Mountains and meditate on God's tenderness and kindness and try to make some room in my life for hope.

Perhaps this will be a good week too.

Updates

I've started to hate the question "How is your mom?" I know it's usually asked with a compassionate heart that desires to come along side me in my pain. Occasionally, I do get the question from someone who is just looking for information and I am surprised and convicted by how bad that feels. I know I've done it to others, so I try not to be harsh, but I also don't feel the need to always answer their question. Sometimes, I even just steer clear of those folks, because it only adds to my pain. Thankfully, I've given myself permission to do that now.

But how do you answer this question when the answer is always going to be "Bad." My mother is doing bad. She is dying. She may die soon or she may linger on in this ghostly state for years. But she is not well nor is she ever going to be well again. So I am debating asking my friends to just not ask me anymore. To trust me that I will bring it up if I need to talk but that the question just hurts now and the answer will not change anymore.

I know they ask because they care, but can caring look like not asking? Just be with me now. I'm so tired of talking. Just sit in this room and be with me. There's nothing else to figure out. Just wait with me so I don't have to wait alone. That's really all my heart needs right now.

Life Lessons

I sent my parents an edible flower arrangement for Easter this year. It seemed like a good idea because my mom eats a lot of fruit and as much as I love flowers, I am still a pretty practical person. My Dad said they both loved them. He appreciated it and she ate them.

But that is one of the tolls this takes on you. When a person disappears into this disease, they can't express appreciation anymore. They are a ghost that walks amongst us and when it's someone so close to you, you are constantly reminded that your service needs to be for the Lord and not to be thanked. That is really hard for me. I like to be thanked. I struggle with feeling unappreciated. But I also see that when I am thanked, I don't really let it sink in, so it's like dying of thirst while people are offering you things to drink.

I see the lessons from the Lord all the time as I wander through this season of life. Perhaps everyone hits this place where life starts to slow down some and you wake up to this deeper narrative that's been going on the entire time without you realizing it.

I am very present. I am not a ghost like my mother and yet I withhold praise from the people around me even when I know they desperately need it. Less than a year ago, my mother would endlessly praise me for my kids, my voice, by parenting, whatever. It went on and on because she would not remember one comment to the next what she just said. I have to admit, it felt good. I don't remember much praise when I was little. In fact I remember a lot of criticism. I am painfully aware of maintaining a good balance of input and praise with my own kids because I know the pain of an over-critical home.

But what about all the other people in my life? I praise my father all the time. I am so in awe of what he is doing and the attitude he does it with is even more impressive. But what about my husband? I have high expectations for him and that can spur him on or beat him down depending on how I approach it. Of course at the end of the day, he makes his own decisions but I know I am not irrelevant to the picture. I am his wife, no one else. He has the same opportunity with me. My hope is that we are slowly moving in the right direction of doing a better job caring for each other.

So this is one area for me that has emerged in watching and experiencing Alzheimer's ravage our lives. I am continually amazed at how God uses everything. How can he break my heart and mend it at the same time? I suppose that's what makes Him God and me just me.

I will listen today for your voice Jesus. I believe you are always doing me good even when I may not be able to see it or feel it. Increase my faith and hold me near and please be merciful to my mom.