the Traveling Writing Room

September 4, 2019

My Most Important Blog Post Ever

 

 

Yes, I know. I've been MIA. Ever since I got back from Texas I have not blogged, but I have sold a house, bought a house, moved, served almost a month at camp and, well, you know, LIFE.

 

But, something has come up that will change me forever. And as is my way, I must write or I will perish under it's weight. Yesterday, my mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I was in the doctor's office with her, via FaceTime, along with my brother and his wife. Mom was stoic and smiling all through the doc's spiel about this thing that will take her life. At one point she clapped her hands gently and said, "Finally, I am going to meet my King!" I could not love her more.

 

Mom has been suffering from a delusion disorder since my father's death, four years ago. In her mind, she has been stalked by a predator and has gotten so angry at me and my brother because we haven't called the police or made this horrible man stop tormenting her. However, most hours during the day she is fine. She interacts with others, laughs, bakes pies, etc., As with most things in life, we shifted and learned to cope.

 

But this, this will leave me altered, changed from my soul out. My Nurturer is leaving me. She is my biggest champion, the only one left who loves me unconditionally no matter what the circumstance. My husband, Gary, loved me like that, too, for forty-two years until he took God's hand. This has made me realize how few people in our lives can do that, love us unconditionally, that is. That type of love is a divine bookmark in our everydayness that we can always turn to when our legs give out and our hearts break. I feel that loss already, imaging what it will be like when I reach out toward her and grasp only air. The pain already threatens to smother me.

 

Yet . . .

 

This woman still has a lot to teach me and I'm sure she will go after it with gusto. At any given time, to her, I'm still a 12-year-old who doesn't like broccoli, or a 36-year-old who needs to cut her bangs, or a 68-year-old who should never wear stripes, especially near her hips. Mom has always had an opinion about what I should and should not do. In my growing up years she was spot on. In my adult years, well, we've gone a few rounds. But, she's rarely wrong (You didn't hear that from me). I imagine I'm going to receive some parting advice and hear many times those fateful words, "If I were you..." And, I will lap them up like a pup over a bowl of milk. I will nod and at times, I will push back for the laugh, but believe me, I will cherish every moment, every word, and every mini-lecture that comes my way. For you see, she is my mom, my hero, my wind, my compass, my heart.

 

I ask you for prayers that her days will be filled with only love and that this cancer that's claiming her body will never claim her spirit. And, I ask you also for prayers for me, that my shoulders never slump in her presence. That I can show my mom that I did listen to her and watched her and learned from her how to be a strong woman, a woman who also awaits her King with gladness.

 

later,

deb

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