Blessings in the Raindrops

by GettingFreedom on September 7, 2011

I wondered how I would write this post, or really, if I was even going to write it at all.  Truth is, it’s a story that needs to be told.  To be captured and felt for the beauty that it is. 

I sit here stumped.  Contemplating how to even begin to write and explain to you what has occured over the last 8 months. 

To understand what has just happened in my own life.  Only to realize, I’ve really not even wrapped my mind around all of it yet. 

{Please ignore the bad scan! Mom, Dad, my brother Joe, myself and my nephew. Circa: July 1998 Age: 16 & a day.}

I find myself totally overwhelmed knowing that at 29, I have no parents and no grandparents.  I am all my children know of my family..and that’s a load to bear.

As I mentioned back at the end of last month–my mom took a turn for the worse.  I knew the day would come at some point, but I wasn’t ready to deal with it just then.  But, just like I’ve done many times before {Nicholas’ situation, 9 months of chaos– to name a few}–I grabbed the situation as it was, and did everything I could with the resources I had.  The kids and I packed up our clothes and basically “moved” back to my hometown to take care of my mom in anyway that we could.  Initially, I thought we were just going to nurse her back to her old{new} self and continue on.  However, a few more days into it, and I realized that she and I were spending our last weeks together.

The short version of the months leading up to this day is this:: My mom’s cancer quickly spread through her body.  Instead of it just being in her lung and brain–they found a mass on her liver, her pancreas, and it was in her lymph glands.  By July, the oncologist basically said that treatment wasn’t going to make a difference. 

With the darkest prognosis, my mom STILL lived those days as if she was going to overcome the terrible disease.  She knew that God had a plan for her, far greater than this, and she was determined to win.  I thought she was crazy, but I admired her will to survive, her positive outlook, her constant smile through the hardest of days, and her laughter through our confusion.

As the days went on, it was evident that her time here on this Earth was very limited.  Her words “I’ve got a bigger purpose than this” continued to play over and over in my mind as I watched her spend more and more time away from us.  I didn’t understand how a young woman of 56 could possibly be done doing all her chores on this Earth.  I know that I still do not fully understand it.  But I don’t have to.

I know, without a doubt, that my mother is pain free now.

I know that she is praising her Creator like never before.

I’m sure that she and my dad are dancing the two-step to every country music song, relishing in their every moment together after being seperated for 7 years and 11 months {to the day}.

And I know, that her purpose was to leave behind a legacy that no one other than her could leave.  It’s a purpose far greater than cancer in my book.

I know these things, because I know Jesus.  He has given me the peace that passes all understanding.  Without Him, escpecially during these times, I would have been admitted to an insane asylum far before now.

And I know that even though I’m hurting in a way that words cannot even being to describe–I know that one day I will be reunited with the woman I call Mom.  And my pain will be no more.

Until then, I will remember her for her fighting spirit, for her smiles and laughter through our tears,  for her love of cooking and entertaining every one of my friends on a daily basis, and for all  the other things she taught me–even though I didn’t realize it at the time.

Even though it isn’t the most beautiful of moments, it’s a part of life.  And when you know Jesus–a normal occurance, that honestly brings so much pain {and oftentimes so many questions}, can bring so much peace.

A friend of mine introduced me to this song shortly after my mom’s diagnosis. It quickly became a favorite of mine and I play it constantly! It’s words are so true, yet encouraging. “The pain reminds us this is not our home.”

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