Lost Memories

Today should have been such a happy day. We've all been looking forward to it for two months. Instead I ended up feeling so sad when it was all over.  My infant son got to go see his Nana for the first time. My mom was unable to see the baby before because his immune system was not developed enough until now for him to be allowed up in the hospital ward. Previously he had stayed down in the lobby with someone or at home with my husband. This morning my dad held him in his arms (he- my son- is still not allowed to touch my mom) in my mom's line of sight so she could see him. My dad held him for a while. I think we were all hoping that when the baby started crying that somehow that would trigger something inside of her and she'd show some awareness...instead, nothing. I'd like to think that there was some show of a frown when my son started fussing, but if there really was I don't think it was more than a reflexive response, same as usual. It's painful enough to have my mom look blankly at me, but to have her see her grandson for the first time and give that precious baby the same blank stare...it kills me. I think of all the the wonderful memories that might have been and now will never be. It breaks my heart. So many more things were lost that day than just my mom, so many links, so many events and stories and memories that might have been. It is more painful than I can say.

The Snow and the Tree

The one thing I love about the snow is the way a fresh falling blankets the trees and ground and even the grungy streets and sidewalks. The crisp, white purity doesn't last long once the snow stops falling, but for a short while everything looks perfect. Today as the snow was falling (before the sleet and rain and ice) I was thinking how that was analogy for life. Life is often drab and bleak and colorless, but even in the midst of it all there are those few moments when everything is covered by soft, sparkling white. These moments seem few and far between, but I'm learning to look for and find them more often. They are the few quiet (or loud) moments when I don't remember just how difficult and painful life is...a funny antic by one of the girls, a smile from my infant son, a kind note from a friend, a phone call, a good book, a glass of wine and a delicious steaming piece of lasagna. Little things, and yet they have the power to make one small moment in time glisten.

In addition to these thoughts I was also thinking how my mom and her life were like a tree. (Forgive me, but I often think in analogies.) She was strong, nurturing, a haven for many living things - people and plants! Now she seems stripped of what makes her herself, her leaves and flowers and fruit. She is the stark, bare tree we see in winter. I believe that some day those leaves and flowers and fruit will be restored ans she will be herself again, whole and happy and beautiful, but it may not happen in this life on this earth. I believe with all my heart that my mom has a beautiful soul that will live on forever in heaven. She will be restored again. For now though, it is painful, so painful, to see her in this condition. When we lose a loved one it's like the tree is cut down. It's gone, and for a while everything looks strange because there is a gap, a large empty space where it belongs. Gradually, however, we get used to the tree being gone and eventually we are able to live without being shocked or startled every time we look up and see the tree is no longer there. In this case however, the tree appears dead, but it is still there. We see it there and it is excruciatingly painful to see it no longer green and thriving and with little hope of ever returning to its previous glory. Instead of gradually getting used to its absence we are blinded day after day with the painful sight of the barren and lifeless tree. This is a picture of what it is like living with my mom the way she is, awake but not aware, there, but not really there, looking like herself, but not the person we know and love. And oh how I miss her.

Three months. It's been three months tonight since I said goodbye to her for the last time and she spoke back to me. I've adapted some to the pain, to the loss, but it still hurts, still throbs. What I wouldn't give to hear her voice even one more time.

My Surreal Status Quo

Up, down, laugh, cry. Smile, hope, sadness, despair. I am doing better than I ever could have imagined, and yet I am not doing well each and every day. I feel like when I hit the bottom of my tolerance I receive an encouraging word, an e-mail, a call, some insight spiritually that makes me feel lighter. When I feel better, when I think I might just make it, something happens to hit me over the head and smash me down again. I am doing remarkably well and unbelievably awful at the same time. I didn't know it was possible.

Last Tuesday at my Bible Study I felt so encouraged. I was reminded of the eternal perspective, that no matter what happens here on earth, no one and nothing can really touch my mother. She has Christ and she has eternity and she will always have them. Thursday evening the deer hit my car. Last night I felt ill after filling out the accident report. Today my knuckles turned white as I gripped the steering wheel each time I passed a semi or large truck on my way into the city. Tonight someone offered me reassurance and comfort about other fears and I actually felt reassured. 

The ups, the downs...I can't say they are more pronounced, if anything I am softer, more malelable. I am more sensitive to things, and yet I absorb them better, easier. The strain is greater, but the peace more pronounced, more noticeable. Sometimes I feel like I am someone else. Time before the accident is like a memory. I have become someone else. I don't know if that is good or bad - I suspect it is both. Perhaps my words sound confusing here on the page, but it all makes sense in my mind, in my soul. Perhaps you have to be in the middle of something like this to really understand. Maybe those of you who have experienced heartbreaking tragedy understand what I mean, maybe not. Those of you who don't, I wish you could and yet I hope you don't. I live in a new world, and though I don't feel brave, I must be so.

Flashbacks

Tonight was a bad night. My three year old and I are alright, but on our way to the grocery store this evening our car was hit by a deer. The stupid animal got up and ran off and the damage could have been a lot worse...basically structural over the right front tire. The emotional fall-out, however, is yet to be determined. Being in any sort of an accident is traumatic I'm sure, but for me it meant thinking about what happened two and half months ago to my mom. Driving along, thoughts on other things...I'm sure she never saw it coming any more than I saw that darn deer. We were fine though, she was not. I had to stop at the police station to file a report for my insurance. (The police didn't have to come to the scene since the car was drivable and the deer ran off.) I hated going to the police station. All I could think about was the cop showing up at my door at 4:30 am to give me the worst news of my life. I keep thinking about it, even now several hours later. I am thankful that we are okay, but I think it's going to take a couple days to shake this off because of the horrible memories it drags up for me. Already I'm up way too late, avoiding bed because I fear lying there unable to sleep, my mind racing. I can't put it off any longer, but I just hope I can sleep.

A Poem

What God Hath Promised

God hath not promised skies always blue,

Flower-strewn pathways all our lives thro';

God hath not promised sun without rain,

Joy without sorrow, peace without pain.

God hath not promised we shall not know

Toil and temptation, trouble and woe;

He hath not told us we shall not bear

Many a burden, many a care.

But God hath promised strength for the day,

Rest for the laborer, light for the way.

Grace for the trials, help from above,

Unfailing sympathy, undying love.

~ Annie Johnson Flint

This poem was written in a card from my mom to a friend on Thursday, January 30, 1986. (It was written in her beautiful calligraphy handwriting.) It reached out to me and made me smile and cry. I'm sure she never anticipated how it would touch her daughter 23 years after she wrote it to someone else. I know she believed what is written in this poem with all of her heart and it brings me some comfort.

The Darkest Hour is Always at Night

Nights are the worst...by far. In the month following the accident I don't know that any of the immediate family really slept. My sleeplessness was aggravated by pregnancy hormones, which often had me awake for several hours. Despite my weariness I'd lie there awake, frustrating under any circumstances, but made 100 times worse by finding myself always thinking about what had happened. I sleep better now that I have a newborn, but even now sometimes when I've been up feeding him in the night I am haunted by thoughts and memories and I can't fall back asleep. It drives me crazy and I want to scream and find a way to shut down my racing thoughts, the images that flit through my mind like so many demons. 

"Things always seem worse at night." I remember both my parents telling me that as a child and even into my young adult years. It is so very true...either that or our minds are less distracted and able to see more clearly the horrors we face. There is something about the darkness, the quiet, the cold, that makes the longing deeper, the pain harsher, reality more biting, the tears flow more freely. After a night like this the day is harder too because I awaken tired and sad. Then there are the dreams. Good dreams become nightmares when you awaken from them to find they aren't true. Bad dreams become good if they involve your loved one being alive, well and whole. If I could rest, sleep, dream at night without ever thinking, I think I would be a much happier person.

Beholden

I'll admit it, I hate accepting help. Unless it's help from a close family member that with whom I'm very comfortable, I much prefer being the helper than the helpee. Ironically, my mother was the same way. This has made the past three months really difficult for me. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate all of the help that people have given us. There is no way we could have made it otherwise. I just feel like I've wracked up this huge debt to people that can never be repaid. I feel like I will have to spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to everyone and to me that is a huge burden. I have had so much help from meals to childcare to cleaning to the washer and dryer that were bought for us and it means a lot to me. I know my mom used to help an awful lot of people...there have been so many testimonies to her, and I know she would be happy that people have been helping us. But how on earth am I to live up to her and to all the help that's been provided? I certainly don't feel worthy or capable. I don't have a choice though, and I just hope no one is holding it against me that I haven't written a thank you note to everyone who has helped us out. If I did that I wouldn't have time to do anything but write, there's been that much help. So if you are one of those people...thank you, and please forgive me for not providing a note.

Where is God?

Those of you who know me know that I believe in God and consider myself a Christian.  I believe that my word view is distinctly shaped and molded by these factors. This means that they play a huge role in my perception of this whole horrible, messy situation. I will be honest with you right up front. Am I mad at God right now? Definitely. Do I feel like he doesn't care - yes. That he's abandoned us, yes. I can't tell you how many times I've turned to my husband and said, "It's not fair. Why does God hate us so much?" Yes, I am hurt, angry and wrestling with God...but I still believe in Him and I still believe that He loves me. In this darkest hour when I feel like we as a family are literally walking through the valley of the shadow of death one of my few comforts is that we are not alone. Christ walks with us. There is no hardship, no pain, no suffering that he hasn't known. The fact that he would sacrifice his life mine means that he does love me. But it still hurts.  

Suffering in this world is rampant. I believe that suffering is the result of sin. I also believe that God works all things out for His purposes, though they don't make sense to me and sometimes make me feel like God must be cruel. Especially right now. I feel like God has beaten me over the head, mashed me to a pulp and most certainly asked me to bear more than I can. Yet I still find myself going back to him, darn it! Am I a blind follower? Or is it maybe that he really does care, really does love me, really is working things out though I can't see or feel it. Being refined is never fun, yet the end results are often stunning...look at gold (anyone read this month's National Geographic?). I am still wrestling with all this...probably will be my whole life to be honest...just wanted people to know where I am with all of this. I am tenuously clinging, but still clinging.

How do I know that God is there, even amidst my anger and hurt? I know because I felt him and his strength...that morning when the police officer knocked on my hotel door at 4:30 in the morning, as I calmly made and fielded phone call after phone call from the hotel room where I was stuck by myself - 8 month pregnant and with two little children, as I walked into the ICU and saw my mom for the first time after the accident, those early days when we didn't know if my mom would survive, struggling through my brother's wedding just four days after the accident. He's been there. I may not get it, I may be angry, but I know he is there and He's the main reason I'm making it through all of this without completely losing my mind.

Life Sentence

It hit me like a sucker punch to the gut, but then it always does. No matter how realistic and pragmatic I try to be, those darn elements of hope and faith creep in ever so subtly so that when further discouraging confirmations come in, they knock me down all over again. The neurosurgeon's report came in...he was personable, kind, open to questions, and painfully discouraging. And the ruling he gave us, like a life sentence in prison. She wakes, sleeps, opens her eyes, looks around for naught because she isn't really awake. It seems cruel, the idea that it is most likely that she will lie in that bed day after day, year after year never speaking, never feeling, never knowing those she loves and who love her, missing all the events of our lives until some day far in the future she finally slips away for good from some infection or pneumonia or something similar. The image I'm reminded of comes from the Count of Monte Cristo when Edmond Dantes, betrayed by his best friend, is thrown into the tiny, bleak, cell in an isolated prison to serve out a sentence he didn't earn for the rest of his life. That's what we're being handed, that's what my mother is getting, though she has done nothing to deserve it. That's how we feel when we hear the news, even though we already knew in our heads that it was likely. The gavel has fallen, the judge has spoken, the ruling is against us.

The Music of Pain

Music has a way of reaching inside me and pulling out emotions that I can't express. Heart-tugging chords echo the sounds of my life. Song lyrics express the words that I want to speak or write, but just can't compose. If you love music, if you are in any way moved by it, you may understand. The other night driving to the hospital I was moved to tears by two or three songs that seemed to say what I was feeling inside. When there are no words, for me there is a song. It was a song that inspired the name for this blog and I'll share the full lyrics here, though a small portion of them appear in the sidebar. The song is called "Beauty from Pain," by the Superchicks and has a beautifully haunting melody to deliver the lyrics.

Beauty From Pain- by Superchicks

The lights go out all around me
One last candle to keep out the night
And then the darkness surrounds me
I know I'm alive
But I feel like I died
And all that's left is to accept that it's over
My dreams ran like sand through the fists that I made
I try to keep warm but I just grow colder
I feel like I'm slipping away

After all this has passed
I still will remain
After I've cried my last
There'll be beauty from pain
Though it won't be today
Someday I'll hope again
And there'll be beauty from pain
You will bring beauty from my pain

My whole world is the pain inside me
The best I can do is just get through the day
When life before is only a memory
I wonder why God lets me walk through this place
And though I can't understand why this happened
I know that I will when I look back someday
And see how you've brought beauty from ashes
And made me as gold purified through these flames

After all this has passed
I still will remain
After I've cried my last
There'll be beauty from pain
Though it won't be today
Someday I'll hope again
And there'll be beauty from pain
You will bring beauty from my pain

Here I am at the end of me
Trying to hold to what I can't see
I forgot how to hope
This night's been so long
I cling to your promise
There will be a dawn

After all this has passed
I still will remain
After I've cried my last
There'll be beauty from pain
Though it won't be today
Someday I'll hope again
And there'll be beauty from pain
You will bring beauty from my pain

Missing Mom

It hits at the strangest times, as I'm sure any of you who have lost a loved one (either physically or emotionally) can attest.  Today I nearly burst into tears in the middle of a store over some dish towels. There were red and white with hearts for Valentine's day and I wanted to buy them because my oldest daughter always gets so excited at seasonal towels. She loves the various hand towels that appear for each holiday in my mom's downstairs bathroom. They weren't really expensive, but definitely a luxury and since I'm trying to be careful about money, I didn't buy them. But I was suddenly struck by the thought that Mom would have bought something like that for me, for my daughter, just because she could and she knew it would make us happy and smile to have Valentine's towels of our own. Then and there in the line waiting to pay for my purchase, I nearly broke down sobbing.

I miss my mom so much, it's crazy. I remember how often she used to drive me nuts and I'd want to ignore her 37 calls and 52 e-mails each day. Now I'd give anything to see her address pop up in my in-box or hear her cheery ring on my cell phone. I want to talk to her, and I can't. Honestly, I think if she were dead I'd talk to her all the time now and just hope she could hear me up in heaven, crazy or not. Now, though, I walk into her hospital room and everything I want to say dies on my lips. I see her lying there and wonder if she can hear me, sense my mood, know what I'm feeling by how I act, and I can't bear the thought of dragging her down, discouraging her, frustrating her. What if I started crying in front of her and she could hear me but couldn't respond? How distressed would I be in that situation!!! I just can't do that to her.

I say that my mom used to drive me nuts and it's true. The truth is though, for all her quirks, all the things that drove me crazy, all the times I wanted to yell at her (or did yell at her), all her faults, all the things that I swore I'd never do to my kids, all those times I thought life would be easier if I moved across the country from her, my mom really was one of my best friends. Maybe I didn't see it that way, maybe I didn't even realize it, but she was. I could talk to her about most anything, enjoyed a lot of the same activities, and shared a good number of her strengths and faults. In many ways she encouraged me and was my mentor. I may not have admitted it, but in many ways I wanted to be like my mom. Now that everything has happened, I realize all this. How blind we are to what we have at the time.

So much of my life is tied to my mom. It's natural of course, but even worse because I live 10 minutes from my childhood home. So many memories. Sitting in the food court at the mall I remembered sitting there with her and the girls. Passing various stores I remembered the grand hunt for the perfect outfit and accessories for her, myself, and my girls for my brother's wedding. Sitting in church I see the flowers up front and think of the hundreds of arrangements she did for them. Cooking in her kitchen, sitting at her place at the table, I remember the hundreds of meals she cooked and served. There are thousands of memories because I walk where she walked, live in the area where she lived, was a close part of her life.

The problem is that when life gets tough, when I want to hole up and hide, when I want to scream at my kids, chuck shoes at my husband, curl up in a ball and cry, when I want to just vent to someone who I know will love me no matter what I do, I automatically think of my mom now. After all, she's never the one vexing me these days. But she's not there, not available, not able to listen, and hold me, and talk and pray for me and encourage me in the way that only a mother can...and it breaks my heart and leaves me feeling raw and miserable. I can't even write this entry without crying. No one can replace her. No one can be her. I just want my mom back, I just want her back.

The Guilt

I think most people struggle with guilt at some point, be it real or imagined. As a child I had an overactive conscious, which often led to feelings of guilt that didn't really belong...something that was pointed out to me later in life. Though I'm certainly more aware of these feelings of false guilt now, it doesn't mean that I don't struggle with it any less, especially now. In fact these days my life seems riddled with feelings of guilt about things that I can't really control. Probably at the top of the list is feeling guilty for not spending more time with my mom at the hospital...never mind that I have three small children, one a newborn who can't even visit and one who's been sick for three weeks now, I still feel horrible about it. I feel guilty for not going to the hospital more often, and guilty for not spending long periods of time there. I feel guilty for running out of things to say to her some days (I'm reading her a book to try and help with this problem), and guilty for not finding more ways I can stimulate her. On the flip side I feel guilty for leaving my newborn as often as I have to go off to the hospital. I feel guilty for not helping Dad more and making him more meals (don't feel bad, Daddy, it isn't your fault), and I feel guilty for taking so long to get back to people via phone and e-mail, even though I barely have any free time at all these days. I feel guilty for not calling or writing my family with more regularl updates on Mom. I feel guilty any time I think about going out and having fun or shopping for something not absolutely necessary (like food or prescriptions etc), even when I genuinely need something (like jeans and slippers, my only pairs having holes). After all, if I'm going out, I should be visiting with Mom, right? The guilt is everywhere, in everything. Don't bother telling me I shouldn't feel guilty, I already know that. It doesn't mean that I'm not going to struggle with it.

Being Forgotten

I have been waiting for it and dreading it since the first week after my mom's accident, the day when everyone forgets. I don't mean that people will forget that it ever happened, but things will change. People will stop writing notes, stop visiting her, stop asking how we are, stop offering help, stop praying for her, for us, both in church and in their private prayers. It terrifies me, the thought that eventually we'll be alone in our sadness, in our suffering, in our struggle to maintain hope and a normal life. We will live every day with the consequences of the accident, but others will be free to move on with their lives, to no longer be so burdened by the shock, the horror, the sad thoughts. I understand that it is part of life, but it still scares me, makes me sad, seems unfair. We don't get to move on so why does everyone else?

The Weight

Sometimes in life there are things that hang over our heads, things we dread, things that haunt us, things we don't want to face. These things haunt us at night, fill us with anxiety when we awaken and burden us throughout the day. Guilt, fear, worry, may all play a part. I've experienced this the same as most people, but never like I do now. It is this burden, like a lead weight set on my shoulders, that dampens my spirits and makes me feel like I can never fully experience joy again this side of Heaven. Knowing that my mom is lying in that hospital bed, not responding in any willful way is the reality that I am now forced to live with every day. Sometimes I try to forget, but it is never for long. I hate that it seems to color my world in such a debilitating way. Fatigue, anxiety, frustration, anger, pain and all the other negative emotions or experiences seem worse because of it, whereas the positive experiences like joy, happiness, excitement, laughter etc all feel dampened by my sadness. Sometimes I break down and cry in desperation because I feel like the burden is so enormous, will never go away, and is just too much to bear. The Bible says that God will not give us more than we can bear, but in my darkest moments I don't feel like I believe that. I feel like God has asked too much of me, too much of all of us. 

Most people experience tragedy and then are allowed to slowly and painfully move on with their lives. Things are never the same, but eventually the pain is less and the healing can take place. This isn't the case for me, for us. We're caught in this never ending vortex of tragedy and for the foreseeable future, it isn't going away. There isn't an ending point. We are perpetually caught up in our tragedy, which for now has no end and that is a heavy burden to carry day after day after day. Is it any wonder that I question my ability to make it through this experience, to bear up under the strain? What we wouldn't give for some relief.

Deceptive Appearances

Since the accident I can't say how many times people have said things to me like, "You look so good, " and "I can't believe how well you are doing," and "You are so strong!" I need to clarify something here and now. I am not strong, this is not easy and I am not doing well. Just because I am not dissolving into a puddle of tears at your feet does not mean that I am doing fine. You just don't happen to see the tears, the anger, the fear and the despair. When I have to talk about my mom, her condition, or the accident, my brain has a way of compartmentalizing things. It's like I switch from the emotional part of my brain to the factual, information part of my brain. This is a basic survival instinct. If I melted into tears every time I had to think or talk about this, I would be a wreck 98% of the time and unable to function normally. This is about survival.

If someone really wants to know how I'm doing, that's fine, but he or she needs to prepared for the honest truth in words, not for me to break down crying if I'm not doing okay. I am just not the kind of person who cries in front of any and everyone. In fact that probably characterizes most of the members of my family. We may look fine on the outside, but inside our hearts feel like they've been mashed into a million pieces, which are bleeding all over the place. This experience is brutal and ongoing and not something we are going to be okay with possibly ever, let alone a short amount of time. Yes I may speak calmly, yes I may smile, yes I may even laugh but inside I am just a scared little girl crying for her mommy.

New Year's Resolutions

I'm sure many people all over the world today are making New Year's resolutions. Items like, "lose weight," and "eat better," and "spend less/save more," and "be a better person" seem to top many lists. With all the complications in my life right now, making resolutions like these are the last thing on my mind, however on the way home from the hospital this afternoon I got to thinking about the things I would try (resolve is too strong a word) to do this year.

First and Foremost I will just try to survive the year. It may sound trite, but in my life right now, it's important. I will try to be honest on this blog so that others can understand what living with Mom in a coma is like. I will try to keep my children visiting their Nana, talking to them about her and showing them pictures so that their memories of her before the accident won't fade. I will keep trying to hope even when all hope seems gone. This will be hard, but I will try.