The little wheels bounced on the roughness of the blacktop, and the cart made a dreadful noise as I pulled my keys out of my purse. "Are you enjoying your Sunday so far?" she asked, all bright and cheerful in her tee shirt which matched the skin of a granny smith apple.
I wanted to stop, sit my rear end on the parking lot below me, and switch back and forth between weeping and screaming. No, I wasn't particularly enjoying my Sunday so far, and that was the reason why I didn't want her to help me out with my stupid groceries anyway. It was just a few bags, like one too many to carry them out with no buggy. I didn't need the help, nor did I want it, but she seemed so eager, so I gave in.
"Yes... it's been a pretty good day. Thanks." We shuffled the bags into the trunk, making small talk about something else cheerful. I smiled and played along with the game. She wheeled my cart back into the store and I shut myself into my car and took a deep breath watching other customers walk in and out of the sliding doors wondering what their Sunday has looked like.
I went down to see my mom. Things are not good. Friday her blood work revealed that her liver functions are decreasing rapidly. She showed a significant decrease in functions from the week before and has retained quite a bit of fluid. Her oncologist went ahead with the chemo scheduled for the day, but he let us know that if this one did not knock it down, things would go down hill fairly quickly.
As of today, she is comfortable and in her bed. She is lucid but sleeping a lot during the day. She is able to eat some and enjoyed her lunch and a piece of cake while I was there. She is tired.
Right now, we sit in wait. She will either take a turn for the better or worse. We wait and watch and minister to her needs in the meantime.
There's something maddening in the waiting for all of us... the thoughts of what is to come float randomly through our heads. The fear of the unknown weighs heavily on our hearts. The grief begins to thicken in our blood. The decision the lay it all at the feet of Jesus becomes a moment to moment choice like each of my mother's breaths that are labored from the scar tissue around her lungs.
It's hard to lay such a burden as this at His feet, even though you know it's the only choice. It's hard to let go of it, to surrender full control, to allow yourself to admit that there is nothing to be done but wait, pray, and love her.