faith unfaded

Who knew an entire world could shift so drastically in five days?

The highs, the lows. The hope, the despair.

She struggles and I pray for the Lord to take her swiftly. Then she’s fully present and I pray for the Lord to give us more time with her.

I hold her hand and she squeezes mine. She lets me know she’s still here.

I hold it again and it’s limp. Her breathing ragged, her eyes remaining shut… I pray for the Lord to let her go gently into that good night.

Psalm 23 repeats in my head. Is that for her… or for me?

She stares into space. She reaches her hand. It’s okay, we tell her. We love her enough to let her go. We know her body and her mind will be whole once again—and we take comfort in that.

But she doesn’t seem ready, so we stay by her side and fight with her. It seems cruel watching her suffer—I can feel the devil goading me into blaming God.

It won’t work this time. He’s done too much for me—for all of us. I have to trust in His timing and infinite wisdom.

My grief isn’t pretty. It isn’t admirable. In fact, it’s downright messy at times. But faith prevails. It takes the lead when my emotions run wild.

It’s after midnight. Things have taken another turn. With every missed breath, my own heart starts racing. I don’t want her to go. And I don’t want her to suffer. Watching my mother die has been excruciatingly painful.

And yet it hasn’t fully sinked in. I find myself accepting that there will be a new normal without her in it. And yet I find myself doing random things, like grabbing a cup to make her Icee when I make my own or grabbing a breast out of Dad’s chicken box to save for Mom.

She hasn’t really been with us this evening. Is it sundowning… or the progression towards the end? Will tomorrow bring her back to us? Will there even be a tomorrow?

The uncertainty looms as a big dark cloud at all times. Occasionally the sun peeks through, but mostly it’s rain.

But I know the One who holds the umbrella. ☔️