Today is my parents' 36th wedding anniversary, and unless God grants us a miracle, it will be their last. Mom has been going downhill this past week. She eats less and less--usually just a small bowl of applesauce or jello a day--and can't keep down most of what she does eat. She has lost a lot of weight and strength; she now needs help to turn on her side (she usually lays on her back). She isn't as alert as she has been the past few weeks, but that could be due to the nausea medication she's taking. But the worst thing is seeing her lose her positive attitude.
Since she has been sick, mom has (for the most part) had a positive attitude. I wouldn't exactly call it hopeful, since she hasn't expected to recover (at least she hasn't expected that for the past couple of months). But she hasn't been angry or depressed; she's been telling those who asked that, although she doesn't understand God's choices, she believes that he is in control. Why didn't he allow the doctors to find the cancer sooner? She doesn't know, but accepts that this was his timing. Why don't the doctors know what type of cancer it is or how to treat it? She doesn't know, but God led her to these doctors at this time. She always speaks of God's goodness and wisdom, and saw it as her place to praise him and talk to others about him in the hospital (it's funny how many more times God and religion come up in a cancer ward). And since she's been home, she's been the one giving words of encouragement to others. But now, even though she hasn't turned bitter or angry or started blaming God, she's slipping, perhaps into a depression.
Several days ago, mom told me that all of this "laying around" is "getting to [her]." And no wonder; she's been bedridden for thirteen weeks as of today. Dad had a hard time talking with her last night, because she kept staring off into space and letting her mind wander. Like I said, it could be contributed to the medication in part, but she's been taking the newest med for at least a week and was not as unresponsive as she is now. Today we had a Comfort Keeper in since Dad, Beth, and I all had to work and Aunt Janet was taking care of her grandchildren. Sue said that she dozed or slept most of the day. Mom's friend Cathy wanted to come visit and mom told her not to come. Thankfully, Cathy called back and said she really wanted to come and mom gave in. Mom said she had a good visit and is glad she let Cathy come, but she also said she's tired of having visitors because she's out of things to say. It's hard to see her this way--basically giving up--but I can understand it, too. I wouldn't want to lay in bed all day long for months on end. When I did have a dream that mom was up and about the house, sitting in the living room chair, I told her about it trying to get her hopes back up. She said she didn't think it would ever be possible again because her spine is literally disappearing, being eaten away by the cancer. Like I said, it would take a miracle.
Yesterday, dad asked me and my brother for our opinions. He was trying to choose between two different pictures of my mom taken by Olan Mills for their church directory in the past year. He said he wanted to order an 11x14, and I didn't understand why he wanted such a big portrait of mom. Then he told me: he's thinking of having a closed casket at her funeral. I think it's because she's losing all of her hair from the few chemo treatments that she did have, and she's very self-conscious about it, trying to preserve what's left. She doesn't really look like herself anymore, either, since her cheeks are already sunken and the skin has grown tighter. He decided on a framed, matted 8x10 instead, and called to order it today. His one concern, he had told me, was getting it here in time--he was afraid it might take more than one or two weeks, and afraid that might be too long. When he ordered it, he asked that they put a rush on it since they said it usually takes three to four weeks. He explained why he needed it and a few minutes later the studio called back. When the supervisor heard dad's story, he requested a seven-day rush and waived all fees (it would have been $95 total). That's such a blessing for my family at this time. Dad was so grateful that he told mom and me as soon as he had a chance after arriving home.
And there's another blessing to report: while we don't have any figures, dad's work said that they have received more than they ever expected to receive for the benefit that they're putting on for the family tomorrow night--not only in monetary donations, but in raffle donations, as well. Among the items they're raffling off at the spaghetti dinner are an autographed jersey from Chris Chelios, Red Wing tickets, and Pistons tickets (1 for $1, 6 for $5). Of course, there are smaller donations for the raffle, as well. I won't be able to go since I'm taking care of mom, but I'm sending raffle money (hey, I love the Red Wings) and don't mind passing on the spaghetti (never really liked it). But the things people can win aren't what really matter; what matters is that people are pouring out their love and support and helping my mom and dad in a time of need, and we can't be thankful enough. Thanks to everyone who has played a part in this. I'll close with a snippet from a song by Michael Card, a christian artist that has blessed me through his music. This song, especially, has stuck with me through the years, because of its simple tune, words, and the story behind the song (you can listen to part of it, too). It's called Barocha and my favorite part is my prayer for you:
The Lord bless you and keep you
The Lord make his face shine upon you
And give you peace
And give you peace
And give you peace forever
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