Journal entry by Jennifer Rogers —
A beautiful day. A lonely day. A day filled with love.
This Easter Sunday was a different sort of chaos. Years past it has been get everyone awake and to the Flower Mound before sunrise and without tears, get to Grandma's in time to smell the smells and hunt the eggs. Laughing, music, so much food. Love. Get to the other side of the family for another church service, candy baskets, deviled eggs... Make it home by sundown and breathe a sigh of love and gratitude for the busy but glorious day.
This year began with a bit of dragging of the feet. We all slept through sunrise service. The focus was the 3 hours to be spent with Grandma and Grandpa, how it would go, what we should eat, or not eat, what we should do, or not do, what Dad might need, what Mom might need, what the kids might need. It was more like the days of new motherhood, walking around with a blindfold on and eyes wide open not sure which way to go, but hoping by the end of the day you could look back and say I think it went okay.
It went beautifully.
Katy and Emma laughed and sat close on the couch.
Paul, Charaka, and Dad worked hard in the yard pulling weeds, planting beauty, and mowing. Just mowing.
Kayli ran the vaccuum, I boiled and baked, Katy and Emma chopped and presented all the colors of fruit and veggies.
Caden has a broken ankle and was recovering from surgery this year, so he was Grandma's constant companion. He worked some on school and read, all the while reaching over with the recliner wedged against Grandma's bed to hold, stroke, or squeeze her hand. She mostly had her eyes closed. But I would look out from the kitchen and see her looking up at the paintings on the wall, or the mobile on the ceiling, and see Cadens hand near hers, reminding her she wasn't sitting alone.
We all rotated over throughout the day giving her updates on what we had each just done, what we were about to do, what the others were doing.
She doesn't smile. Or even grin. But her eyes occasionally lock in just long enough that it seems as though she hears. And sees.
At the end of the day, I am pleading with God for healing. I am in awe of the resurrection of Jesus, without which the gospel message would be empty. But he rose. And he came back and walked with regular people like us, like me, to show that everlasting life is real. Hope is real. So I go to my knees as the shower rains down and cry and plead to the LORD, Please save my Mom. Knowing deep down he has already saved her. He is saving her every day. Giving her what she needs to be here until he takes her home. Giving us what we need to be here with her.
Mom's vitals are remarkably good. Great, even. Her skin has the same beautiful glow it did 5 years ago. It is soft and smooth. Like the hugs she used to give. Her eyes are clear and bright and have so so many stories inside of them. Her breath is steady and relaxed. Her sleep is still and easy.
We have learned she has lead poisoning, and her lymphatic system is stressed. There is mold in her body, and toxins in her cells.
Does it matter? We don't know.
For now, we keep doing the best we can for her. Praying each day is as comfortable as it can possibly be. Taking into consideration the information we have learned, and Dad is so so deliberate about keeping up with her schedule - feeding, hydration, medicine, changing, repositioning, and just giving her attention. He is her true love. The one who sees her, all of her, and loves her. And loves serving her. And loves these moments with her, as abbreviated as they are.
And we all somewhere, sometimes, in the privacy of our own grief and love for Mom, plead - please save her.
Whatever that looks like. Her peace, comfort, salvation, joy, and hope are all any of us really want.
Thank you for loving Kathleen.
Thank you for loving us.
May we all walk in the truth that one went before us in suffering and condemnation, and rose in everlasting life. Grace, hope, love and so much gratitude to you all as we close another week of remembering and celebrating the resurrection of Jesus.
This Easter Sunday was a different sort of chaos. Years past it has been get everyone awake and to the Flower Mound before sunrise and without tears, get to Grandma's in time to smell the smells and hunt the eggs. Laughing, music, so much food. Love. Get to the other side of the family for another church service, candy baskets, deviled eggs... Make it home by sundown and breathe a sigh of love and gratitude for the busy but glorious day.
This year began with a bit of dragging of the feet. We all slept through sunrise service. The focus was the 3 hours to be spent with Grandma and Grandpa, how it would go, what we should eat, or not eat, what we should do, or not do, what Dad might need, what Mom might need, what the kids might need. It was more like the days of new motherhood, walking around with a blindfold on and eyes wide open not sure which way to go, but hoping by the end of the day you could look back and say I think it went okay.
It went beautifully.
Katy and Emma laughed and sat close on the couch.
Paul, Charaka, and Dad worked hard in the yard pulling weeds, planting beauty, and mowing. Just mowing.
Kayli ran the vaccuum, I boiled and baked, Katy and Emma chopped and presented all the colors of fruit and veggies.
Caden has a broken ankle and was recovering from surgery this year, so he was Grandma's constant companion. He worked some on school and read, all the while reaching over with the recliner wedged against Grandma's bed to hold, stroke, or squeeze her hand. She mostly had her eyes closed. But I would look out from the kitchen and see her looking up at the paintings on the wall, or the mobile on the ceiling, and see Cadens hand near hers, reminding her she wasn't sitting alone.
We all rotated over throughout the day giving her updates on what we had each just done, what we were about to do, what the others were doing.
She doesn't smile. Or even grin. But her eyes occasionally lock in just long enough that it seems as though she hears. And sees.
At the end of the day, I am pleading with God for healing. I am in awe of the resurrection of Jesus, without which the gospel message would be empty. But he rose. And he came back and walked with regular people like us, like me, to show that everlasting life is real. Hope is real. So I go to my knees as the shower rains down and cry and plead to the LORD, Please save my Mom. Knowing deep down he has already saved her. He is saving her every day. Giving her what she needs to be here until he takes her home. Giving us what we need to be here with her.
Mom's vitals are remarkably good. Great, even. Her skin has the same beautiful glow it did 5 years ago. It is soft and smooth. Like the hugs she used to give. Her eyes are clear and bright and have so so many stories inside of them. Her breath is steady and relaxed. Her sleep is still and easy.
We have learned she has lead poisoning, and her lymphatic system is stressed. There is mold in her body, and toxins in her cells.
Does it matter? We don't know.
For now, we keep doing the best we can for her. Praying each day is as comfortable as it can possibly be. Taking into consideration the information we have learned, and Dad is so so deliberate about keeping up with her schedule - feeding, hydration, medicine, changing, repositioning, and just giving her attention. He is her true love. The one who sees her, all of her, and loves her. And loves serving her. And loves these moments with her, as abbreviated as they are.
And we all somewhere, sometimes, in the privacy of our own grief and love for Mom, plead - please save her.
Whatever that looks like. Her peace, comfort, salvation, joy, and hope are all any of us really want.
Thank you for loving Kathleen.
Thank you for loving us.
May we all walk in the truth that one went before us in suffering and condemnation, and rose in everlasting life. Grace, hope, love and so much gratitude to you all as we close another week of remembering and celebrating the resurrection of Jesus.
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