Illness and the Disappearing Act

In October 2021, my Mother was sick and I traveled to my home in Ohio hoping to help out, and when I returned home to NC, my husband Chris was sick. Was it heartburn, indigestion, or maybe the usual flare-up of sinus or allergies causing him to lose weight? He already has these issues, so I thought it couldn't be serious and I was glad he was losing weight due to his threat of obesity. 

I said goodbye to Mother on December 1, 2021, and after her funeral, I returned home and Chris had an endoscopy. The doctor came into the recovery room and asked us to pray for him, I carried anointing oil and applied a bit to the doctor's forehead and the three of us prayed. I felt honored actually believing the godly doctor was asking for intercession for himself. A minute after 'amen,' he showed us the results and a walnut-sized tumor was blocking my husband's esophagus. Chris had cancer.

Now, after two years of very proactive medical help, successful surgery removing all the threats, and constant, caring medical intervention, Chris is still sick, and unable to digest his meals. I'm watching my Dearest disappear in front of me when I wake up, return home from work, see him before bedtime, and try to cuddle against his back. At every encounter, he is thinner. 

Chris wears loose clothing to hide his bones, but I know he is even thinner than the man I married. I thought he was bony then, but nothing compares to what he looks like now. I pray with the image of holding on to the foot of the cross believing God has a purpose for this terrifying reality while praying for healing. I plead the blood of Christ over my own lack of faith. Are we being impatient? Am I hoping to become a widow and free of parish life? Should I plan to survive without Dearest in my life?

There are times I am so very selfish, and sinful that I actually wish he would pass and be free of such misery. His constant pain and nausea keep him confined to limited spaces. He vacuums, cooks, and keeps his office hours at the church parish and averages 9-10 thousand steps on his Fitbit everyday. Chris has always been diligent with his personal responsibilities; he has to because I have to work with no choice. Yet, despite all the highest efforts by medical and our best diet habits, he still cannot gain weight. All we can do is pray believing and pursue the best health habits possible, then the rest belongs to God. Please God heal...please heal my Dearest. Is it wrong that I pray, 'please?'

Thank God for the best of health insurance, health care, a loving family, and a loving church family. Thank God for His mercy and grace in our lives...Thank God for He is with us, guiding us in His Perfect Will as we follow Jesus in His Way...Thank God Our Lord took stripes and our sickness on Himself...Thank God for His perfect salvation from all sin...Thank God for the mind to pray and help us trust and obey Him...Thank God for Our Lord's Triumphant Ressurection...Thank God for His Mercy on my life...

...Oh God, what have I done to hurt my Dearest so? Is my failing the cause of his suffering? Can you really hear my cries for his healing even though I am frail and weak in faith? Have I become so hideous from my many poor choices in life that You cannot see me or hear me? What must I do to see Dearest healed in every wholistic sense and living with me?...What must I DO?

Ok, Faith without works is dead...the just shall live by faith...by faith are we saved through grace and not of works lest any man should boast...

Alright, nothing I haven't heard before...trying to believe. 'AT the Cross...' at the very foot of the cross...the muddy, bloody, smelly, even the awful stench of the vinegar and decaying corpses not far away...I'll stay here and wait and hold on for Dearest's Life.

Thank God that He is the Supreme Ruler of all our unknowns.

I will Trust in God who knows I am dust. 

Mommy, It's Nita. May I come in? Mother's illness.

I knocked on Mom's bedroom door and said, "Mommy, it's Nita. May I come in?"

No answer for a long time.

"Ok. I'll come back a little later. Let me know if you want anything."

A little later, like one or two minutes, I knocked on Mom's bedroom door and said, "Mommy, it's Nita. May I come in now?"

No answer for a long time.

I'm an adult child, married and barren by choice, yet want somehow to enter Mommy's world. I want to, at least, freely give her my hands and feet. It's very difficult for a saint, like my mother, to receive any help at all much less from me, so she doesn't answer her bedroom door, and somehow I understand, because I too strive for self-reliance, independence.

I'm ok, but Mother is not.

One month later:

No more chemotherapy for Mommy. One treatment will temporarily stop the cancer growth and symptoms, but cruel doctors tell her she will not live past the weekend. 

I rush home, and I find a house full of people, some strangers, and some friends, and Mom is in a hospital bed in the living room sleeping. Everyone but Mom is telling me she is dying. People cry, wonder, and look at the house furnishings. I sit by Mom and sing old-shaped note songs she taught me and worry about disturbing her rest. 

"Mommy, are you comfortable? Am I disturbing you?"

No answer for a long time.

Then I help Mom wash, change, and sit comfortably in her recliner. She hates her bald head, scarves, and walker.

'Nit, I want you to gather all your things and leave, go home and get back to your job.'

"Yes, Mom. I love you."

Mom is ok, but I'm not. 

Because of Mom, I will be ok.