Exhaustion



Yesterday was difficult.  There’s really not a better word.  The synonyms for that word include: tricky, hard, easier said than done, complicated, thorny, complex and intricate…all words that fit at some point during the day.  The day started difficult and only went downhill until evening time, when mom was finally able to sleep.  The day was so hard for me that I couldn’t write about it until today…hoping that a night of rest would help me to see that it really wasn’t as bad as it felt…and today I feel a little more restored and recentered than I did when I went to sleep late last night.

The day started early with exhaustion.  When your heart and ears are tuned to listen for calls of help, no matter who’s here to assist, there’s really no such thing as sleep.  I’m talking the kind of sleep that renews and lets your body regroup.  Instead sleep is restless, never quite slipping deep enough to relax…eyes closed and brain in cruise…listening and alert.  Exhaustion has to be the most difficult part of care-giving because it’s insipid and wants to interfere with normal function.  Exhaustion steals patience…it steals joy…it steals the ability to operate in normal mode.  Exhaustion makes the wee, tiny, normally easily-managed tasks become heavy burdens.  Exhaustion makes the joyful events less celebratory.  Exhaustion is a tool of satan…a foothold…and no matter what you want to do to make sure you don’t get there, the task of caregiving just doesn’t allow it to be avoided. 

I’m tired…so tired that my hairs hurt.  My teeth hurt.  My face hurts from trying to smile when all I want to do is cry.  And last night I let go and got a little of the crying done.  Not all of it, but enough to relieve some of the pressure that’s been building inside. 

You see, just like my dying mother is able to reach somewhere deep in her reserves and find the ability to rise up and put on a good face when company stops by, I’m able to reach somewhere deep inside and keep going when I don’t want to any more.  Even as I write this the tears start flowing.  These are the things I will NOT miss when mom is finally with dad in heaven:

1. I will not miss the phrase, “Please, just let me go.”
2. I will not miss the question, “What’s wrong with me?”
3. I will not miss the empty stare of her eyes when she’s confused.
4. I will not miss the incessant breathing of the oxygen machine…a sound that NEVER goes away.
5. I will not miss watching mom’s chest rise and fall in sleep…wishing that it would stop so I’d know she’s finally at rest.
6. I will not miss having to wait 30 minutes for her to take 5 pills because she has to ask about each pill and understand why she’s taking it and listening to her try to talk us out of making her take it.
7. I will not miss putting out a bottle of Boost, her only form of nourishment, to hear her say, “I just can’t drink any of that.”
8. I will not miss “Put it up…put it down…up…down” as we try to adjust her bed so that she can find some sort of comfortable position.
9. I will not miss the fear that she will suffocate as the tumors push against her lungs and shut off her ability to simply breathe.
10. I will not miss the politics of death…who to allow in for a visit…who to ask to be part of the funeral so that no one feels left out…the planning of a service that honors 76 years of life in less than one hour.
11. I will not miss being separated from my wonderful support system in my husband, children and grandchildren …the people who bring so much joy and strength to my life.
12. I will not miss feeling helpless for the task at hand.
13. I will not miss crying out to God in the middle of the night because it hurts too much to watch mom suffer.
14. I will not miss having to hide my tears so that I don’t add to anyone else’s worries.

I felt like I needed to be honest today.  So many think I’m strong…and I’m just not.  There’s a Twila Paris song I remember from teenager/young adulthood that is so appropriate for this moment:

The Warrior is a Child

Lately I've been winning battles left and right
But even winners can get wounded in the fight
People say that I'm amazing
Strong beyond my years
But they don't see inside of me
I'm hiding all the tears

They don't know that I go running home when I fall down
They don't know who picks me up when no one is around
I drop my sword and cry for just a while
'Cause deep inside this armor
The warrior is a child

Unafraid because His armor is the best
But even soldiers need a quiet place to rest
People say that I'm amazing
Never face retreat
But they don't see the enemies
That lay me at His feet

They don't know that I go running home when I fall down
They don't know who picks me up when no one is around
I drop my sword and and cry for just a while
'Cause deep inside this armor
the warrior is a child

Today I am a child and holding on to the promise that when I’m weak, He’s strong.  I shared with a friend late last night that my brother Richard said, “The best day of cancer was yesterday.”  The truth is that I knew when I went to bed last night that there was no hope that today could be better.  The only hope for a better day is the day she’s not in my life any more…because she’s with Him.  And so I prayed last night that God would let her close her eyes and wake in His arms as quickly as possible.

On a weird note…a few weeks ago I saw the list of hurricane names for 2011.  The 13^th letter “L” would be a hurricane named “Lee”…my mom’s maiden name…my middle name…my daughter’s first name.  I said then, “You just watch…we’ll be burying mom when Hurricane Lee is on the horizon.”  This morning a storm is brewing off the coast of Louisiana…a storm that could easily turn into Hurricane Lee.  The heavens will open up and cry for us when we send mom home…cry for our loss as we rejoice for her gain. 

I knew this would be difficult… tricky…hard…easier said than done…complicated…thorny…complex…intricate.  But I really didn’t have a clue about the reality of walking in the shadow of death.  The Lord is my shepherd…that is the only truth that will get me through these next few days.  And now you know why prayer is the lifeline that sustains a person through dark times.  I am stronger this morning than I was as I cried myself to sleep last night…but I’m also still exhausted.   Exhaustion…a tool of the devil…so grateful for Scriptural truths like:

Greater is He that is in me, than He that is in the world!

Many will respond to this blog with statements like:  “You need to take care of yourself or you won’t be able to take care of her.” or “You need to make sure you get some rest.” or “Maybe you should go somewhere and get some rest.”  Understand this…until she rests I cannot rest.  There is no place I can go that she won’t be in my heart and soul.  She is connected to me right now and I’d be even more restless away from her.  So I turn my exhaustion over to the One who promised He wouldn’t give us more than we could handle…and I ask Him that if there’s more of this to come that He handle it for me.  I’m out of energy.  I’m out of strength.  And I’m going to let Him do the holding on because I can’t even do that any more. 

Please, Lord…let her come home soon…but only if it’s Your will (how hard it must have been for our Savior to say those words knowing what He was facing…the Word is taking on a whole new meaning in this walk).