Eight years ago late May, Hubby and I were married. My mom was in attendance. She was a week away from being 48. She suffered from chronic-progressive Multiple Sclerosis, and was quadriplegic.
One week later, on her birthday, she spiked a fever. Two days after that, Hubby and I saw her, passing through the area on the way back from our honeymoon. She seemed to be doing fairly well at that time. Whenever her temperature rose, her already-compromised speech ability took a nosedive, but the evening/morning we spent with her showed little of that. I was so relieved to have her on the upswing.
We continued to our 500 square-foot apartment two hours away from her.
Within a few more days, she had really lost ground, and my grandma ‘didn’t think she would make it’. I found this almost unbelievable. We returned to spend time with her that weekend, and my active-duty military brother got leave to come as well. Again, she seemed… okay. It was very surreal. Sitting at her bedside as my grandmother dialed old friends, so mom could say goodbye. It was on speakerphone. “Laurie’s not doing too well. She’s been sick and we don’t expect her to make it.” Loudly. Beside my mom. The caller would gasp, and ask for information. Grandma would reply, “She’s right here on speakerphone.” “Laurie, oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. How are you doing?” My mom would reply, “Oh, pretty good.” As though her impending doom hadn’t just been announced to yet another acquaintance. She rallied enough for ‘one last wish:’ to go four-wheeling in my brother’s pickup. You’ve never laughed until you’ve seen a quadriplegic mother tied in to the cab of a small pickup. Her head was tied to the headrest, seat belt fastened, arms and legs secured where they needed to be. He took her on some rough foothill terrain, amid her … peals of laughter. I don’t know if her laughter really pealed or not… Slow inhalations of excitement, like the squeaks of washing windows, but louder. Death did not seem to hover near.
It did, however. That evening she pulled herself inward, it seemed. There were definite signs that she was not long for this earth, if you were trained to see them. My grandma (her caretaker) could feel the grinding of her pelvis when she turned her. Years of medication had taken their toll, and the bones of her pelvis had broken in the middle. She was on morphine by this time, thankfully. The skin on her hip tore loose in an area.
Three days after four-wheeling, she died. It was a Thursday, before 4:00. She was surrounded by dear friends and family.
Sunday was the 8th anniversary of her death.
Just over a week ago, my aunt (my mom’s younger sister by 8 years) went to the ER. No one knew until Friday that she was in the hospital, and I heard about it Saturday. She is suffering from liver failure and kidney failure. They tried dialysis on Saturday night, with the understanding that if this didn’t work, there was nothing else they could do.
It didn’t work.
She is 48 as my mom was.
I would be so grateful if you prayed. While physical healing would be wonderful, far more important is a healing of her heart. She needs to know and understand the love of Jesus, even if it’s in her sedated state.
Her husband needs to know the same thing. They have no children. She is the second child my grandparents will bury, barring a miracle, and they are grieving, of course.
I’m sorry for the bizarre, rambly nature of this post… We covet your prayers, and that was my intended post here, but the memory of my mom and the suddenness of this is all bubbling around in my heart.