when you are trolled by life volume 249034902384902348903248903489290

I’ve got a lot of questions.

I’m not always the best Christian.  In fact, I may be the worst.  Truly.  My sin and my flesh would embarrass most everyone reading this, but I’d venture that if you were honest with yourself, yours would, too.  I am nothing if not honest and I reckon you already know that.

Last week, I wrote about how angry I was with God about what was happening with my Mom.  I realize by stating that publicly, I opened myself up to a plethora of platitudes (and I got them).  I was honest about my feelings anyway.

I was mad because I know the level of faith my Mother has and it is unfair to think of her struggling with something that was supposed to finished.  I was mad because it shouldn’t happen to people like my Mama, or my sister in law’s Mama, or children, or… or… or… (this list goes on and on).  Perhaps anger is an immature reaction, but nobody else gets to decide that for me.  As human beings, we go through the stages of grief on an individual basis.

Grief and acceptance of circumstances are an emotionally draining, life sucking roller coaster of doubt and pity; you will be bruised, you will be beaten up, you will hurt, and you will be broken.  These are just the facts.

Last week, we were bruised and bloodied, and all I could do was beg for some good news.  I remember saying, “I just need it to not be as bad as they think it is.” and that was the best I could muster.  My Mama, though, she was not defeated.  She KNEW we were getting good news yesterday.  See, that’s the kind of faith I’m talking about, and even if we didn’t get the news she wanted, she still would’ve had it.  “He is still good.” she would’ve said, and I’m sure of it.  I’m just not sure I would’ve been able to agree.

I wish I had the kind of faith that made me agree.

These are the kinds of things I really obsess over and spend a lot of time turning over and over in my mind.  Why did my Mom get good news yesterday and yet, so many other folks don’t?  I don’t have those answers.  I want them, I want them so badly for the people I love and care about who are going through this, and for people that I don’t even know.  I want something more tangible than ‘bad things happen to good people’ and ‘it rains on the just as well as the unjust’ because I’m just not satisfied with those answers in the face of imminent, horrible pain, suffering, and loss.

Maybe not being able to ‘trust God’s plan’ makes me a bad Christian.  I remember talking to my brother a couple of weeks ago and I said, “Mom said that God’s got this.” and Tommy said, “Does he?” and all I could say was, “I don’t know.”

I don’t always know, but I scrape my way back to the foot of the cross and I beg Him to love me, flaws and all, doubts and all, rebellious flesh and all, questions and all, and He does. I will open up my most broken parts and tell you that sometimes I question if God is even there, I get frustrated and upset, I’m not good at church, I’m not good at (always) being kind, I’m less than stellar with my potty mouth, I do things that would probably be a stumbling block to most of you reading this, and I am honest about them all.  I don’t hide anything about who I am and I can’t hide anything about who I am to God anyhow.

That being said, I am clinging to the news that there is no cancer in my Mama’s kidney’s with the greatest trepidation and the most sincere hope.  She told me she believed God would heal her, and I’m hesitant to say that’s what happened (or is happening) because so many other people believe and the healing never comes.  But, I can tell you that I saw those scans with my own eyes and an oncologist looked straight at her and said the words ‘advanced cancer’ and then there was literally nothing on a PET scan a few days later.  I can tell you that with certainty because I lived it.  Whatever was in those scans last week was either never there or was removed and I don’t know which it was, but I will certainly breathe a sigh of relief and thank God through it all.

And you better believe I’ll hug my sweet Mama’s neck just a little bit tighter for as long as I possibly can.

i couldn’t possibly have a title.

I have stared at this blinking cursor for what feels like an eternity.  I’m not sure where to start or what to say, so I’ll just start typing and see where this ends.

Life is not fair.

I hate that saying.  Of course life isn’t fair.  Of course I know that.  Life isn’t fair.

That phrase has ruminated through my skull for the last 24+ hours.  I replay the moment Dr. Lopez pulled up the radiologist’s report of the pelvic scan my Mama had done yesterday and it said “consistent with metastasis” over and over and over again in my head.  My sister made a sound, a gasp, I don’t know, and Mom and I sat there silent.  I think I nodded.  I think.  Maybe.

This was the moment we feared the most.  No, I don’t live in fear, but reality exists for a reason, and the possibility of this happening never left the back of my mind.  But, it still feels very surreal.  We stood in the lobby awaiting our respective turns in the bathroom and my sister said, “This doesn’t feel real” and I nodded.

“This is what we were afraid of this whole time. This news.” Andi looked at me and I looked at her and we were both completely blank.

“I know.”

Life is not fair.

We don’t have all the facts, a treatment plan, or a full scope of what’s happening, but I can tell you this from the jump – I am not ready to give up my Mama.  I guess that’s pretty selfish since a lot of people reading this have given up a parent, but I’m nothing if not honest.  I’m not trying to do any of this.  Nobody ever is, huh?  Yeah, I get it.

Watching a natural disaster unfold never seems entirely real because it isn’t you.  You can hurt for folks, but you aren’t living their nightmare, so it’s not the same.  I have wept for folks experiencing devastation and loss, I ache for them, I pray for them, but it was never me.  I can remember hearing bleak diagnoses and prognoses for other people and feeling grief for them, but it still wasn’t me or mine.  My day continued and my life had to move forward as normal.

At this moment, I am trapped inside a hurricane, frozen in my own questions and grief.  I am so angry.  Not for myself, believe it or not, but because life is so unfair.  It should be anybody OTHER than my Mother.  As if life hasn’t already taken enough from her or dealt her enough crap hands.  A natural disaster is unfolding and I can’t do anything but watch.  There was no way to truly prepare, but there never is.  We will watch helplessly and pray to God there is something salvageable when this storm, too, passes.

I am so mad at God, just like I was last year.  I keep muttering, disgusted, “You weren’t supposed to let this happen again” but I’ll still call on Him because it’s all I know to do right now.  I don’t deserve His mercies, but my Mama certainly does.  More than anybody, she does.

I am not giving up on my Mom, but the only thing I know to do is write when my heart feels this way.  This burden, this heavy cloak of dread, depression, and pain weigh on me and this is my outlet.  I will be strong for her and everyone else.  I will put on the straight face and deal with what comes.  I will be the rock, steady and solid, no matter what comes.

Right now, I must believe that she will beat this, too.  I must believe it.  I do believe it.

I believe that she will beat this, too.