“It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the LORD…He sitteth alone and keep silence, because he hath borne it upon him…For the Lord will not cast off forever: But though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies.”~Lamentations 3:26-32
Many have written me or said in person that my openness and “realness” have been a blessing. Being an open book helps them understand a little better and know how to pray.
I suppose I don’t know any other way to be than I am. But I will say, I haven’t been nearly as open as I wished to be at times. There are moments throughout the day that are so hard, so “real”, and so troublesome that there really are no words to utter. Just tears.
These are the moments that God just sits and listens to my heart, even though I speak nothing. He lets me tell Him every fear, frustration, fatigue. Memories spill out as I tell God who Molly was before the tumor, as if He didn’t know.
You see, that is the hardest thing. We are grieving two Molly’s. The one we knew for about 6 years left us slowly, but is gone now. Our fearless, roller coaster junky who was always the first one up and the last one to bed. She always, ALWAYS was up for a laugh, prank, or joke. But there was so much more. She was sweet, loving, and snuggly. Sometimes moody, she could snap out of it with a tickle. Devotion to sisters like no other. She would be the first to stand up for them.
But the Molly before our eyes, is not this Molly. She’s a new daughter, in a way. She’s a shell of who once was. Medications and tumor have changed her personality. We rarely see glimpses of who she was. To get an “I love you” before bed makes us soar. Her smiles are smaller. Her memories are dimmer. She lives in a place that she very seldom lets anyone join her.
People say, “Enjoy the time. Make lots of memories!” And honestly, it makes me so mad. I would love to make memories and enjoy this time. But in a way, Molly is already gone. She won’t let us enjoy her. She pushes us away. She yells. She cries. She demands. And the only joy that she really has is eating… but even that is harder for her now.
So here we are, trying to do our best. We try to love the girls the way Christ loves us. We are trying to give them some happiness during this time. But the weight is so very heavy. The sadness enveloping at times.
I realize that if this wasn’t me writing this, and I was reading some other person’s account, I would probably be confused and not understand. You can’t get it unless you live it. But this isn’t for anyone else. This is for me.
I want to remember that the end was hard, so that when someone else is hurting with similar circumstances, I can help them along their way. If anything, I can try to carry some of their pain for them. That and prayer is all we can do.
A wonderful friend, who is very wise, likened this journey to a mountain. The mountain is so high, you can’t just go over it. The only way to the other side is to go THROUGH it. And that’s what we are doing. The best we can.
And I am so very grateful that despite feeling very lonely at times, I can tell it all to my Lord. He listens without judging. And He fully understand because once, He lost a Son.
Posted March 28, 2015