JOHN 10:28
She’s slipping away.
The doctor asks, “Where have you been living?”
Nothing.
He asks again.
Nothing.
Rephrased, “Where do you live?”
But nothing.
I wonder, too. Where does she live? In what world? When I step into it, I feel disoriented, too.
*
Earlier, Mrs. O sits on Mama’s bed and fingers the comforter. “It’s solid blue underneath.”
“But it’s mine,” she replies.
“It’s so pretty.”
“Yes, and it’s mine.”
Several rounds.
We all get up to leave, but first, Mrs. O stops at Mama’s pictures. She fingers a frame with our family inside, but claims it as her own, “This is a picture of my family… [then takes a closer look] …but it isn’t.”
*
Doctor: “Are you mostly happy or sad?”
She: “Yes.”
Doctor: “Happy or sad? Which one?”
No response.
Then, “I’m still grieving. My husband passed away, and I’m sad. I’ll never get over it.”
She has returned, if only briefly. I recognize this woman. I want her to stay close.
She doesn’t. She lingers momentarily in our world. But drifts back to her own too soon.
Where is God in this?
Can He live inside confusion?
Does He reign in the midst of disease?
PSALM 139:9-10
I must answer a resounding, “Yes!”
There is nowhere my mom goes without His presence. Not even the shadowy dark corners of Alzheimer’s. He is there. And she is safe.
She’s home free already. No matter what happens now.
JOHN 10:27
She heard His voice early in life. She followed.
I praise God for that.
He heard her voice then. He hears her voice now.
I praise God for that, too.
ROMANS 8:38-39
I say, “Amen.”
She may be slipping through my fingers,
but she can’t be snatched out of His hand.
And I whisper, “So be it.”
JOHN 10:29
* * *
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6 comments:
Hugs.
Beautiful. I'm sending a cyber hug as well...
My three grandparents are all simultaneously beginning to show signs of dementia. Your blog has been a real help, especially your reviews of resources. I'm thankful that we don't need them yet, but I'm glad to know about them for when we do.
...And I'm sorry for your pain. Hugs & prayers, Holly
Thanks for sharing your journey with us, Lisa.
We will never understand this most debilitating robber of a disease - yet as you said through your own grieving - the God we serve is as near your Mom as ever and within comforting her.
The veil is thin but thick ( in terms of your not being able to see ) and God is the fabric where you all meet.
Love you -
Lynn
You express this so well. I forwarded it on to several friends who have gone through this with family members.I think we learn by sharing how this effects us and how God speaks to us in His Word.
You can hear the love of your sweet Mom and family and your Lord in your writings.
This touches a deep spot. That slipping from our fingers, but never snatched from His hand. And she remembered her grief, but how to deal with ours? And you give the best hint: remember He never lets go of them.
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