Turbo Cancer: Day 109 - September 28, 2022
Gratitude
On this day, last year, my mom wrote:
Yesterday, Penny and Eva came for lunch. All was well. Fun day.
Today Father Kris is coming over for the Sacrament of the Sick. George and Faye will be here.
Blowhole stopped draining! Now I have hundreds of dollars of bandages, tape etc. I hope it doesn’t re-start. But, that has happened so many times before.
Thank you, God, for my blessings. I pray that you help Kristi and take good care of Steven.
When infants are born, they can only experience the world from their own point of view. Babies do not understand that others may feel differently from them. They understand comfort and discomfort. They understand pleasure and pain. They use their energy to seek out comfort and pleasure.
To a vulnerable infant, comfort equals safety.
For a cognitively healthy child, the ability to experience empathy develops at approximately four years old. That is when a human brain begins to understand that each of us has an individual perspective. That is when we begin to recognize the emotions of others as different from our own, yet equally valid. That is when we develop sympathy and compassion.
My mom was the most empathetic person I have ever known. She was a paragon of sympathy and compassion.
She was living with unexplainable, untreatable, unbearable pain. She had been diagnosed with multiple cancers. She knew that one of those cancers would soon take her life. She had been put through horrible tests, painful surgeries and devastating medical mistakes. It was a nightmare.
In addition to that, she had lost her grandson, whom she loved unconditionally.
When my mom was healthy, Steven knew that, whenever he needed it, he always had a home to run back to.
Over the years of Steven’s addiction, my mom took him in many times. She let him live with her and she encouraged him to get a job, to exercise, and to go to church. He always did these things for her, at first. For a little while, he always tried.
Every time, in the end, it fell apart. Still, she never gave up on him.
With turbo cancer, my mom lost her ability to take care of others.
My mom was suffering - physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. She had every right, at that time, to be selfish. It would have made sense for her to be selfish.
But still, every day, in her journal, she prayed for me.
She prayed for Steven.
I was not always a good daughter. I made poor choices, and I did wrong things. I made decisions that hurt my mother, and I made decisions that hurt my son. I know that all of that is a part of being human, and a part of growing up, but I did not deserve so much grace.
I have, at times, felt that I was being punished.
I was witnessing suffering. I was experiencing suffering. I was teetering on the edge of the pit of despair.
But each day, when I arrived at my mom’s house, and was greeted by her angelic smile, I was reminded:
Every night, the sun goes down. The world is engulfed in cold darkness.
Every morning, the sun rises. Warmth and light shine down on everything that is beautiful.
Each of us contains ugliness. Each of us contains beauty.
God shines his light on our beauty.
God is merciful and forgiving. Despite many sins, he has given me nature, literature and art. I see and recognize the darkness. Still, I am being allowed to live in a world of fragrant flowers, weightless butterflies, colorful string, and poetry.
How could I not greet each day with a spirit of gratitude?
Just like my mom.
Thank you for sharing your wonderful mother with all of us who would never otherwise have gotten to meet her. Telling her story, that shouldn't have needed to be told, that shouldn't have happened, is her last act of caring for others, and shows that she - and you - continue to put others first. Blessings.
"God shines his light on our beauty."
Yes he does. God is Great!