Not My Cross

Today would have been my grandmother's 81st birthday. It seemed like the perfect time to write about something that has been on my heart since this summer.

We learned my grandma was terminally ill with lung cancer on July 22, 1998. My mother-in-law passed away exactly 18 years later, nearly to the hour from that moment.

Even though 18 years had passed, there was so much I remembered as though it had happened yesterday. The emotions, the planning, the pain, it all felt fresh.

I knew, within reason, the progression of death. I was able to share with my husband and is his sister some of what to expect. My mother-in-law had scabs from dry lips. I knew the scabs would stay and look horrible after death if we didn't care for them while she was laying in the hospital bed. I was able to prep them for what they would need for the funeral and suggested cleaning and caring for her so her hair and nails could be done once she passed.

While it was useful, it felt awful for me. I knew those things because I had seen them, lived them out in real and painful ways.

Nearly two months after Barbara's passing, we had a dear friend lose her mother to the same disease. Again, it was walking closely and living out those painful memories. I suppose it is a necessary part of life. Reliving those painful experiences, hoping to do things better or at least without as much confusion during a time when you feel you're already in a fog.

So much of it has been a struggle.

My grandmother died one week after diagnosis. My friend's mom passed away 8 years after Alzheimers diagnosis, but only hours after becoming critically ill.

For the life of me, I cannot understand why we were forced to sit for two weeks with Barbara while she died. Was 6-7 years of Alz not painful enough? Did we all need to go through more suffering? Why?

Those two weeks have pushed me to ask God why, something I don't often do. He has not offered any clear answer, no direction as to a purpose.

I see our friend and my husband grieving, struggling with the loss. Wondering why this has happened? Asking how to go on with life. Angry that their moms are gone and nothing can fill the void. I find myself angry because I can't be enough. I question why God can't and won't give them a peace that is not of this world.

The only thing I have found to be comforting is this...It is not my cross to bear. I can walk with them, hold their hands. But the loss, it's not mine. It's not theirs either.

God never designed us to take all the grief or all the pain on ourselves. He never designed us to carry it all. That's why he gave us Jesus. Alzheimers wasn't even theirs to carry. They weren't punished and they weren't chosen for the disease.

They, like many others, had a disease because we live in a fallen world. We were designed to be perfect, but live in a fallen world where disease and pain can take us down.

There is only one promise in all of it. We will be made whole, healed, perfect. But, that doesn't ever happen in its entirety this side of heaven. Our promise, our hope, our peace is that these mothers are whole again now. God has fulfilled his promise in both of them.

Painful here in my flesh, but that is beautiful. My hope and prayer for my husband and friend is that they can hold onto that beauty.

Things are quite different when death occurs without that hope. Unlike my husband and friend, I don't believe my grandmother was converted before death. I don't have a hope of heaven with her. Don't get me wrong, it will be a happy day if I am wrong and she awaits in heaven. All signs point to that not being the case.

The promise of heaven, for me, makes grief a little bit easier. Death without belief is far more painful for a lifetime.