Ain’t no Grave (Live) * Bethel Music

How is your Mom?

This question. It escapes from lips or appears on the screen and dangles there in the spaces between us. I take up the question and wonder to myself, how do I answer? I want to be authentic. I want to share what we see, what we notice, but I walk this tightrope tentatively grasping at hope for recovery.

Mom is here and there and sometimes lost between the moments. She comes fully into the room and then leaves with eyes slipped glassy and far away. She is quiet mostly but then can surprise us with her words. Her words often do not reflect our reality today nor the reality of our yesterdays. But she is with us. She remembers who her visitors are and greets friends and relatives with a smile. She is working hard to gain strength in her legs to bear her weight. She does forget that she is not cleared to walk on her own, and now has been fitted with a nifty bracelet. The bracelet set off alarms if she wanders into an area where she is not supervised.

The nifty bracelet came “post panic” when the staff thought they lost her. She was found safe on the other side of the ward using another room’s facilities.

So this maybe answers the dangling question between us in the air. How is your Mom?

Sometimes she is lost.

Her neural pathways are no longer orderly connections, no longer the highways of thoughts that help her remember where her room is, or when our birthdays are, or when her parents passed away. Her neural highways are in a bit of a mess. Sometimes her brain train gets completely derailed.

Will she improve? We sure hope so, but we are not guaranteed that this disconnection will change. I suppose this is the tragedy. No guarantees and no going back. Without this surgery, my Mom would have died. Now on the other side of the tumor mountain, we are adjusting to the new normal.

We have learned that removing a grapefruit-sized foreign body from the frontal lobe has an impact on brain function. Yes, you read that right. Grapefruit.

I bought four this week. Four grapefruits. They are still untouched in the fridge. My daily reminders to pray for the emptiness to be filled with thoughts that are true, thoughts that are lovely, thoughts that are right- all things excellent and praiseworthy. Thoughts that are connected, restored and flowing in the right directions.

And then there are days where my hours are spent curled up in a ball with tears coursing down my face because I just miss her.

I don’t stay there in that dark place a long time…because one thing I know…I am not alone in the battle. I know the one who makes all things new, who restores hope, who mends broken hearts, repairs bodies, renews spirits and minds. I know one who brings beauty from the ash heap and breathes life into dead bones making them rise.

My God…when I am afraid, I will trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid. Psalm 56:3,4

So after a good cry…I raise myself up and I roar…get behind me darkness, I am going to Raise a Hallelujah, my God reigns!!

Be blessed by these two new Bethel worship songs found on their new album titled Victory. Ain’t no Grave (link above) and this one (link below) Raise a Hallelujah.

Oh…and keep asking the question.

Love, Tracey

I'm going to sing, in the middle of the storm
Louder and louder, you're gonna hear my praises roar
Up from the ahses, hope will arise
Death is defeated, the King is alive!!

Raise a Hallelujah * Bethel Music

Watching and Waiting

My Mom is a people watcher. Always has been. She gets that from her dad. I have memories of going to Penticton to visit my Pappa Alec and there were two local Zoo’s that he would take me for an outing. One was the one of the animal variety, but I think his favourite and mine, as well, was going to the mall. Pappa would grab us both an ice cream cone and park us outside the food fair on a little bench and we would watch the people. I don’t recall a lot of commentary, but I do recall a cheeky smile shared between him and I, or a raised eyebrow. It was our thing and moments I am remembering today as I have been spending time with mom in rehab.

Her attention is drawn to what is happening around her, however,  I am not always sure what she is thinking or seeing. But there is one gentleman in rehab who looks remarkably like her dad. When they are in the dining hall, my mom cannot look away.  I asked her, “he sure looks like Pappa Alec, hey Mom,” my heart tightened in my chest as she responded, “that is my dad…he is looking for the candy they keep in the cupboard.”

How do you tell someone such painful truth making the loss so fresh again. Pappa Alec hasn’t been with us in years. We do have the hard conversation to reconnect the memory…to try and find the correct neural pathways for what is true for today. She has tears…says it must have been so hard to lose him and then her gaze goes back to Pappa’s doppelganger who meanders around in his wheelchair and I know she is back there…disconnected again, but enjoying watching her dad watching the people.

So we do this together…watch the people…share the moment.