A Mother’s Prayer

Continued from previous post… Don’t Worry, Daddy

 

In my last two posts, When Words Matter Most and Don’t Worry, Daddy, I shared Richard’s thoughts and fears as he drove to be with Alyssa in Oklahoma. I shared his heartache after viewing the MRI of Alyssa’s brain. It was clear to Richard that Alyssa had a brain tumor and hemorrhage, likely caused by metastatic melanoma. Alyssa had awakened briefly upon Richard’s arrival, but had quickly slipped back into unconsciousness. Thankfully, her heart rate and blood pressure now remained stable, after plummeting earlier in the day. Richard encouraged me to get some sleep while he stayed with Alyssa.

 

September 9, 2017, 12:40 a.m.

Unwilling to leave the hospital, I carried a pillow and blanket from Alyssa’s room to the ICU waiting area. The room was brightly lit and rather small, with seating for around a dozen people. Currently, I was the only visitor in the area. I arranged the blanket to make a pallet in the farthest corner of the room. The television’s volume seemed extremely loud, especially in the middle of the night. I paused to watch the news for a moment. News of earthquakes, shootings and wildfires filled the screen. Hurricane Irma was swirling towards Florida. Our country was still reeling from Hurricane Harvey that had hit Houston, Texas, in late August. “And now, another hurricane is barreling our way?! It’s too much Lord.” I dragged a small plastic chair toward the television, where it hung suspended from the wall. Climbing onto the chair, and with hands still shaking from adrenaline, I turned the volume completely off. I had dealt with enough bad news for one day. 

I lay down on my pallet in the corner. From the hard floor, I propped myself up on my elbows and looked out at the waiting room from this vantage point. Grey carpet tiles, wood laminate tables, and mismatched chairs with black metal legs surrounded my view. I was struck by how stark and brittle everything looked. At 12:48 a.m., pulling my phone from my pocket, I snapped the first photograph (one of hundreds to follow) of Alyssa’s cancer journey.  In my own way, I was trying to grasp and document the reality of Alyssa’s critical condition. It felt important to mark time in some way. Was this nightmare really happening?

 

This bleak scene and the depressing nightly news, reflected these two thoughts.  1. This was a very stark and utilitarian space. Even on this night of waiting and watching, this room’s lack of comfort and interest seemed like an insult to my senses.  2. We were facing our own personal hurricane. I thought of Alyssa’s future and what treatments might be possible for this type of cancer. Were there any? 

I sat up to pray. 

 

A Mother’s Prayer

“Lord, it’s just You and me now, in this ugly space of silence. So much is uncertain, please be with me. I know you are with Alyssa. I do trust you love her best, better than I ever could, but knowing that still leaves me with so much uncertainty for the future.  

What are we facing? Lord, this is so hard. But, I will wait with You till the morning comes, till the sun rises and beauty returns. 

I know that doctrine and religion will not hold me through this dark night. Being a Baptist or a Catholic or an Episcopalian is a flimsy shield for the battle before us. 

Yet, I know there is “One Who Sees Me.” You see me huddled here in this corner, and Your presence will sustain me. 

I do not grope for answers to my questions. They do not feel important in light of all that is at stake. I doubt they are what I need right now anyway. 

In this moment, I just need to be held. I just need to rest. I just need to know you are with me.”

 

My hands continued to shake, and the uncertainty remained, but in my spirit there was an undeniable calm. I lay down and placed part of the pillowcase over my eyes. More strange shapes and shadows danced across my eyelids. I took deep breaths, desperate to rest. Again, I thought of my family. They would need me to be emotionally present in the morning. 

Even though I felt calmer, I felt terribly uncomfortable. The floor was so hard, and the setting was so strange, I knew within the span of a few minutes that I would not be able to sleep in that space. However functional this room may be for daytime use, it was a terrible place for rest. But, I felt conflicted. I didn’t want to be separated from Alyssa and Richard. And then I felt an urging, an awareness, a prompting from within.                  

God? Common sense? Both? 

“Move off this hard floor. Take care of yourself. There is a dark, comfortable bedroom in the hospitality house across the street. Go there. Get a few hours of sleep. I need you whole. Pick yourself up off of this floor and move.” 

So that is what I did. 

And this began a pattern that lasted for months and months- I went to bed exhausted by my new routine and the uncertainty of my thoughts. I prayed, asking for courage, and strength and healing and rest for myself and my family. Honestly, many, many, nights were filled with horrible nightmares and chaotic dreams.  But in the hours right before dawn, while the sky was still a deep indigo blue, the birds, my own ancient choir of believers, would greet the day with a cacophony of exuberant birdsong. I would rise in obedience to their chorus of faith, reminded that even before they saw the first rays of dawn, they trusted that the sun would rise. And have you ever seen the beauty of an Oklahoma sunrise? Darkness slowly departs, as leafless tree limbs trace their way in lacy, black lines against layers of purple, orange, yellow, pink, and finally, sunlit azure blue skies. This birdsong, these sunrises, these leafless branches, were hopeful reminders to me of God’s plan. I may not ever see my way clearly, but dark nights give way to brilliant sunrises. Winter dissolves into Spring. Beauty returns. 

I’m not trying to tie a bow around this time, or paint it with a silver lining. I won’t pretend that my moments of doubt evaporated or that my exhaustion magically transformed into fearless faith.

I was desperately lonely for Richard and my life in Little Rock. The abrupt changes in my lifestyle and geography left me whirling, time and time again. Brief moments of hope sparked within a near constant, low burn of anxiety. I’ve been in months of counseling learning to cope with the trauma of Alyssa’s illness and other difficult events in my life. I spend hours writing, using words as a healthy coping mechanism and way to frame my thoughts and feelings. With the pandemic of Covid-19, once again, nightmares and chaotic dreams appear and fill my unconscious thoughts in the dark hours of the night. Often, dread fills my conscious hours. This is a part of my reality.  I long to be more consistent. I long to hold my faith more securely. I long to abide more deeply, meanwhile, my heart is prone to wander.

But, somewhere in that stark space, on that hard floor, when I said to God, “I just need to know you are with me,” He answered, “I AM.” 

And somehow, often painfully, my definition of beauty is slowly being redefined. Co-existing in my world, beauty has become a mixture of hope and despair, health and suffering, anxiety and faith, days and nights, springs and winters. Silence and birdsong.

I huddle and I rise.

Again and again. 

 

This post is Part 8 of the story of how our journey with cancer began.  Read the rest of the story here:

Part 1: What Are the Odds?
Part 2: First Responders
Part 3: #Godlovesherbest
Part 4: The Sound of Silence
Part 5: Keeping Watch by Night
Part 6: When Words Matter Most
Part 7: Don’t Worry, Daddy
Part 8: A Mother’s Prayer

 

Photograph by Kimberly Harper, Taos, NM