Unpacking

Wow it has been quite a while since I last posted. I try to post at least once a week...but not lately...just not enough hours in the day. I am still in the midst of unpacking boxes into our new home. I wish it were only boxes, but settling into a house has also required a lot of unpacking of emotions. It has surprised me a little bit. As we placed my grandmother's dining room table into our dining room, the same one that used to sit in my mother's dining area, a flood of tears broke through my emotional barrier, and when choosing where to hang the picture that had once hung above my mother's bed, those familiar feelings of sadness were present.

Somehow, all the household boxes will get unpacked and their contents will find a new home, of this I have no doubt. Whether it be garage sale fodder, a Goodwill store donation, or a cozy new drawer or cupboard I am determined that everything finds a place to be so that clutter is diminished, junk is purged, or good furniture finds a new home that can be appreciated by new owners. However, the emotional boxes that have followed us are still looming large. I'll admit I have peeked into several of these boxes, only to quickly put the lid back on and close it up tightly so I can conserve my energy and get the more immediate tasks done, such as settling into the house, changing our address with everyone, getting the girls registered for school, and on and on. But I know the day of unpacking those boxes marked "Delicate--Handle with Care" is getting nearer. I'm speaking of the boxes that contain every tear, every heartache, every trial of the past year.

I know I've written about it before and you're all probably thinking 'enough already!' but the pace of this last year has truly taken a toll. We're all feeling it. It is more pronounced now that we have a place to call our own and we're slowing down a little bit. As I catch up on things I've let go undone for months I'm seeing how, despite thinking I was holding it all together pretty good, I was on the edge of coming completely unglued. (This was confirmed by a good friend who gave us wise counsel and said that we shouldn't be surprised if it takes us another year to recover from everything, especially now that we're in our house and have a safe refuge of sorts.) It truly is only because of God's grace that I am still functional and not depressed, a little more overweight perhaps (because of my poor stress coping skills) , but not physically fatigued or distressed.

Back to the boxes. I am finding that my memories of Mom are becoming more pronounced. Not the memories of healthy mom or relationship (which had its ups and downs) but rather the images of sick mom and the few weeks prior to her death when my siblings and I were caring for her 'round the clock; these have been a bit troublesome. I remember the weight of the care-giving that was required, the fatigue from those days, and the emotional exhaustion that accompanied it. Trying to figure out where to store these pictures in my mind and all that comes with them is proving to be quite the task. I know I'm "normal" (again, subjective), so I'm not worried I'm flipping out or anything like that, this is probably the right time to process so many of these things that there just haven't been time to process. But still, it takes work.

I've talked with my siblings about that month and half before mom died, and they are all experiencing similar things. It was not a "good" time, and I'll even take the risk of saying it was not a time when we felt especially protected by grace. Yes, the Lord was very present in the details and enabling us to be able to take care of mom. He arranged schedules and details perfectly; he provided all the finances through gifts from others so that there was no financial strain on our families, and he gave us each the ability to do what was needed to be done. When I say we didn't feel the protection of grace, I mean that we didn't feel protected from feeling all the real emotional pain that comes from doing something like this. We still felt the stretch and pulling, the grief, the doubts, the real physical fatigue and emotional exhaustion. I think we (as believers in general) can lull ourselves into thinking that when grace is present, we won't hurt or feel the pain, or even the anger that accompanies these life situations; that somehow all these emotions will magically be lessened somehow. Perhaps, the reality is that we can't fully comprehend how much our pain and suffering has been lessened because of God's grace and mercy. I'm understanding better that this experience was a bit like exercise. For my siblings and I, He proved himself to be "enough" all the way to the point of where we felt we couldn't give or do any more, stretching us further (like when we do physical exercise) and showing us that we could do it with His help. We didn't get to the point of where it was too much--although there were times when we felt like it--we still made it through, we still did what was needed to be done, and we don't have any regrets. We know we were there for Mom 100% and couldn't have given any more than what we did. But the reality of it is that there is residue. There are the memories--mental images, smells, feelings--that linger. There is nothing pretty about someone dying from cancer. No matter how much you try to dress it up in a spiritual bow, even with the hope of Heaven just beyond our fingertips, the process of getting there can be pretty horrendous. And these are the fragile boxes I'm left with.

I think back to the morning when Mom died as well, and, for whatever reason, I was the only one chosen to be present for that moment. I had heard stories about other people seeing Jesus, or angels just before they took their last breath, or having a moment of clarity, or something that gave onlookers a glimpse into Heaven. (I'll confess, my sisters and I had been praying that the Lord would give us a glimpse; just something that would let us know He was present, that Mom was truly being ushered into his presence...just something.) But nothing. The last few moments of her life were labored and ugly. Disturbing even. Again, more unpacking of fragile images, waiting to be sorted and stored in a safe place.

I know, this is a downer of a post...sorry. But this is my real life, and real life as a follower of Jesus. Things aren't neat and tidy. I do believe that we can learn from everything that the Lord allows into our lives, whether it be something more about ourselves, or about Him, or how to be more like Him. I believe that nothing is wasted, and this is what gives me hope. My prayer is that I'm a good steward of those things He has entrusted to me.