3 Years Ago Today

     It's cold and raining today.  Not cold enough to snow.  But cold enough to make the rain feel like it's telling me that being outside is not a good idea.  It sounds pretty, though.  Comforting.  Cozy.  

     Three years ago today, at about this same time, the weather was just like this.  It was a Sunday morning and I had spent much of the day before in the same place I was going that day.  In the nursing home.  The nurses, CNAs food service workers, visiting ministers and maintenance staff.  The families of other residents.  Many of them knew me by now.   Many referred to her as my mother.  Sometimes I would correct them and tell them she was my mother-in-law.  Sometimes I didn't.  It would just create a conversation about how I was the one who was there all the time and I would end up defending him.  

     The journey that brought her and I to that day, that day three years ago today, wasn't easy by any means.  We had our differences.  Oh boy, did we ever.  But, after she became unable to work and both of us did some changing, I think we kinda needed each other.  

     Crazy thing, I never knew how it would all change me.  My youngest son recently sent me a text that included a link to a song he had just heard.  A song by a son describing how his mom became a mother to her mom.  He sent this to me during my work day, thanking me for what I had done for his grandmother and apologizing for not doing more back then (oh my! He was a kid!).  I went to the restroom and listened to the song and sobbed.  I ugly cried.  I hadn't done anything special.  I just took care of her.  But that he had seen it that way.  I am such a blessed momma.  I have amazing kids.  

     But when it was all happening, I did what I knew needed to be done.  She needed someone.  We moved her here so she would be near family.  Usually that meant me.  And that was fine.  Often, her son would not be even reachable.  Oh, there were times he would be available, when it was good for him.  I've mentioned before how he had affairs with her caregivers and, while she was still mentally alert, she knew and had to live with that.  I don't know how she did it.

     The night I was called to her assisted living apartment to pick her up and take her to the ER several years prior was when the real intense care giving began.   He was supposed to be at work.  But he wouldn't answer his phone.  I sat almost all night in the ER with her, until they decided to admit her.  Our two youngest kids had just gotten back from church camp and I hadn't even gotten to talk with them much.  And here I was, making the decisions, while he wouldn't even answer his phone and would only respond sporadically via text.

     Fast forward to three and a half years ago.  I was at work and stressed more than I had ever been in any job.  The call came in to me that June day.  She was being taken from her nursing home to the ER.  I was the only one available to meet her there and she had to have a family member.  Why was I the only one available?  He was in Mexico with one of the women he was having an affair with.  But I couldn't tell anyone.  I was protecting him.  Again.  

     When he returned, he came to the hospital.  She and I were in her hospital room by then.  A room that looked out towards the office of yet another woman he was having an affair with.  Although I didn't realize it at the time.  He visited her briefly and then left.  To go home.  Our home.  Where we were supposed to pretend like all was well.  And then he worked most of the rest of her hospital stay, only visiting her when I begged.

     I spent all of my free time that hospital stay, plus subsequent ER visits and another hospital stay, with her.  No one else could get her to eat.  He did go to another hospital out of town with her for a while.  Until she was brought home.  And then he disappeared, giving the ambulance drivers directions on what to tell me so I could take care of her and he didn't have to come home.  Again, not answering his phone or texts and not telling anyone where he was.

     I determined, after her terminal diagnosis, to make sure she got to go to church every time she could.  I fed her a meal usually at least once a day.  and I spent my weekends mostly with her.  I didn't want any regrets.  And I wanted her to know she was loved.

     We were called one morning that last week, woken up early.  The 'calling in the family' call.  He got mad.  We got up and I hurried as he took his time.  When we got there, he declared she was sleeping just fine and we didn't need to be called.  They had bothered us for nothing.  That was a Thursday morning.  I'm not sure he ever went back after that day.

     Three years ago today.  Three years ago today I walked into the nursing home, out of the rain.  The nurse on duty had been waiting for me.  My mother in law had taken a turn for the worse.   I hurried to her room.  She struggled to breathe, even with oxygen turned as high as it could safely be turned.  I tried to get him to come up there.  He was at work.  He refused.  Over and over.  He refused.  I just couldn't leave her.  

     I monitored her pulse-ox and took her temperature.  I had never seen a fever so high.  And yet it just kept going up.  The nurse left her pulse-ox thingy with me (I'm a banker, not a medical person.  All this was foreign to me in a way.  But I was doing all I could to make her comfortable and take care of her.). The minister came in and prayed.  I sang to her and talked to her about Jesus and about her family.  The ones here and the ones gone before.  

     I called him and I texted him.  He needed to come up there but he refused.  The nurses said she would be more comfortable, towards the end, without the oxygen but he ordered that she keep it on.  He refused to be present but wanted to be in charge.  

     I called her other son and daughter in law.  Preparations were made for a drive to begin immediately in order to get there before she was gone.  Then they realized there was no way.  So they called.  And they spoke to her one last time.  They told her how much they loved her and thanked her for being who she was.  She nodded.  One of the few times she responded that whole day.

     As shifts changed, work staff would come in to tell her goodbye and give her kisses.  The last group came just after 11pm.  One CNA said it wouldn't be long now.  She was right.  Just after 11:30, she opened her eyes and looked towards me.  I wasn't sure at first what she said.  Then I realized.  She told me 'bye bye'.  I kissed her on the forehead and told her I loved her.  A few minutes later, she was with Jesus.  

     She gave me a beautiful gift that day.  I don't fear death.  She let me be a part of her going Home.  Who on earth would have ever thought that, despite all the craziness and pain brought on by the choices of others, she and I would have been together for that moment.  Nobody.  But God.  

Little Things and Hidden Treasures

     It's hard sometimes.  That's an understatement.  It's hard a lot of times.  This new life I mean.  This being brave and not taking ownership of something that isn't mine to own.  This being able to concentrate and read a whole sentence.  Not sure why I expect others to read this since I have trouble reading this much myself.  It's hard enough just getting the words out.  But healing at the same time.
     Little things.  Those little things that make me laugh are coming more and more often.  But I won't say those other things don't get under my skin at times.  My kids and I had such a good Thanksgiving celebration, for example.  Then, as we were resting that evening and watching a movie together, a not so good little thing happened.  I received a notification that my former husband liked a photo on my instagram.  I'm sure some people would think that was great.  But, when it was a post from over 4 years ago, and when this is an absolutely no contact situation because of the horrific mental, emotional, sexual, spiritual, financial and every other kind of abuse he inflicted on me, that one little thing threw me for a loop.
     So why was he stalking me that night?  (Yes. The word is appropriate.)  Who knows.  And who cares, except for the fact that he just won't drop it but makes sure others think I'm crazy.  Pretty sure I'm not.  Also pretty sure I've learned I don't have to own that garbage anymore.  No matter what he tells others, I know the truth.
     Seeing his instagram handle pop up on my notifications, connected with a like, would have given me hope a couple of years ago.  Now it creeps me out.  Realizing he had looked through at least 4 years of pictures before clicking like on that one. Knowing that wasn't all he did that night, that his stalking involved more.  It’s called a trigger. What it did to me. I needed to breathe. To concentrate on how wonderful our day had been as a family and not let him ruin it like he had so many times in the past. I prayed. It had been the best Thanksgiving, maybe even the best holiday we had ever had as a family. We were happy. And I couldn’t let him ruin it.  Not with this one little thing. Not like he used to do.
     I'm getting better all the time.  But I'm also learning that having set backs every now and then, well it's ok.  Little things trigger me somethings.  Also big ones.  Like the day he drove the firetruck right up in front of the place I work so he could let a co-worker out.  Then he proceeded to do all he could to see me.  I had to get up, walk away from my desk,  and stop working, hiding in the back til they left.  Seriously?  After all he has done to me?  After all the lies he has told people about me?  Why was he trying so hard to see me?  I could feel the anxiety creeping up through my arms.  I’ve learned to recognize it now. And I’m learning how to calm down.  But why on earth would he do that?
     And how about the 2 times recently, so far, that he's driven the fire truck around in the parking lot in front of my building?  In the 12 years I've worked there, no firetruck has ever been driven around like that in the parking lot to my recollection.   He has done it twice lately. That I’ve seen. Not to let someone out.  Just to do.  That big truck.  Intentionally used to trigger me.  Why?  Denials. Excuses. Lies. Calling me crazy. But no more. I won’t take that on me. His actions are not my fault, not my imagination and not my responsibility. Never have been.
     All these things are difficult.  Sometimes I can't breathe.  But, eventually, and even a lot sooner than it used to be, I'm finding treasures and triumphs hidden in the struggles. I’m choosing to listen to God sooner.  I hear Him telling me to slow down, trust Him, wait.  I sense Him calming me.  Even in the most difficult events that hurt the hearts of my kids. Yes, they are adults. Adults that have spent their whole lives hurting because of someone else’s choices. Smiling in public because mom did. But, knowing that, when we got home, the tears would come again. They each still try to deal with it all in their own way. We’ve all become masters of looking good on the outside.  
     If I could change that one thing for them, if there was one thing I could do so that their dad would have been a godly father for real, or would become one, I would do it. I tried. Oh how I tried. But it’s not my job. All I can do is pray. Be honest. And no longer carry the guilt he piled on me. The blame for his sin. It’s not mine to carry. It doesn’t belong to my children either. I hate seeing them hurt.  If I could change just this one little thing......