This last year has rattled my foundation to the core. I have seen my mother suffer the indignity of disease, disability and invasive treatments. I have watched her suffer, and have thrown my anger toward any god that would do that to her — the person who least deserves it, who obediently did everything she was told, who gave of herself in ways no one I know would ever consider.
Why? What was the point? Where was God? Is there God?
These last 8 days I have been loved and supported in ways that are bewildering. I have always known I could count on friends. But the degree to which I have been supported–emotionally, physically, spiritually, logistically, and other ways I can not even begin to understand now–have made this most painful and unbearable journey, bearable.
In the last 8 days I have seen God–in the faces of those who have come, both my own friends and those of my
Mother (even though those lines have long since blurred).
But God, or grace, or spirit or life or whatever you call it, is present and almost physically palpable here and we walk with mom through her final steps.