Tough

DAY 6 OF THIRTY DAYS OF TRUTH:

Something you hope you never have to do.

This is a no brainer for me.

I hope I never have to go through what my mother did.

My mother is the most awesome person in the world. Not only did she work a full time job as a teacher my whole life, but she worked full time as a mother to two not so easy to handle kids, and was a full time pastor's wife. Did you count that? Three full time jobs.

Yes, being a pastor's wife is a full time job. Especially in a small church. She played the piano, organized Vacation Bible School, taught Sunday School, entertained church members in our home, and lived in the proverbial glass house. Trust me. Full time job.

And then it happened.

The Big C. Cancer.

Not to her, but to my dad.

Add another full time job - Cancer Patient Caregiver.

If you have never lived in a home that cancer has immediately touched, it is really hard to understand exactly what it entails. It's still so vivid and heartwrenching, but I will try to convey to you exactly what we lived through.

Dad's cancer was vicious. It began as malignant melanoma, but by the time it was caught, it was in his lymph system. Basically, there was no stopping it. He was never fully in "remission." Once a month, my parents would leave my brother and me with a family in our church (to whom we are forever grateful) and drive to Birmingham (3 1/2 hours away) for dad to receive chemotherapy treatments and countless surgeries. They would treat the bouts, but the cancer always came back.

Mom was constantly moving. I really don't think she rested for the five years that our family fought this battle. Her precious friends at work donated sick days for her to stay with my dad. When he had his "bad days," she was his nurse. On his "good days," she encouraged him to get up and go. Our house was always clean, our meals were always cooked (when we didn't have a generous outpouring of food from church members - we were seriously in an awesome church family), and Mom made sure life went on. We still played sports and did our homework and went to church. She made sure that the Big C was just a bump in the road of our family's life.

Mom was sort of the glue that held us all together, especially in the last year of Dad's life. Dad couldn't care for himself at all and was quickly fading. We all knew the end was near. My brother and I were never in the dark about Dad's illness. We always knew every detail.

When it came time to decide if we were going to stop treatment for Dad, Mom included Wes and me in the decision. When he died, she mourned, of course, but encouraged us that life would get better and God is always in control.

Sounds amazing, huh?

I never want to do that.

I never want to watch my husband deteriorate like I watched my Dad deteriorate. I never want to tell my kids that the doctors are not sure if their father is going to live to their graduation or not. I never want to hold my husband's hand as he passes to the Lord at 43 years old. I never want to mourn my husband's death at such a young age.

I have no clue how she did it. I cannot imagine the unbelievable pressure that she lived under every day for five years. She was the one fully capable person in our house. She did everything. My father helped when he could, but he often wasn't strong enough.

People say to my mother still, to this day, "You are so strong." Mom and I talk about this often. She's really not. I've seen her breakdown from stress and pressure and sadness. I've seen her absolutely distraught. But our family motto sort of became "one day at a time" through all of this. That's what she does. She takes each day one day at a time.

I know that every morning she wakes up wishing she could see my Dad's face. I know that she would give anything to turn back time for one more day with him. But she learned along the way that if she just put one foot in front of the other, each day she got a little bit stronger.

She had to. She had Wes and me. She had to keep pushing. If she gave up, our family would crumble. She is driven, motivated, honest, poised, confident, and yes, Mom, you are strong.

And that, I hope to be.

Random Point of Information: I love you, Mom.