Reliving

 I have shared before that I have felt called to write a book about the journey with Jessica's illness and our spiritual valleys that accompany that path. Jessica often said that she should "write a book" about her experiences, and I told her that I could be her "ghostwriter." 

While I can't really ghostwrite in the usual sense of her telling me her feelings and experiences, I felt that I could write it from my perspective and try to convey much of, at least, what she shared with me. During the time of her illness, she and I became closer than we had been in many years. We had the time to talk and work out some of the difficulties we experienced in our relationship, primarily brought about by her biological father. He relinquished his relationship with her several years ago, and while Jessica reached out to him by phone more than once to try to build a bridge, he responded by hanging up on her. The repeated emotional pain he inflicted on her during her lifetime was too much to bear any further. 

So, back to the book. I had been doing well writing this book and working through not only Jessica's early years, but also the recent past of building a family and discovering the diagnosis of cancer. When the part of writing the book arrived that covered her hospitalizations in London and Toronto, it became more of a challenge. Reliving those days when I held hope and grief in the same hand brought back so much anguish that these chapters were extremely painful to write. 

It had actually been a few weeks since I had really completed any writing other than a blog post a couple of weeks ago. Yesterday, I didn't plan to work on the book, but for some reason I opened up my Scrivener program. I started to write about Jessica's stay on the palliative ward in the hospital. Since these were her final days, I wanted to get the correct timeline, so I went back through some Facebook posts. This was challenging in and of itself, but the real wave activator came when I went to the Messenger thread between Jessica and me, around the time of her arm injury and diagnosis.  

Reliving those days stirred a range of emotions I hadn't been prepared for. After all, I was only checking dates to have an accurate timeline. 

The Fork Not Chosen

I've recently started an intentional practice of regularly taking a walk in the woods near my home as a self-connection ritual. This was born out of my recent studies to become a certified grief coach. While rainy weather or other interruptions may interfere with this practice, I certainly have a better sense of myself for the day when I do embark on my walk, without my AirPods in my ears, of course.

Nature has always spoken to me.

It's the voice of God speaking to my heart. 

It gives me peace to see the world that has little to no interference of man, existing as it should. 

In the field before the forest entrance, I see:

The butterflies fluttering about

The dragonflies darting to and fro above my head

The deer that stops me in my tracks, as we capture a gaze in each other's eyes, 

  

They are like a hug from God to me. 

I feel enveloped in love.

As I approach the entrance to the woods, I am faced with a decision. 

The fork in the path. 

To the left is the shortest and easiest path. 

To the right is the longer and more difficult trail, 

Filled with puddles, ruts, and rougher terrain. 

I pause, worried I might not have the stamina to turn right. 

The route to the left would be so easy to take, and yes, I've walked it plenty of times. 

But the decision to the right would take me to two separate lookouts over the Ridge that has a beautiful river winding its way below. I may catch a glimpse of some deer stopping for a drink, but there is no guarantee. 

The funny thing is, no matter my decision, both routes lead to the same final path. 

I reflect that this is how God's purpose for our lives can play out. 

While His Purpose for our life at any given time will be the final result, how we get there can play out in several scenarios. 

Some of those experiences are due to the path we have chosen, while others may result from circumstances in our lives that perhaps we didn't choose, but the things of this world influenced our route. 

I definitely did not choose the route of my life over the last three years. Jessca's cancer diagnosis, treatment, and death were and continue to be the most difficult path of my life. That right turn at that fork in the trail was nothing I would ever choose or recommend. 

What that path taught me was nothing I could ever have learned from a textbook, YouTube video, or ChatGPT.

The compassion I now possess for others traveling a similar path is something I thought I had, but I've realized that it was a trait that was in a mere embryonic stage. 

Supporting others in grief and loss has become somewhat of a passion in my life. 

God has truly led me in this direction, and while the tragedy and pain were and still are something I will never completely heal from on this earth, I will take that pain and turn it into purpose to be present for others in the way He leads me. 

I know my Jess is cheering me on from above. She was always so proud of me when I embarked on a new venture, as I was of her. 

I miss her so much, but I will move forward while honouring her in all I do. 

"Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, 'This is the way; walk in it."

Isaiah 30:21

 

A Voice in the Night

 I have not taken the time or effort to write lately. I have been busy, but I was just as busy before and always found time to write as a way to work through my grief.

So have I worked through my grief? Not on your life. Grief will be with me for the rest of my life, and while I wish in so many ways that this wasn't my life, it is. 

Let's give this a go again. 

My husband, Mike, had his second hip arthroplasty (hip replacement) surgery a little over a week ago, so I have been pretty much homebound, managing medications, watching over him, helping with his care and mobility. Thankfully, he is doing well again. He is sore, which is expected, but progressing well. 

Last night after he went to bed, I was up on my computer catching up on some things when I went to my photo app and straight to the videos. I was longing to hear Jessica's voice again. 

There is a video where she is filming, and we are watching little H. crawling over to the coffee table and pulling himself up for the first time. Hearing Jess say, "He's so strong!" warmed my heart. Hearing her amazing laugh with a bit of a giggle to it gave me such a feeling of peace. 

Oh, how I miss her laugh. 

I miss her voice.

I miss her presence. 

Then I watched the video taken of her very last birthday on this earth. There is my granddaughter walking so proudly with a lit birthday cake, and we are all singing Happy Birthday. 

When H gets to Jess, there in plain view is that dreaded sling and brace. 

Those reminders of the fracture, the break of her arm.

That dreaded disease that stole her from us. In the prime of her life. 

Then the video that JR took when Jessica was in the palliative care ward at the hospital the day before she died. I'm singing to Jess "I Can Only Imagine" as it plays on our speaker. He recorded it without my knowledge, which is fine. It is a touching moment, a beautiful time of singing about coming face-to-face with Jesus. 

But the nurse in me notices something else.

Her breathing.

That breathing that people do as they are lying in bed dying. In the medical world, it's called "agonal breathing" and is normal for people in the last hours of life. I know I saw it then, and knew what it was, but seeing it now was a jab to my heart. 

A reminder of what little time she had left as of this recording. 

A reminder that her life was cut short. 

A reminder that her children would be without their mother here on earth. 

As I sat watching this video, I cried those familiar tears. Remembering that day. 

Then I went back to a happy video. The one where little H was starting to stand up. It was so beautiful. Jess was recording it on her phone, so she wasn't in the picture, but her voice and her laugh were there. 

That beautiful laugh that has a little giggle in the middle of it. 

As I heard my own voice and laughter, it dawned on me that I have the same laugh. A trait that my girl and I share. A reminder that my laughter will bring a part of Jess into my moment, my day, and my life.

That made me smile. 

And that's a good thing. 

 It seems like it's been so long since I last wrote a blog post (almost two months). 

I can make all kinds of excuses, but truthfully, I didn't have it in me. 

What exactly is "it"? I'm not really sure. Perhaps "it" is my spirit that doesn't feel prompted to write. 

It also could be that I may have had a topic spark in me to write about, but because I don't do it in a prompt fashion, the thought leaves, and I get busy with other
things. 

Plus, I normally set Tuesdays aside for my writing, but lately the time has been taken up with organizing my "Grief Support" world, so my writing falls by the wayside. 

I have been writing some of my "book" at times, but lately I've been writing about the period surrounding Jessica's surgeries in Toronto and her transfer back to London to palliative care, so you can well appreciate this is a difficult part of our life to write about, so it is taking me longer than I ever suspected it would. 

Some topics I'm thinking about are: 

1.  Jessica's memorial bench dedication

2.  Can grief and joy co-exist?

3.  Jessica's birthday

That's a good start, anyway. 

More to come.

The Freddy Saga and Answered Prayers

 

I can't believe it's been almost two months since my last post. I started a couple, but truly, the words were not there. I have to think that I thought I had something to say, but God had other plans, I suppose.

My latest adventure has concerned one of my cats, Freddy. Freddy is one of my favourite cats, although I know I'm not supposed to feel that way. Each one of my babies has special qualities that are endearing to me. Cats, while they may respond to all family members in the household, are known to attach themselves mainly to one person. Lady Sophia is my Calico cat and our first cat in the family, just before the pandemic. She has attached herself to me, which is sometimes hard to tell because she is so skittish. She, like all our cats, is a rescue and came from a cat colony, likely a barn or outside a home. For that reason, she is always in a bit of a survival mode. She does allow me to pet and brush her, but hates being picked up. She has occasionally sat on the arm of my chair, but since I bought a new leather recliner, she does not jump up. I assume it is the smooth texture that doesn't make her feel secure enough to jump on top of. 

Then there is Freddy. Freddy actually adopted us. He showed up in our backyard in August 2020 and wouldn't leave. We had him checked for a microchip, and there was none, and he wasn't neutered. I did post "found cat" on social media, but never had a response. Freddy was so endearing. He came up and rolled on his back, purred and rubbed against your leg. He even talked. He would meow, and if you meowed back, he kept up the conversation. He still does. We named him "Freddy the Freeloader" after the Red Skelton character, which you would only recognize if you were born in the early 1960s! Alas, I'm dating myself. 

Since Freddy was a stray, we have no idea what his life was like before he adopted us. The fact that he was so friendly gave the impression that, while life on the road could have been difficult, his sunny and optimistic personality outweighed any negatives in his short cat life. However, in the fall of 2023, that belief came into question. 

I was in London with Jess and her family, helping out while she was in the hospital, and again when she returned home in October. Mike had been taking Freddy for his routine veterinary appointment, and while getting him in the car in the cat carrier, he escaped through an unsecured latch, and he bolted. He was missing for three days. I was a mess the whole time. Here I was dealing with the emotions tied up in my daughter having a terminal diagnosis, that I was praying desperately for healing, and Freddy, my favourite cat, was missing with a possible devastating fate. 

Was he hiding? Did someone take him in? Was he lost in the cornfield behind us? Did one of those coyotes we hear wailing at night get him? That was the thought that haunted me the most, but I prayed and prayed he would be safe. When I came home for the weekend, I immediately went out to look for Freddy. I walked the streets, handed out flyers, walked the corn field and the neighbourhood. There had been one sighting by Mike, but he darted away again. Then he showed up one night as we were getting ready for bed. Mike spotted him, and he ran under our neighbour's deck. I then got down and crawled under and grabbed him! He was home and looked no worse for wear. I concluded that someone must have taken him in and let him go when they saw my flyer. The theory worked for me at the time. 

Answered prayer! God answered my prayer for Freddy's safe return, so, of course, the prayers for Jessica's healing, or even remission, would be answered. God cares about my cat; how much more does he care for my daughter?

Of course, we know how that turned out. Jess went home to be with Jesus, and I was left grappling with the "why" of a young mother being taken from her children. From previous posts, anyone reading them knows that I am working through all of this and will do that for the rest of my life, but I do trust that God is good. 

Fast forward to May 11, 2026, when Mike was working in the backyard and had the hose from his air compressor running out through the back patio door. He had the door closed against the hose, as he had done several times before. Freddy and OJ, our ginger cat, somehow pushed a heavy patio door just wide enough to get through. Mike found them both on our neighbour's deck, looking into their house. Mike picked up OJ and Freddy, again, bolted. 

It was like he disappeared. We immediately went out calling, shaking the treat bag, and looking everywhere. All the thoughts and fears came flooding back from his last disappearance. I searched every day and evening. There was nothing until I was at the end of our street on Thursday, with my flashlight and there in the wooded area was a pair of eyes shining back at me. I cautiously stepped forward, and there he was on a fallen tree amongst the branches. My flashlight stayed on his sweet face as I talked to him, crouched down about 10 feet away from him. It was likely about 10 minutes I spent with him. I quickly texted Michael to bring the treat bag to try to lure him. Unfortunately, as he was walking down the street, Freddy took off again along the fallen tree trunk and disappeared almost into thin air. 

The next morning, I went to the same area and caught a glimpse of him before he disappeared again down that same log. I continued my search in the marshy wooded area in my rubber boots, sometimes with binoculars, other times with a treat bag. I expanded my search beyond that area to the abandoned railroad tracks and the brush area behind our home, with nothing. 

I handed out flyers, put some on the community mailboxes, and posted a notice on every local Facebook group I could find.  I had one lady, in her infinite wisdom, tell me about her neighbour's cat that was killed by a fox. She then told me that when foxes kill, they eat everything except the fur. I went to my car and bawled all the way home. Who talks like that???

We had purchased a small camera for the back of our house because I was leaving the patio door open, and there was some food on the steps. It had been largely untouched until one morning, when the food was gone. When I scanned the footage, there was a large opossum on the steps, finishing the cat food. I had the garage door left open a few inches every night with food left out that was never touched. 

I had live traps. One from Amazon, and another from the local cat rescue. I caught one cat, not ours. I caught a raccoon, two separate times. Raccoons aren't super happy to be captured! 

No Freddy. No sign of him. Nothing. I was discouraged again as it had been four days since any sign of him, and eight days since he bolted. I felt like he was never coming home. 

Then on Wednesday morning, after my first round of searching, I checked the motion camera footage, and there he was, eating the food left out for him. A sighting!!! Something again, to give me hope. I stayed up late that night watching the camera from my phone. I saw him walking by the steps, but he didn't come up. 

When I checked the camera footage on Thursday morning, there he was again. He came up the steps after I went to bed, and actually came into the sunroom. So I planned to be in the sunroom that night and close the door when he came in. 

But Freddy showed up earlier than expected, and I wasn't prepared for him. He saw me at the inside door and took off. I thought he was never coming back, but I hid anyway. He came to the steps a few times that night, but never came up. I believe he sensed me there, so stayed away. I stayed awake until 5:00 am and was becoming exhausted with my lack of sleep over the past few days. I was emotionally and physically spent. 

Thursday night, I again stayed up to watch the camera, thinking Freddy was not going to return. Then at 2:00 am, he showed up, came into the sunroom for a few minutes and left again, after eating the food, of course. 

So it was decided that Friday night we would shut the other cats in the bedrooms, and leave the inside door to the sunroom open, as I sat in the dark on the couch watching the camera. Then there he was! I saw him come in and didn't hear anything for 10 minutes, until I heard the crunch, crunch of Freddy at the crunchy cat food. I quietly got up and closed the inside door, and Freddy ran downstairs. I ran down after him with the treat bag. He let out some weird-sounding meows, and he looked a little frazzled. As he came over to eat some treats I threw on the carpet, he rubbed up against my arm, and that was it! He was back! 

Another cat-disappearance prayer answered, but what is to follow? I have several prayers for family ongoing for salvation, care of my grandchildren, my relationship with my son-in-law, my son's job search, and the list goes on. Which one, or all of them, aren't going to be answered in the way I want them to? I don't know. 

But God does, and I sometimes, or rather, often may not understand His ways, since they are not my ways. 

Do I trust Him enough to answer in the way He knows is best? 

Is His best, my worst? 

Sometimes. 

The answers to prayer that result in a pain that is greater than any pain I've experienced are a possibility. 

I've experienced that undefinable pain. 

The loss of my child. 

While I will never fully understand it, I have accepted that it has happened. Trusting that while my grandchildren's mother is no longer physically present, her presence will always be here as long as those of us who love her, continue to magnify that presence. I trust that God's plan for them is the best plan, and I need to trust that even though I may not have as broad an influence as I had hoped for, He is still in control. 

As I now remember, God told me many years ago in His audible voice, when I was having a crisis with Jess, "Let her (them) go, I will look after her (them)." 

Since He was in control then, and He must be now. 

I need to trust the plan. 

Pray

Wait

Trust

Easter Connections

Easter weekend has just passed, and for me, as a Christian, it stands out as the heartbeat of my year. Good Friday and Easter Sunday mark the death, burial, and resurrection of Christ, which is the foundation of my hope for eternity.

This year, we have been re-watching The Chosen, 40 episodes over 40 days of Lent, as I have written previously. It leaves off at the "Judas Kiss." Season 6 will encompass the crucifixion of Christ. 

After we completed the series, I suggested that we revisit "The Passion of the Christ." We actually saw it for the first time in the theatre in 2004, which seems like a lifetime ago. I think I have watched it once more since, but I can't remember when. 

Mel Gibson's film overwhelmingly displayed the brutality and suffering that Christ endured before he was crucified (the ultimate brutality). Still, I didn't feel prepared for the visceral reaction I had with each strike of the whip, or each kick of a Roman soldier. I could feel an assault in the core of my being. 

It wasn't until Jesus was walking to Calvary with His cross in the streets of Jerusalem that a new reaction hit me. It was through the eyes of his mother, Mary. 

I do remember the scene where she sees Jesus with His cross, and he falls; we then see it flash back to her memory of Jesus as a little boy when he falls. She runs to Him and says, "I'm here," and she holds him close to comfort him. 

In this "present" scene, she also runs to Him, says, "I'm here," and holds Him.  Jesus responds by looking to her and saying, "See, mother, I make all things new."

Such a pivotal moment and statement, but what surprised me was the feeling, the empathy it evoked in me. I felt a kindred connection with Mary. 

No matter your theological view of Mary, she was Jesus' mother. 

The mother who gave birth to Him in a stable. 

The mother who cared for Him and raised him in the faith. 

All the while knowing that God had something greater for Him to accomplish. 

He was to save the world. 

Mary was witnessing His suffering. 

Mary witnessed Jesus, her son, suffering. 

The suffering He bore for our sins. 

She witnessed His agony as a fellow human, and she was powerless to intervene. She could do nothing. 

While I'm not equating Jessica's tragedy with Jesus', her unfathomable suffering was also laid bare before me, and I could essentially do nothing to change that course, that trajectory. 

She was slipping away, and while there were times she improved and we became hopeful, in my heart, I knew her time on this earth was drawing to a close. 

I witnessed her suffering, the pain she had both physically and emotionally, all while I prayed and pleaded for God to heal her or let me trade places with her. 

He did neither.

Mary knew Jesus was dying, and that it would come soon. I don't know if Mary, like Jesus, ever prayed, "Take this cup from me, yet not my will, but yours be done." I wouldn't be surprised if she did. She likely agonized over the future Jesus would face. 

I certainly prayed that prayer. 

I know I agonized over Jessica's future. 

The core of my being ached for what she was going through, but unlike Mary, I couldn't see the purpose in it. If you have read any of my posts, you will know that I still struggle with finding meaning in our loss. 

Mary trusted God. 

I know Mary was a blessed woman, but she was also a woman. A human being. I would guess she struggled with doubt at times. We don't know that from the Scriptures; I'm just using some creative licensing here. 

I often said, in the midst of the trial and following Jessica's death, that God is still good. 

I still believe that. Jessica is in her heavenly home, fully healed and whole.

Whatever purpose He has in the panoramic view of life, I need to get to a place of accepting that. 

Accepting that I will not understand that purpose this side of heaven. 

Has my grappling with my faith brought me closer to God? Perhaps I can now answer with a "yes." Not long ago,  I would have answered differently, but today I can see the glimmer of light. I'm grateful that even in my distance, Jesus never left my side. 

"Do not be afraid, for I am with you. Do not be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand."

Isaiah 41:10

What’s in a Name?

 

On this day in 2024, my sweet Jessica went to be with Jesus. It is the day of our greatest pain, but the day she was no longer in pain. We want her here with us, but she is where she needs to be in complete wholeness and freedom. 

Wanting her back, in some ways, is selfish on my part. But I want her back not only for me, but also, I think, more for her children. They should not be facing life without their mother. But of course, I cannot change that. 

When sin entered the world, it also created an imbalance. There is an imbalance not only in our spiritual world, but also in the physical one. That imbalance is the root of diseases, like cancer, including the cancer that claimed our sweet girl's life on this earth. 

That is the closest I can come to understanding the "why" question. “Why” will never be completely answered this side of heaven. I am getting closer to "living with that," but not acceptance. I'm not sure I will ever achieve acceptance.

Interestingly, Job never knew "why" the horrible things happened to him. God never explained it to him.  The whole book of Job is about him wrestling with the whys of losing his children, his wealth, and his health. God's responses essentially attest to God's wisdom, sovereignty, and His character. Job ends the book with: 

“Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.” (Job 42:3)

We may not receive answers here, but we need to move toward trusting God's character and purpose. Not quite sure I'm there yet, but I'm working on it. 

So what do you call the date that marks the day when your loved one left this earth? 

Many refer to it as an "anniversary," but to me, an anniversary is a time of celebration. I don't feel like celebrating this day. 

Some call it an "angelversary," but that doesn't sit well with me either. Theologically, it is not correct, but besides that, it is still a celebration, and I'm not comfortable with that term either. 

A friend of mine who also lost her child calls it his "Thanoversary." Thano is the Greek word for death, so that works for her. 

I asked ChatGPT what do some people call this date, and one of the phrases it gave me was "Death Anniversary," which sounds morbid to me. I don't have an aversion to the word, death, but again, that anniversary piece doesn't resonate with me. 

Another was "Heaven Anniversary," which I may use at some point in the future, since it's recognizing the day as a promotion of sorts. 

Recently, I registered a star for Jess and the date of registration as March 12, 2024, so I guess that signifies a heavenly destination. 

All that being said, I still don't know what to call it, other than connecting it to the worst day of my life. But I will look upon Jessica's memory with love and with peace. 

I can say, I look at her picture now, and feel more love than pain. I've been told that it is a positive step, but what are steps? 

Are these so-called steps forward something that makes other people happier, more comfortable, so they don't have to witness my grief? 

I'm not sure. 

I'm also not sure what it means to me. I just know that most of the time I smile when I look at her photo.

Well, whatever this all means (and I know this post is all over the map), today I will go to Jessica's bench to hang out and chat with her, and drink a peppermint tea (her favourite) then maybe I'll go get myself some cotton candy ice cream (also her favourite). 

I love you, sweet Jessica. I was going to say, "more than you know," but I guess that where you are, you really do know already, don't you? 

The Chosen Revisited

Mike and I have watched the whole Chosen series. We got to the series late in the game, and when we discovered it, we went on a “binge-watch.” Watching it ignited a path to healing in my heart. Witnessing the humanity of Jesus made me feel like He sees me and He gets me. I can relate to that. There were touching scenes throughout the episodes, and while artistic license was used, it truly gave the Scripture meaning and colour for me. 

Even though we have seen the series, an email promotion to watch an episode each day throughout Lent sparked our desire to watch it again. Since there are 40 episodes for 40 days, it would lead us right into Holy Week. 

I have to admit, there are episodes and scenes now that we both cannot recall seeing. We watched it in 2024, the year of the "Blur" for us. But then again, maybe it's much like Scripture. You can read a chapter or other portion of the bible countless times, but then one day you read it and say, "Why have I not seen that before?!" God speaks to us differently and at different times of the day, depending on what we need.

One particular scene from season 3, episode 2, still stands out clearly in my memory from the first viewing. It is where Jesus instructed the disciples to go on their missionary journey in twos. He gave them each an area to share the Gospel and the authority to speak, heal the sick, and drive out demons. You could tell from their faces that the disciples were terrified and overwhelmed by this commission. 

After their meeting, little James asked to speak with Jesus privately. Little James has a disability regarding his hip, and his concern is regarding his new role of healing the sick, when he, himself, has not been healed. He essentially asks why Jesus has not healed him, given that He has healed others. Little James did not like being a burden to those around him. He was also concerned that he would not be able to travel as quickly and would slow down the journey for his partner. 

Jesus acknowledged Little James and recognized his concerns. Jesus explained that each of them has something that presents a challenge, noting, with a chuckle, that Simon's temper is one of them. Jesus asks Little James if he wants to be healed, and of course, James responds with a resounding, "YES!" Jesus then tells him that He could heal him, but chooses not to because He trusts him. 

I have to admit, the "trust" word threw me at first, but Jesus goes on to explain that while many require the healing to have faith and believe, how much more powerful would his testimony be because of the faith he has, despite his circumstances? Jesus goes on to say that inspiring others to have strength in weakness focuses on a more eternal perspective. He assures James that in time, he will be fully healed. He just needs to be patient. Of course, Jesus is referring to James's complete healing in heaven.

I remember watching this for the first time and identifying Jessica in the character of Little James. While we all earnestly prayed for her healing on earth, God chose not to heal her. Her experience, like James’s, showed strength despite suffering and weakness. 

As a mother, her suffering was so painful to witness, but when I reflect, Jessica's faith in Jesus was reignited during her weakness. She shared Jesus with others around her. God entrusted her with that difficult journey and message, revealing the strength of her faith despite the suffering. 

I remember the first time, saying to Mike, while the tears flowed, that I wish God had not trusted her so much. I still feel that in some ways, today. Perhaps for selfish reasons, because she was ultimately and perfectly healed in the presence of the Father.

As I look back on Jessica’s journey and my own, I think, “What next?” He trusted me with the message of faith in spite of my circumstances, I suppose. But when I think of my prolonged season of doubt and questioning, is that evidence of faith? 

When I reflect more honestly, I believe it is. While I don’t believe God tests us, my faith has been deeply tested. I have been on the precipice of losing my faith. Not that I would ever have given up on God and my faith, but I stared into that abyss and realized how people in similar circumstances could do exactly that. 

I guess that's one of the reasons I want to write a book. I want to share with others that it’s possible to wrestle with God and question His will without losing your faith. I am so thankful that He is a patient God and willing to work with me and wait for me. 

Who Am I Now?

 

The past three years have been topsy-turvy to say the least. In January 2023, I was working as a full-time care coordinator at a hospital. 

My role was defined. 

I was a nurse, working full-time with a 90-minute commute each day. I didn't have much time for anything else. 

Yes, I was a wife, mother, and grandmother, but fitting everything into a 24-hour day was a challenge. It was a busy life, but I knew who I was and made time for my family on weekends and days off. 

Then the decision was made to seek a change in my position due to policy changes. I applied for posted positions within the organization, but was unable to change roles. 

With prayer, I felt that God was leading me to retire. I wasn't going to retire completely, but with my new grandson on the way, I thought it was a perfect time to take some time off to help Jessica. 

My retirement date was February 28, 2023, marking a clear new chapter. 

Then on February 2, I woke in the wee hours with intractable pain. My last month at work was sick time due to a herniated disc. I wasn't sure how quickly I'd recover to help Jess with the new baby by the end of March, but I prayed I would be back on track. I was able to be present for the baby's birth, albeit with my trusty cane. 

Suddenly, uncertainty crept in as my circumstances changed. 

Jessica's diagnosis, treatment, and death brought on another shift. I became her caregiver and helped her family, especially her children. My new grandson was just three months old at her diagnosis, so I became his primary caregiver. My nursing background helped during Jessica's treatments and hospitalizations. My responsibilities were both uncertain and defined in different ways. 

The care of the children and the home became my priority, especially after Jess died. My son-in-law needed help navigating life and the children. I wanted to help in any way I could, without being too overbearing. In many ways, I was doing this for Jessica. Helping her family adjust to their new routines while keeping the familiar rhythms of life that bore her signature.

Those first weeks of caring for my grandson were busy, but I loved it so much. I was with him 5 days a week, and it gave me purpose when I didn't have a reason to get out of bed in the morning. My role was devoted to him. 

Then, the first layer was removed. He went to daycare. While it was a needed transition for him and the future, I mourned that change. I even wanted to care for him part-time, but that wasn't an option. 

Daycare has proved to be a good move for him, but I felt that some of my role had been taken away. Bereavement seemed to hit me harder after that change. I had more time to think, mourn, and miss Jessica. 

Even though my role was changing, I still had a somewhat routine. I picked my grandson up from daycare to "help out" my son-in-law. Then the day came when he no longer "needed" me for that role. 

While it was a good thing that he wanted to establish his routine because, as he said, "This is my life now," I still felt the tears fall when I read his text. 

I still helped out where I could. I was going to their home once a week to do some cleaning and help "catch up" on the laundry. Three young children go through a lot of clothes in a week. 

It made my day busy, but I loved it. I was doing this for Jess, to honour her. 

As I felt better, I started to make a meal for them on Wednesdays, which was a huge deal for me. I had not been in a meal-prep rhythm for some time. While my son-in-law was doing a good job of meal prep for the kids, I wanted to "help out." 

I also started babysitting my grandson two to three nights a week while my other grandson had soccer. I still had a role. 

Then, more recently, the direction came that, although the help was appreciated, my son-in-law wanted to assume more responsibility. 

His message was clear, thoughtful, and compassionate. His words were more along the lines of wanting me to be "grandma" to the kids, and not to be wrapped up in the household chores. 

He said that these things were his responsibility. 

I grappled with where I went wrong. I recognize times when I may have been perceived as "taking over," and while that was welcome at one time, I believe my son-in-law is now growing in his role. 

I also recognized, from his words, that these were the words Jessica would have used with me. That actually warmed my heart just thinking about it. 

So now, what is my role? I have more time, especially on Wednesdays, to be available, but for what? 

I have taken courses in grief education to be a support for others walking the grief journey, but am I ready? 

I can still be grandma and help care for the children, but it will be a challenge for me not to automatically help with chores when I'm there. I must respect my son-in-law's wishes. 

There may be times, especially in the summer, when he may need my help a bit more, but I need to wait to be asked. This is a hard thing for this taskmaster, but I believe in respecting my son-in-law's wishes and growth. 

This is what God needs me to do, and perhaps in this process, I will discover "who I am" now.

Seeking who I am in Christ and where He wants me to be now is part of this journey I am on, called life, the 2026 version.

Even If

 This week, Mike and I went to see the movie, I Can Only Imagine 2. The first movie featured the life of Bart Millard from the band MercyMe and how he came to write the popular Christian song "I Can Only Imagine." It's a beautiful song, and we actually had the music video play at the end of Jessica's Celebration of Life, which featured her photo tribute. There was a time, not so long ago, that I couldn't listen to the song without crying (I still do at times), let alone sing the words at all. I sang the song at our Life Group recently, and it was a beautiful moment that I felt honoured to remember Jessica.

I had only recently discovered that a sequel was in theatres, so I was excited to see it. I wasn't sure what this one was about, and I'm unclear on what a "sequel" could tell. Sequels are often described as "not so great" compared to the first installment, but I was willing to take a chance. If you haven't seen the movie yet, there are some spoilers in the next few paragraphs. 

The story again somewhat featured Bart Millard's life challenges with his firstborn son, Sam, who developed Type II Diabetes at a very young age. Their relationship became complicated, and neither Bart nor Sam could seem to relate to the other. Explaining that Bart's own fractured relationship with his father didn't give him a solid example to follow. We see flashbacks of the first movie, where Bart and his father struggled under his father's abuse. Of course, that relationship was healed in later years when Bart's dad became a Christian and a brand new person. 

However, as we know, the damage done in a child's early years does come back to them as adults, regardless of the healing that has taken place. Bart seemed to try many strategies, including taking Sam on a MercyMe tour. On that tour, the opening artist was a man named Tim Timmins. He was a gregarious sort of guy who instantly bonded with the teenager, Sam. Sam went on to become not only his assistant but also to play and sing with Tim on stage. 

Tim also had a song that he had had difficulty finishing, so he asked Bart to look at it and finish it for him. Bart didn't really take this seriously because he was having difficulty coming up with new material. He didn't feel he had had a truly impactful song since he wrote "I Can Only Imagine." 

It was after Tim had collapsed on tour that the band discovered he was suffering from Stage 4 cancer. They didn't share in the movie what kind of cancer it was, but after some research, I found out it was liver cancer, which is an ominous diagnosis. Bart then took the CD Tim had given him and went on to complete the song. It was at that moment in the movie that I saw the song was called "Even If."

"Even If" was a favourite song of mine, and even more so when Jessica was sick. I clung to the words many times. The chorus goes like this: 

I know You're able and I know You can

Save through the fire with Your mighty hand

But even if You don't

My hope is You alone

I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt

Would all go away if You'd just say the word

But even if You don't

My hope is You alone

 

When I listened to the song in the movie, I realized I had not sung or listened to it since Jessica died. I sang the words, "My hope is You alone," even when you don't save me through the fire, or take away my sorrow. I really thought I meant what I was singing. It was a prayer I sang over Jessica and her situation, an anthem of praise to a God who I knew was in control. 

I sang those words, and my prayers were not answered to heal my daughter on this earth. I sang the words declaring that even if He didn't heal her, save her life, keep her here for her children and all of us, her family, I would still hope in Him, praise Him, because He is good. But yet, I didn't keep my end of the bargain. While I didn't declare it with my mouth, I was upset that God didn't approve my transactional prayer. He didn't deliver, I turned my back in a sense, but He was still right beside me.  

Jesus never promised you or me that we would have a life without sorrow, without difficulty, or without any pain. In John 16:33, He tells us:

I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth, you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.”

He told us we would have many trials and sorrows, but He has overcome the world. Our hope is in Him alone. 

I had an epiphany that has awakened something in my soul. I have a longing to know Him more again. That’s something that hasn’t happened in quite some time. I pray this “epiphany” is not fleeting, like an emotion, but that it sparks me on to an even greater and deeper relationship with Jesus.

I'm singing that song again, "Even If," and, in fact, it is on and off in my head several times a day. I pray that this is another step in my healing journey with the Lord. 

Even If by MercyMe