Remembering my mom, and her strength through her own health battle.
Officially a college student! (Old photo.) My parents helped me move in. Mom was probably experiencing symptoms of ALS here, but was keeping it to herself.
I get my fighting spirit from my mom.
By my second year in college, my mom was diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease called Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). ALS is unforgiving and cruel. It robs a person of their ability to speak, eat, breath and move. In our family, ALS has been especially unkind. Mom was only 48 when she was diagnosed and the ALS progressed very slowly in her body; the decline spanned nearly two-years. This was a different progression than ALS had taken with both of her younger brothers. They died of ALS in their 30’s.
I was a junior at Purdue when my mom was living out her final months. After first semester finals were over I went home for winter break. It was evident we wouldn’t be getting another Christmas together so I withdrew from my spring classes to remain at home and to care for her.
Throwing it way back to high school graduation. This is one of my favorite pictures!
We were able to keep Mom at home for the entirety of her illness by borrowing a hospital bed from an ALS support group. We were also able to acquire other equipment to help transfer her in and out of bed and into her chair. For bathing, my dad and I engineered a handicap accessible ‘shower’ by outfitting my parents' oversized Jacuzzi tub with a plastic shower seat and attaching a hand-held sprayer to the water spigot.
One of our last photos as foursome. Mom, Dad, my brother Mike and me along with our humongous 18 lb. cat Sam. Mom could no longer walk without assistance because of ALS. I appreciate that she could still smile.
Also, my Dad arranged for an in-home healthcare aide to assist mom early in the morning after he left for work. The aid’s name was Sue, just like Mom’s. Sue and I were a great team. We worked in shifts. She made mom’s breakfast, helped her eat it, and did range-of-motion exercises with her. I jumped in from noon until dinner with a similar list of responsibilities that included helping Mom get dressed. By dinner, Dad was home from work and the two of us worked in tandem to meet all of Mom’s needs. As a reward for our efforts, Mom only spent two nights (of her entire two-year illness) in a hospital. -But she had also refused any breathing assistance or life support. So just after midnight, three months after the photo above was taken, Dad opened my bedroom door and whispered, “Mommy’s gone.”
Wildly, she had declared it to be so earlier that morning. -She announced assuredly, “This is going to be my last day!” She was direct, matter-of-fact, and looking back now I realize she was also completely at peace. In the moment, my heart and mind couldn’t process why she would say such a thing. However, as I've grown in my relationship with Jesus, I've come to recognize that when Abba is calling His child home, that soul is the only one who hears Him.
This is the view from my back porch, where I start each day. It’s the perfect place to set my mind and spirit on Jesus. Every now and then I wonder what the view looks like from the other side of those clouds.