Two years ago, my aunt died. Five months after that my younger brother died. Both of these deaths were unexpected and sudden. Shocks of heartache I was unprepared for. And would you believe it, that six months after my brother’s death there was yet another life altering AND miraculous event which left me unemployed and the primary caregiver for my mother? Waking each morning my soul shutters at the weight and wonder of it all. My heart has been aching for a while now. I’ve been most intrigued by the reality that this HEARTACHE was authored by God. This blog is to memorialize thoughts that I have internalized over the past year and a half. Thoughts and feelings as I continue to navigate this roller coaster of grief.
phase one of heartache
On the day my mother lost a son, she also lost a daughter whose identity was hijacked by the role of caregiver. I became hyper vigilant on providing excellent care to her as she prepared for a lung transplant. All I knew is that I could not lose her too; as if I had any control over that. I exerted all of my effort to support her as an overcompensation for my inability to support my brother (as I desired) in his last days. In the depth of my soul I believed that if I was in a hospital bed fighting for my life, my brother, Ken, would not have been pulled from my side. Our love for one another was a deep well. However during this time of duress, I failed him. I could not be by his side. I lament this often. Maybe I would have more closure if my last memory was holding his sweet hand as he gasped for his last breath. Circumstances and my shattered heart kept me from being there. It is my greatest regret.
So yeah, when my mom lost her son, she lost me (as her daughter) in many ways. For the past year or so, I have been trying to find my way back home. I have spent majority of my life as a woman of faith, experiencing God’s protection, provision, and presence. The deep ache in my heart hasn’t prevented me from running to God, but it has caused me to have questions for God, doubt the goodness of God, and long for days when I could easily trust that all would be well. Give me that easy like Sunday morning trust. Gone are those days.
This heartache is different because it lingers in the morning and at night. It lingers as I work out and as I rest. Long-term heartache equates to heartbreak. I often tell close friends that grief changes us. I can not name all the ways it has changed me, but I know that I am changed. So when you see me, your encounters will now have to encounter my grief, angst, and sadness on some days. Please don’t ignore that – just be present with me. Without questions or advice.
phase two of heartache
Even in the midst of my doubts of the Lord’s goodness, He would arrest my heart with gratitude by opening a door for my mom’s transplant six months after my brother’s death. I was elated and even surprised at the timing of the transplant. Nothing could have prepared me for the next round of heartache when I almost watched my mom die. The transplant went well, but a few days afterwards there was trouble in paradise. I watched as nurses and doctors worked to revive my mother – a memory that never leaves you. The myriad of complications post transplant left me no choice but to delay returning to the classroom as an educator.
During this phase, more of my heartache grew as we returned home and all routines changed. I changed. In phase two, our home became synonymous with caregiving and nothing else. Medications, tube feedings, vital checks, breathing treatments, cooking, and cleaning. Because of the seriousness of my mom’s needs during this time, my body became conditioned to watch for and respond to every single concern. I jokingly referred to myself as her unpaid nurse from time to time.
It has been one year since my mom’s transplant and she is doing amazing now. Our family is filled with gratitude. What I have realized is that my body is filled with trauma. I hold in my body so many moments of grief and tragedy and unfortunately my body still wants to operate as caregiver and not daughter. My body recalls the beeps from the tube feed machine in the middle of the night and hoping that it hasn’t gotten clogged or pulled out warranting yet another trip to the hospital. Each night I lay down prepared to rise suddenly if needed although my mom is doing well. This is the heartache. When I sleep, I am still sensitive to any cough or noise from my mother. Any day if something is slightly off. I experience less moments of laughter and joy because my energy is consumed with “making sure she is ok.” My eyes and ears have been trained to look for things that are possibly, even subtly, wrong. I had to do this daily for so long because little things that were slightly off became big things. Now I do this instinctively. This is heartache. This can be helpful, but unhealthy if it there’s no “turn off” switch. I presumed leaving the caregiver role behind would be automatic for me and it hasn’t.
So now I speak to those of you who have been caregivers for your parents (or a loved one) during a season of life. I imagined myself immediately “living again” after my mom’s health improved, yet I find myself stuck. Stuck in a role that was divinely orchestrated and has rewired my interactions with my mother. I have been told by those on the transplant team that the first year of this journey can be really unpredictable and difficult. I look forward to returning to the classroom this year and hope that God will grant me wisdom as to how I can better care for myself. I desire to move out of the caregiver role and return to daughter. I welcome input, insight, and invites for coffee during this transition.
My heart was broken and is in repair due to God’s sovereignty. My prayers were not answered in a way that I desired, but they were answered.
Now, I long for God’s presence in the midst of the heartache for it has been the only remedy with staying power. Maybe that was God’s plan all along – more of Him and less of me.
Today I remain full of hope with a heavy heart as my remnant.
Precious Predilections 
