When my mother began telling me how weak she felt, I hadn't paid more attention than normal. My mother has had kidney disease all my adult life. But when the weeks passed and she couldn't eat and she couldn't stay awake...alarms were going off inside my heart.
By the following week, I got a text from my sister. "I just called 911!" Mom has struggled with only part of one kidney for... EVER. If only insurance didn't control medical care, she would've had dialysis about once a month for the last 10 years. But insurance won't let you have dialysis unless you need it three times per week. Who cares if there are special cases. Coverage is based off of statistics, they do not care about actual human beings. I'm sure most of us wonder when doctors no longer got to diagnose patients and decide on their treatment. Now, nurses who work for the insurance companies decide the patients fate over the phone. Based of course, off statistical probabilities of best outcomes. It might sound good to your pocket book, but I promise you when it's a loved one, all the sudden you aren't as concerned about those statistics. As Charles Dickens wrote,
“If they would rather die,” said Scrooge, “they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.”
As the days wore on, I struggled with the truth that I should be with her. I want so much to be with her. But there is no one to care for my son, my 27 year old son with autism. My oldest daughter graciously stepped in and kept him for most the morning, and my sister in law kept him all the afternoon. My husband closed our business so I could go. It really takes a village.
Only two very long years ago, Britton was doing so well he could've gone with me...someone would've helped me because he was easy to have around. But now, now he struggles just to get out of bed every single day. The contrast is definitely like night and day. Like good and bad... like faith and hopelessness.
It appears to be a combination of physical pain he suffers from his failed shoulder surgery, his fear of seizures, his nonstop OCD issues, and now there's the debilitating depression from all the above. But I know he is a brilliant young man, knowing that is a gift and a very sad curse.
With autism, most families assume their children have a 2 year old mentality, and treat them accordingly. I did too, for years. But in 2015 when Britton began typing on his ipad, there was no mistaking the fact that he was highly intelligent.
It's so awesome, and yet the dilema it creates tilts your world sideways. The behaviors now, are viewed so differently. Add his depression, and despair, along with the pain it's all about buried him, buried all of us. He seems to have decided that "being autistic" is far easier than the responsibilities that the truth of his intellect now require. Being more "normal" is hard work. He just can't do it when his mind clouds from autoimmune encephalitis, his gut swells from crohns disease, and his shoulder aches constantly from the damage of 30+ dislocations. The treatments for each condition has problems of their own, and none of the treatments cure, they just help.... maybe.
When he grabs my arm, growls in fury and pinches the daylights out of me, cause that's what you do when you have no way to communicate. I know it's because it's so much easier, and faster to relieve your frustrations than picking up your ipad and talking about it. But now, mom expects far more and then she has the nerve to tell you to act your age, and she means it.
But autism is one of those crushing, soul draining conditions. It claimed my son when he was 18months old. The monster came in the darkest part of the night in the fall of 1991. It clamped down on his tiny body and drained him of his vital essence and left a black venom in it's place. It ate holes in his brain and then made him swallow the venom so it could chew on his intestines and leave them bleeding and porous. The end results were devastating, life altering, and smothering. His precious baby spirit began fighting to survive. It changed who he would become, what his choices would be, and how the world would see him. It changed everything.
The last year it's like watching him sink in thick, strangling quick sand. I've got a death grip on both of his hands, but our fingers are slipping. It's so much harder to fight when he just releases my fingers and looks at me with tired eyes pleading. "Just give up, let me go." I really don't know how to do that. He's my son, there is no quit in me. There's frustration, and crying til I puke. There's nights of terror, as I prop him up from too many seizures making sure he's getting enough air through all the gurgling sounds. Those are the moments I wonder if by refusing to let go, we may both will go down together. Outsiders will judge my situation and wonder why I keep trying. Others will point fingers to tell me how I've failed. Worst of all I myself believe I've failed and condemn myself for not doing more, trying harder, thinking I need any kind of life at all. I begin to feel guilty for being human.
As the pressures have mounted and mom has walked back and forth from this world to the next. I've never felt so much like giving up. My poor dad is suffering with vascular dementia and he makes the situation about a million times worse than it already is. He can only walk at a snails pace, can't hear, he can't see. He misunderstands everything said to him. He will argue with a stick over the most basic of mom's care. He accuses male nurses of oogling my 80 year momma. He himself basically asked a nurse to "give him a sugar." I'm sure you want to laugh, I would too, EXCEPT it's my daddy. Oh the fun of growing older.
I prayed the entire 500 mile drive home after getting to see my mom. I cried til I couldn't drive, so I had to pull over and empty my despair onto the side of the highway. My mom, my dad, my son, Jesus help us! If ever I thought I had control of anything, the truth of how powerless I am is in my face.
Then I heard that rumble again, and I waited for the pieces of my life to crash all around me. When I could still hear it, I finally asked God, "what do I hear?" I could feel His presence and I knew He heard my question. I believe he replied first with this scripture,
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us." Heb. 12:1
I saw in my minds eye... a stadium. A packed stadium full of people. I saw two brother-in- laws, a friend's daughter, a dear friend from my teenage years. I saw a lot of people who have gone on before me. They were cheering, calling out my name. "Teresa! Teresa! Teresa!" I opened my eyes, looking around expecting to SEE them right beside me. Calling out, "You can do this!" "You've got this!" "Let go, you can trust God!"
Then, this scripture of encouragement came rolling through my mind.
"But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." IICorin. 12:9
So this blog, this is me boasting about my weaknesses. I am weak, but HE is strong. How grateful I am that I'm not an only child. My siblings have shown up one after the next to help my parents, to be there, to support, to show their love and concern. My oldest sister Brinda, lives close by so she has borne the heaviest part of being there. Being with mom is the easy part, managing my Dad's unpredictable behaviors is a much harder condition to cope with. On the elevator Dad talked to me about "his daughter Teresa, and what she had shared with him." It was a true story, I remembered it. But the daggers of his memory slipping so far out of reach stuck in my gut and I really haven't been able to remove them.
My brother showed up and we all hoped my dad would calm down, but he seemed to rile up and feel almost threatened like two rams butting heads; sadly there was more conflict. He went so far as to tell my brother, "I'm not afraid of you." Eventually when Dad lost it completely and my brother did the most amazing thing. My Dad is a small man, and so my brother engulfed him in a giant bear hug and refused to let him go til he understood how much he was loved. It ended in sobbing, and it seemed to clear Dad's mind. Love is indeed all powerful.
- "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no account of wrongs.…" ICorin. 13:3-5
Whatever I'm going through, whatever you are going through... no matter how much, no matter how hard...no matter how long it lasts. There is the huge crowd of witnesses, cheering us on from the celestials. Watching, encouraging, and knowing exactly how we feel. They are in the stands, waving banners, yelling scripture, pointing the way home, yelling our name!
But Jesus, our Jesus is on the field, because after all, when we are in battle, He is right beside us. Helping us to lift our sword, reminding us that we are never alone. Assuring us that it doesn't matter what we are capable of enduring, He is more than enough. The God of Angel Armies, the King of the World! This battle that I feel has buried me, is nothing more than a small skirmish to Him. He's got this, I can rest in my faith. He is the commander of Angels that can take down hordes of the dark ones with a nod of His head.
Even going so far as to send someone to embrace me in a giant bear hug til I know, I am loved.
But Jesus, our Jesus is on the field, because after all, when we are in battle, He is right beside us. Helping us to lift our sword, reminding us that we are never alone. Assuring us that it doesn't matter what we are capable of enduring, He is more than enough. The God of Angel Armies, the King of the World! This battle that I feel has buried me, is nothing more than a small skirmish to Him. He's got this, I can rest in my faith. He is the commander of Angels that can take down hordes of the dark ones with a nod of His head.
Even going so far as to send someone to embrace me in a giant bear hug til I know, I am loved.
