Yesterday I told momma she was absolutely beautiful.
She scoffed, told me to shut the hell up (in her new found "mush" language) and then smiled from ear to ear. Today or tomorrow we are taking Momma to Hospice. There really no other words right now. I'll keep you updated.
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It's not that I want to be the lone leader.
It's not that I am hell-bent on standing on my own, holding my own, feeling alone, alone holding the weight of everyone. It is the fact that I am who I am. Who my Momma has raised me to be. I am strong I am independent I can feel just as long as it's not with anyone else. I can weep as long as it's in my dark, cold room high atop a mountain of blankets and pillows. I can wail as long as it's at the wall of my heart. Boxed up, banged up, bruised up. A massive sea of dysfunction, a shit show, that's the shape of my heart. I feel like an orphan. For most of my life my Momma has been my Momma and Dad. Now for most of the rest of my life, I will be without. Lacking the one who soothed me goodnight. Lacking the one who encouraged me to be Molly. Lacking the one who inspired me to inspire. Lacking the one who taught me who I am. Lacking the one who provided. Who carried. Who bled, sweat, and wept so we would have everything we could need- and so much more. Alone. Left to carry the weight. Mom is almost gone. And I'm frustrated. Caught in this circle of death. It just keeps circling and circling and circling and I'm caught in the undertow of this current. Attempting to understand why. And understanding that even if I don't understand, He is still good. I'm frustrated because OH MY WORD does no one want to feel with me? I'm frustrated because B told me he knew, he knew what he was digging into. He understood the life I led, the family I led, the person who led me. He told me he chose me, was crazy about me, but in the end, it was still me but me wasn't enough. Maybe me was too much? And here I am, alone. Out on the end of a pirates plank. Toes curled over the rickety board. Splintering. My knees shake as I bend over mom's bed. My fingers tremble as I touch her fragile skin. My lips quiver as I kiss her forehead. My eyes drenched from the memories that flood over me. I am sunk. She has maybe a week now. Signs of the end of time are starting show clear now. Symptoms of "death" grow astronomically every hour. My mom is no longer to focus her eyes on me. Her eyes, instead gloss completely over me. Almost as if she is looking through me. We are no longer the main attraction, there is something beyond we aren't attune to. She cannot hold my hand anymore, momma cannot squeeze my hand three times to tell me, in our own very special and private and silent way, that she loves me. Momma can no longer put together a full sentence. She says a few of the same words on repeat. Sounding remarkably similar to my heavily scratched Backstreet Boys Millennium CD. Her words, while jumbled and repetitive, resemble an almost rhythmic chorus. Today she did not eat a single thing, she hardly drank a drop. And she certainly has not "voided" in over 24 hours. Soon there will be no more soon. It will just be "now." I'm resting in the soon. i found some words. And as i type this, i am beginning to choke up. It hit me. it finally, maybe for the first real time, hit me. i was in sitting on her fancy red walker on the fold down seat, in the dark, just listening to her breathe. Mom is going to be gone soon. GONE. Momma will not get to come watch me graduate from graduate school, she won't get to watch me open my first coffee shop, she won't get to see my baby with down syndrome graduate pre-school, high school, college. She won't be at my wedding, help me paint my first home. I won't get to watch her grow old, join old lady clubs like aqua Zumba, I won't get to see her retire in Malibu. Yesterday Hospice came. Very kind people. People dedicated to the cause of dignity and grace. But people I don't necessarily want to know, people I don't necessarily want in Momma's home. No way MY mom is ready to be cared for by Hospice. Diane Doris Kraling? Oh hell no. She is the strongest, most independent, most private person i know. No way were we ready for Hospice to be here already. But, nonetheless, they came. And they left a pamphlet. Here is a picture of one of the very last two pages in this book. Above is a chart outlining the best guess on how much longer mom has based on symptoms she is currently undergoing. And as of right this minute, it looks as if mom has one-three weeks left. Seven days. i am allowing that number to sink in. To engulf me, wash over me. And i feel nothing but heaviness, like at any moment i could sink to the bottom and not resurface. I've been noticing lately how fast time seems to move. Completely unfazed by the pain around it. Not even the pain it causes. Just keeps ticking away, the hands chug around the clock like they are part of the Indy 500. I think I finally understand what the author of Ecclesiastes meant when he wrote: "Meaningless, its all just meaningless." I know. If you know me or have even read a couple other blog posts of mine you are probably thinking "what the junk?! Molly Kraling scoffing, frowning, admitting something just might be not worth it?" Hell yeah. I am over it, time is meaningless right now to me. I loathe time and in the very same breath, I envy time. And it is simply because when time is not on your side, (which, by the way, seems to be the case more often than not) you are battling the universe. And a battle against the universe is a losing war. I want to just sit in a dark room and listen to my Momma snore. Listen to her breathe and moan. I want to hold her hand taking mental snapshots of everything. I have to remember these moments. I must remember these moments. Regardless of stupid time, i must soak in every last minute I have with her on this side of forever. A couple years back i wrote a three piece blog post on time. Give it a read if you want!
I have no words to say today.
But someone I admire, my very favorite professor, Chad Ragsdale, has something incredible to say. Read it here: "If we want Momma to be pain free, we have to keep giving her morphine.
If she takes morphine than she stops being Momma." That was a text I sent to Loretta a few days back. Momma stopped being Momma yesterday. She is almost all together a different person, kind of like a child, confused, and fragile. And hilarious. Oh my word, so funny. If I knew how to share a video on here I would show you just how funny this medicine is making her. But she is out of pain. Yesterday morning she woke up and exclaimed: "That was the best night sleep I have had since I got this dumb ass cancer." The hallucinations of bats, snakes, gnats, and other "animals" have almost come to a screeching halt. So Momma not being Momma anymore is worth it. I am not sure what else to write here to be honest with you. Other than there is a deep sinking feeling in my gut as I am starting to process that my Momma is nearly gone. While, perhaps, not physically from this earth yet, certainly from her mind. For some this will be easier to imagine, you've experienced this same fear, this same situation once or twice, but imagine with me that the person who raised you, provided everything you ever needed with her own hands. The person who insisted that the weight of your world would on her shoulders, even when she could carry no more. That person, that Momma. Gone. But thats ok. Because heaven. Somewhere I have been forced to think about more and more is heaven. Kyle Idelman preached a message on Heaven that I cannot seem to shake. Kyle showed us that while John didn't give readers a lot of information on would be in heaven, he did record what would would not be there. Revelation 21:4-5 "He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore for the former things have passed away. And he who was seated on the throne said, "Behold, I am making all things new." John's list inspired Kyle to write a list of his own. Here's what he said: "In heaven there will be.. no more crying, no more pain, no more death, no more cancer, no more divorce, no more bandaids, no more pacemakers, no more school shootings, no more depression, no more abortion, no more hurricanes, no more double chins, no more yelling, no more abuse, no more crash diets, no more spanx, no more drama, no more rape, no more injustice, infomercials, comparison, amber alerts, doctors, taxes, lawyers, elections, no more clowns with chain saws, no more mean kids, orphanages, broken homes, tiny caskets, no more sin..." Here is what I say: If there is one thing that must be in Heaven waiting for Momma... it is our Father. Ready to wipe away our tears and hold us tight. Ready to heal Momma, ready to hold Momma, wipe away her pain, take down the burdens from her shoulders, to be a Dad to my Mom. Momma is not Momma anymore, but she will be in a coming tomorrow. Hi guys! Loretta here.
As most of Molly’s readers know, I recently went from a Ms. to a Mrs. I got hitched. I tied the knot. You may also know that Zach and I (along with an army of family and friends) planned and executed a pretty stinking spectacular wedding in just 5 weeks. What some of you may not know is this. Zach and I were supposed to get married up at the cabin in early September. God decided that March was just more fitting for us, I suppose. You see, I had received a phone call on Tuesday, January 31 at 3:30 P.M. It was Momma, her voice only cracking for a moment after I had asked what the doctor had said at her appointment that day. There was nothing left for the doctors to do. There would be no more treatments. Hope of winning this war against cancer had been shot to hell once again. (Our family has a running record of being screwed over by cancer, but “that’s a post for another day”). I was angry. (I guess I still am) Over the next five weeks, in the midst of planning our wedding, taking 18 credits, caring for Momma on the weekends, attempting to keep my relationship with Zach afloat, and participating in premarital counseling late on Sunday nights, I was angry. But joyful. And sad. But giddy. And lost. But also found. All of this, and more, all at the same time, even now as I write this. I am angry. I am angry at my father for not staying committed to the vows he had made to Momma 24 years ago, regardless of the fact that that ship has already sailed. I am angry that the doctors had given up on my momma, despite knowing that each and every doctor that has ever come in contact with her, in both her personal and professional life, has come to adore her and only want what is in her best interest. I am angry at some of my siblings who have been absent for most of my young adult life, even more so during this time when we could benefit from their presence. I am angry at Momma, she should have gone to the doctor sooner, she could have told me what she knew. I am angry at God, with each drive to and from Mason City I scream at Him while tears force me to pull over to the side of the road. So, again, I am angry. I am joyful. Making the Dean’s List fills me with joy. Damn, I worked my ass off last semester and, apparently, that work paid off. I have never been on the “Dean’s List” before, but I can only assume that I now can park wherever I want on campus without getting a ticket. Laughing with Momma fills me with joy. Over the past 7 months, laughter has filled my heart. We do this thing where we say one word or phrase or sound and we just keep repeating the word/phrase/sound over and over to each other until, finally, Molly tells us to stop. We laugh and, of course, don’t stop. Today’s sound was, ironically, a laugh that would make anyone cringe. We have shared stories about each other’s childhood and what the best brand of dill pickle chips are, so, we have covered what is really important. Zach fills me with joy. In Zach’s arms, I find peace, I find rest, and I can cry ugly tears. Through this season, he is my grace, my protection, and my light. And God is our joy. In God’s arms, we am humbled, broken, and made new. Through this season, He is our grace, our protection, and our light. I am sad. I had a plan for Momma, regardless of who my husband was going to be. A plan I had thought up years ago. I planned on Momma living above my garage after I got married. I planned on making certain that we had an in-law suite just right for Momma. She would “come over” on Tuesday nights for pizza and game night, watch the kids one Saturday a month for date night, and my husband and I would sign her up for ridiculous old-lady clubs that she would say she hated, but secretly adored. Momma was supposed to be my classroom’s designated grandma. I planned on her coming into my classroom and reading to my students the way she had always read to me, using silly voices, wild facial expressions, and unruly gestures to bring the story to life. I was supposed to finally get to take care of my momma the way she had always taken care of me. But, now Momma and I have discussed a new plan, one that is ideal for her, but a little more difficult for me to swallow. First, before anything else, Momma plans on watching over Adeline, my beautiful step-daughter, my first baby girl. As time goes on and Zach and I decide to grow our family, Momma plans on holding our babies long before we ever have a chance to. Momma says that she is going to teach them things that only she can, so we know that Grandma Diane was with them first. Momma plans to still live above our garage, just in a bit of an upgrade from a piddly ol’ in-law suite. I am giddy. I will be frank (I don’t really understand why people use this phrase, what does a hot dog have to do with being straightforward and honest about something), I do not make a very good wife. Hell, I don’t even make a very okay wife. Since I was a little girl, we have always had a “sock basket.” For the longest time, it was an old wooden box that said “LIFE” across the side. In it, us Kraling Girls built a mountain out of ours socks. By us, I mean me. When Molly gave me the task of mating the socks, I would put them in the “LIFE” box and go play with my Hot Wheels. Then, when I needed a pair of socks, I would take from Molly’s dresser, which was always a stockpile of mated socks. The only times I have ever had my own pair of mated socks are the times that I have had to buy a new 6-pack of socks from Wal-Mart. And when I get socks for Christmas. Okay, you are wondering what the point of this story is. Here goes. I am giddy to use the same “LIFE” box as our sock box. Just kidding. Molly already called dibs on the box when we were 10 and 11, so it is in the garage with all her “future home decor” stuff (AKA a pile of Goodwill finds that she painted white). What my real point is, I vowed to steal Zach’s socks. Seriously, on our wedding day, in my real wedding vows. I am giddy to keep our vows raw, honest, and always present in our walk together. I am giddy to be given a lot of grace, a lot of love, and a lot of joy from my incredible husband. And I am giddy to give grace, love, and joy right back. I am giddy as I have watched Momma and Zach gain respect and love for one another over the past 7 months. When Zach was here last, Momma said, “I love you, Zach.” Zach said, “I love you, too.” The two strongest, most stubborn, most incredible people in my life love one another. I am giddy. I am lost. I had to ask my nephew, “What’s it like to lose your momma?” “Tata (family nickname, don’t ask), I am lost.” Jennie passed away nearly five years ago, yet he still, at times, feels lost. For us all, being completely lost is what most people find when death gets settled in. A loss for words, a loss of time, a loss of appetite, a loss of patience, a loss of joy, a loss of understanding, a loss of a loved one. When you walk alongside death, you walk hand-in-hand into darkness, confusion, anger, and, for me, anxiety. Death, without the presence of Life, consumes you. I am lost. I am found. God is life, our Saviour guaranteed that much. Let the record show that life is present, God is here. As I walked down the aisle, hand-in-hand with my momma, being pushed by my father, being lead by the Spirit, I was found. I was made new. I was clothed in white (I was literally in a beautiful white dress), walking towards my joy, holding onto my laughter, letting go of my anger, setting aside my heartache, and singing out, “Your GLORY God is what our hearts long for, to be overcome by your presence.” I am found. I am broken, hurting, banged-up, and bruised but I am found and I am free. Mom and Loretta were up all night long.
Momma has been having extreme hallucinations. Not just last night, however, last night was the worst in awhile. She saw dozens of bats and little beedy red and blue eyes staring back at her. Momma explained that a group of them, somewhere close to twenty would move from one side of her wall to the other and then, in a group, climb down into her "funeral dress" which hangs on the outside of her closet door. Momma went on to explain that there were two above her hanging from the light fixture and a few in the very right hand corner of her room. A few times she even cried out for her own momma. "Momma! Momma!" She hollered out. "What's wrong Momma? What do you need? What can we get you?" We replied back. "I just want my Momma." My momma wants her momma. Last night she was terrified. Momma asked Loretta to stay with her and lay next to her. When they got up this morning to use the restroom Loretta promised to check Mom's room for bats. I told her not to indulge this hallucination and Loretta explained to me something profound. "Loretta, do not give in to this craziness. It will only set her deeper into it." "Molly, she is scared. Momma is like a child, we have to tell her she is fine, that she is safe." My momma wants her momma. And her momma is in heaven and soon my momma will be there with her. Pray with us. We may be headed into the hospital very soon. Mom has a tendency to not want to move or do what other people want her to do. She is fiercely independent. And right now we are pleading with her to go. Pray that we all, all three, tune into the Spirit and really lean into what She has to say. Everyday Momma takes steps towards heaven. Pray we all say what needs to be said. Pray that God provides supernatural comfort for her. Pray for strength for Momma's primary caregivers and her other two children. These next few days (hours, weeks) are going to be a rough go. Momma agreed to finally allow a Hospice nurse to begin helping us in this process. Which, to be honest, takes a load off of my shoulders. Loretta, Emmy, and I have come to the point where we are no longer providing the best possible care. We need help, We need professionals.
••• Some days, like today, I completely forget I will soon be without her. And when I remember, it hits me all at once. I become overwhelmingly sad. My heart turns a foggy grey as anger and resentment turn, red-faced fighting towards this disease. A cancer that has stolen my mother and my grandmother. I feel stuck. Like someone glued my feet to the concrete. I cant move. My worst fear is not being able to move. It goes hand in hand with claustrophobia. Once I remember being in the inside seat of a three seat row on a plane. I had a panic attack, realizing I could not easily move from the situation I was in. A large girl stuck in a small corner (fat guy in a little coat syndrome). And here I am. Back in Mason City. In this strange limbo. And in the spirit of honesty, here it is, waiting in this weird in-between state. Unable to move forward, take actual real life steps, feeling completely paralyzed, in fear of burying Mom before she's dead. My New Years resolution was to "cherish every moment." ANDYOUKNOWWHATTHATISEXTRAORDINARILYHARDTODOSOMETIMES. I've noticed myself looking for a lot of ~new~ things. A week ago I started getting on every animal shelter's website in Iowa looking for a cute, abandoned dog to bring home and love. For a while I was dead set on buying a house. I have been watching a lot of HGTV so that's honestly probably where my mind was going. Something I could take from ugly to beautiful. Somewhere to create in. A new project, a new chapter. In the last three weeks I signed up for three different dating websites just to see new people, do something new and unusual. And, to be completely raw, to see if anyone found me new and unusual. A new relationship just may be what my heart needs right now. Hogwash. i don't need a new dog. Junie B is more than enough dog for me right now, in this season. I super do not need and cannot afford a new house. I am not totally sure what in the hail damage I was thinking. I REALLLLLLLYYYY do not need or want to have a new boyfriend right now. I am still processing my relationship that ended two months ago. And because I am feeling stuck and restless. I start moving TOO fast. Doing TOO much, Wanting more and more and way more than I ever bargained for. The person that has known me longer than anyone other human is leaving this earth very soon. So pardon me as I try and smash something, somepet, someone into the hole only Momma fits in. None of of these avenues will glue my broken heart back together and I will fall flat on my face in the pursuit of jimmy rigging that hole closed. And my Father will be right there. Picking me up off the ground, wrapping me in His arms, and healing my broken heart. This will not be, cannot be a one time event, but a daily dive into the promise of Forever with Him. As I continue tripping over my damn self, the Spirit in all of Her grace and finasse will have me off the ground, flying in the air before I can brace my fall. In the mean time, I will be praying that God allows me to deal with these feelings, of abandonment, of loss of a future story with my Momma, of severe grief, depression, anxiety, of reminiscent joy, of anger in a healthy way. A way that honors both Him and myself (mind, body, soul, and spirit). Will you pray with me? My best friend Jake texted me yesterday and told me that people are constantly asking him: "How does she do it all?" For those who may not know, I am working two jobs as well as the main caretaker for Momma. I work part time at a local coffee shop as well as the interim youth minister at Rhythm Church. Both are jobs I love, both I have been trained for for several years, both I am very passionate about. The answer to to the question Jake and I have been asked dozens of times should not be surprising. It should not shock the socks off anyone reading this article. I would have nothing if I didn't have Jesus. My soul would be dead without the Spirit. My body, weary without my Father holding me in His arms. In the spirit of honesty, I want to tell you something. I want to tell you something I have never said out loud or even written down. I am not a good caretaker. I am impatient and selfish. I really love sleep. I am in constant pain. I hate puke and I loathe death. Both things go hand in hand with taking care of someone who is dying. Everyday I pray for extreme measures of patience and for selflessness. I pray that God provides supernatural rest. And that I could wake up one morning without being in excruciating pain. Everyday I pray for enough strength to get through those hours. Enough wisdom to say exactly what I need to say to help prepare Momma's heart for Forever. Naturally, I am not a good caretaker. But I get to learn from God and his Son's ministry on earth. Jesus cared deeply for the sick. Praying simple, calm prayers over them, raising them from the dead, touching their ailing skin. But most importantly, pointing them to Heaven. I am not in the business of raising Mom's physical body from the dead. But I am totally overwhelmed by the gift I was given of raising her Spirit from the depths. I pray over mom daily and wash her face and wounds. I listen to her concerns, cry with her, mourn the end with her, celebrate her life with her. And the coolest thing I get to do is: point her to the cross and to the resurrection of Jesus. •The After Answer• Lately I have been finding myself putting things off until "after" mom passes away. Various meetings, parties, moving into my new apartment, visiting with new people, getting involved in new ministries, etc. All of these things, people, and experiences put off for a soon to come tomorrow. I thought for sure this was a negative thing. I was waiting to do these cool things, meet with these cool people, start helping at cool ministries. All for what? Mom to pass away? That surely wasn't fair to me. But it definitely was not far to Mom. And as I write and process this idea, I am realizing I may just be utilizing the life skill called "boundaries" (cue the scary music- ba dum dum.) Simply put, boundaries did not exist in my family growing up. And therefore, implementing them as a college kid and now as an adult has been very trying. In my next season, I certainly want to make practicing the skill of boundaries a regular part of my life. But that is a different blog for a different day. •Practically Speaking• At this point, most have stopped reading. And that's ok. I have far exceeded the 140 character limit. But for those still reading, I know what you're thinking, "ok yeah yeah the Sunday school answer, Jesus. But HOW is she making it through every day?" Or Maybe not a single one of you were thinking that at all. But I'm going to tell y'all anyway. My best, Andy, challenged me to pull away for thirty minutes and do something creative. Writing simple phrases fancy helps me clear my mind and take a breather. So today, I did just that. And I am so glad I did. After I was finished doodling this little piece I felt an enormous release of emotions. I did not cry, I did not laugh, I did not whimper or even sigh. I just smiled. A big, goofy, toothy smile. As I just looked down.. Momma's very very favorite hymn is "His Eye is on the Sparrow." A beautiful sweeping song, full of imagery and scripture. Whitney Houston sang it beautifully but the place I remember listening to it so many times with Mom was on Sister Act 2. (What a fun movie illustrating a resurrection of an entire community!!) Anyway, I realized that soon momma gets to fly free with the Sparrows. That if he watching the sparrows (a near worthless animal in Ancient Rome) with care and love I cannot imagine how He watches us. His eyes glinting, shining, sparkling with pride. My Father is so proud of my Momma. My Father is so proud of me. I was reminded that I get the opportunity everyday to live like I am free. That again, I am not required to sin as a human. That we were crafted in the very image of a perfect, sinless God. What need do we have to sin? Practically speaking, I do pour myself into every sermon I write for the students at Rhythm. I try and help them understand how our stories can fit inside the Story of God Practically speaking, I visit with a woman I have grown to love very much over the last three or four months. Renee's tender care for my heart has taken load after load of burden off my back.
Practically speaking, being honest and sharing the REALITY of what is going on with Momma helps me process this season. Not only that, but I pray that by my vulnerability helps other people see that it doesn't have to be scary, that it's ok and even an INCREDIBLE gift to open up to people. I pray that the "after" doesn't come too soon. I pray that I continue soaking up every second I get with my Mom on this side of the pearly gates. I pray that I can find ways to release tension and stress. I pray that I can continue utilizing vulnerability to grow closer to the cross and closer to my community here in Mason City. Thank you for joining me in this wandering. Together, we just may find the promised land. Love you, Mol. A quickie but a goodie:
Mom and I both woke up this morning feeling more rested than we have in a long time. Honestly, praise Jesus. Thank you for your prayers and words of encouragement. God is so good. |
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