Grieving and grateful

Susan’s mother passed away several weeks ago. Helen died peacefully from an aneurism and brain hemorrhage several days following surgery for a hernia. Her passing was as unwelcome as it was unexpected. It’s interrupted the rhythm of our lives the way it does when anyone close to you is no longer there. As the reality of her death sinks in, we continue to be attended by the peace in knowing she didn’t suffer or linger, knowing she’s in heaven because she trusted Jesus for her salvation, and knowing that seeing her again is but a matter of time. Still, we grieve deeply and miss her.

So many people have asked how Susan is doing with it. Of course, they’re concerned. It’s hard on anyone to lose a parent. Helen was the center of the family in many ways. But in her mother, Susan has lost the support that Helen provided, so much greater since Susan’s brain cancer diagnosis. If you wonder whether another tragedy has pushed Susan beyond her capacity to bear it, it hasn’t.

Susan thinks about Heaven all the time and is ready to be there herself. I think being a brain tumor survivor who knows the briefness of life gives her a better perspective than most of us. Susan is sad and misses her mom, but is beautifully confident she’s with the Lord. She knows she’ll see her again. I love her faith.

We witnessed God’s presence with us during the terrible sadness at Helen’s bedside when she was withdrawn from life support, her brain no longer active or able to sustain her breathing. With over twenty loved ones around her, we blessed her, prayed, sang a hymn, and cried together as she passed from this earth.

I was impressed with a big thought in that ICU – this is not how it’s supposed to be. We belong to each other, mothers and children, family. That’s forever. We shouldn’t have to say goodbye like this. Then a bigger thought came – this is why Jesus died and rose again. God knows this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, a fallen world diseased by sin and death, so he fixed it for us. That’s why we’re hopeful in our sadness. His gift of life has made all the difference against our biggest threats – I’m sad I don’t spend more time being aware of it.

We’re thankful that Susan’s own hospital visit a couple of days before Helen’s surgery was not a more serious event. That Tuesday, the day after her fifth dose of Temodar and Accutane, she developed a severe and welted rash over half of her body, an apparent drug reaction. When the Prednisone and Benadryl I had on hand didn’t relieve it, we went to the ER at UCLA that afternoon. It had been almost exactly two years since our last ER visit. They gave her more powerful meds and released her after several hours. She was better by the next evening. Whether Susan reacted to the chemo or the Accutane we don’t know. Dr Nghiemphu recommended we stop Accutane and resume Temodar in September.

We’re also thankful Susan’s brain tumor appeared stable once again after this week’s MRI. Her scans are regularly scheduled reminders of the tumor that remains in Susan’s brain. It’s an area the doctor watches carefully that spans the left-front toward the center. Given the choice of scheduling her next MRI in either one or two months, we opted for two and will return in November. The fact that Dr Nghiemphu gives us that choice is compassionate and empowering. She feels comfortable with a longer span, so we do. But if we want an MRI sooner, we can get one. I like having the choice and respect Dr Nghiemphu for providing it.

Susan is feeling pretty well. She still mixes up words and gets fatigued, but she’s gained strength and seems more resolved than ever to be as independent as she can. She laughs easily and knows more songs from memory than most karaoke machines. Susan is sweet, tough, and lovely. We’re grateful for all the expressions of love and sympathy we’ve received.