Chels in Progress

I bought a tiny orchid shortly after we brought my mom home on hospice. They day we learned we could bust her out of Our Least Favorite Place (the hospital), I left in a flurry, desperately looking for sunflowers anywhere. For the first time I could remember in my time with Trader Joe's, sunflowers were out of stock, crushing my vision to fill my mom's room with sunflowers before she was discharged. I ended up with five shoddy, overpriced bunches from Home Depot. As the sunflowers began to fade, I tried to find pretty things to replace them with. Sunflowers were, annoyingly, frustratingly , still out of stock. Nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed like it was enough, as if bringing home her favorite flowers would give us extra time together or ease her pain. Even so, I brought this tiny orchid to her, because I thought she would like the pineapple-y pot. The fact that she wouldn't get to actually look at it was irrelevant. I kept the tiny orchid after my mom was gone. I

It's quiet in our neighborhood. The trees are rustling softly. In the distance, a wind chime comes alive. It feels as though time has been suspended. The cars outside have not shuffled spots in days. We are soaking up sun and softness, engrossed in our own little worlds. His, a planet called "Dune"; Hers, the Mines of Moria.

My heart is filled with grief and my eyes are filled to the brim with tears. It could be worse, it could be worse. While I remind myself that we've had harder days together, it doesn't stop the emotional pain from swelling up in my lungs. We had a good day together. We got outside. We went somewhere different for lunch. We took side streets back and honked at a bad driver. We watched Family Feud. Most of the food made it into her mouth. Zero bathroom accidents. You see, when someone you love is chronically sick, the grieving process isn't just a five-stage ordeal.  When you watch someone you love struggle, grief is an everyday event.  You constantly realize things that are lost.  You constantly have to set aside "how it should be" and face what is .  Relationships don't look the same.  Normal family roles shift.  You're now caring for someone who cared for you.  And sometimes that's really difficult. When expectations of who that person s

Today was one of those days where I felt totally ill-equipped, too overwhelmed, and too afraid to deal with my circumstances. No daughter should have to figure out what it means to "flush a catheter", to change adult diapers, to pick spaghetti noodles off her mom's wheelchair, or to have to lift her mom out of a chair every time she needs to transfer. No mom wants her daughter to have to mess with her catheter, change her diaper, pick spaghetti noodles off her wheelchair, or to have to transfer her from chair to bed and bed to chair. I am resting in the reminder that God's original plan was not painful and broken; we were never meant to watch our family members fall apart. Our bladders were not meant to fail, our legs were not meant to stop working, and our memories were not meant to fade. Thank You, Lord, for allowing us to know Your heart. For creating a perfect and beautiful and pain-free world before we chose to walk away from You. For giving us good and bea

Caspers Wilderness Park April 2016

I never thought of myself as an ungrateful person.  That's the thing about sinfulness though, it gives you a false sense of self. Jesus Calling , April 6th: "Before Satan tempted Eve in the Garden of Eden, thankfulness was as natural as breathing ." Though I hadn't considered myself an ungrateful person, I knew darn well thankfulness wasn't as frequent, nor as imperative to me as breathing. Jesus Calling , continued: "When you focus on what you don't have or on situations that displease you, your mind also becomes darkened. You take for granted life, salvation, sunshine, flowers, and countless other gifts from Me. You look for what is wrong and refuse to enjoy life until that is "fixed". " Straight to the heart. Today's devo entry could not have come to me on a more perfect day.  You see, on Wednesdays I care for my mom.  I love her, but our days together are hard.  Sometimes physically.  Mostly though, emotionally.  When s