New mercies

Last night I went to dinner with my friend Meredith and I was in culture shock as well as hospital shock. I was so grateful to be at a table for a meal with a friend with food that taste good and everyone speaking in English. I've been reading this book Bread and Wine about the fellowship and comfort we find in exchanging our lives through words and meals at the table. I have been craving this time at the table with loved ones since I read it. With us in Haiti and with small kiddos I often find meal time difficult to enjoy but last night was a gift in the midst of a hard week. So was a lot of sleep. That was the first time I've stretched out in a bed in a week. Mom had a good night but then this morning she had another 'episode' where her pain hit 10 out of 10 and her face filled with fear and intolerance of the pressure in her head rocketed beyond anyone's understanding and the nausea returned. It improved over the morning and this afternoon she slept off the pain meds. We did have some light-hearted moments when I reminded her of singing 'the hills are alive with the sound of music in her best singing voice and then today she said in slurred speech that not everyone can come over for spaghetti tonight.

Visitors sprinkled in along with nurses, housekeepers, meals, flowers, etc. At one point I opened the door to find a young man with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. I thanked him and set them down to read the card, totally expecting them to be from one of mom's co-workers or friends. The flowers had a group of my dear friends' names on them. I felt the warm tears run down and the smile on my face form. Challenges bring such assurance, such reminders of being loved. The happy and the hard mixed together in all shades of color on mom's bedside. Dark room and hope and growth all mingled in. The doctor wants her to stay another day even though he said she could go home today. He started new meds with new hopes. She wanted to stay. The bathroom light can increase the pain so the thought of a 20 minute  drive over small bumps and stops and starts could be trauma in itself. Another day of rest. Tomorrow is a possibility. Today I longed for the 'golden moments' just like the ones I take for granted when mom and I converse over the phone every morning about Ava's latest feat or Lilly's verse for the day or what she heard on Focus on the Family or what promises we're holding on to or recipes we'd like to try or how arthritis is taking my feet out from under me but I can't quit running or our weekend plans or what she's sewing. But today the  moments were marked by meds and ice chips and still, silent moments together. I read to her ... Scripture, Ann Voskamp, messages and cards she received. She nods with gratitude. The table covered with love dripping all over it like a tablecloth of honey. Sweet words from people praying and reminders of community. I can't help but watch her and pray and acknowledge that time will heal. She leans over just now and whispers 'happy birthday baby' with her sleepy eyes and nods back off. I will wake up tomorrow 33 with her right next to me and new mercies and the joy that comes in the morning.  Keep lifting her up.