Dancing Through the Pain

The nights of the dance of suffering.  Those I will never forget.  My Mom was in debilitating pain from a herniated disk in her back for about 2 months this year.  Excruciating pain.  It affected everything she did.  She often times could not sit in any position for longer than 10 min.  Couldn't walk more than a few steps at times.  Sometimes she could never get comfortable.  It took awhile for doctors to diagnose the pain.  At this point she was still on Hospice and they helped her manage her pain at this time until surgery.

Many of those days I was needed by both of my parents.  Mainly to help with monitoring Mom's blood sugar, or monitoring insulin shots, sometimes having to give them to my mother myself.  Daddy was burned out.  My brother and I worked shifts.  He took care of the mornings so I could home school.  I would come around dinner time and would stay until the bedtime insulin was given.  Most of the time she could still give herself her shots.  But sometimes it was easier for my brother or I to do it for her when she didn't remember things well. 

I've witnessed a lot in my life, but nothing quite like I did during the period of suffering in my mom's life.  It really affected us all.  Many times we felt helpless with the pain.  It was hard to manage nerve pain.  56 years of marriage though is a comfort and this incredible bond the two of them have.  I've never seen a love like this one.  The sacrifice and devotion coming out day after day after day.

At 77 years of age, with his own health issues, Dad's heart would still move heaven and earth for her.  He would save her life if he could, or die trying.  Christ spoke to me so much through him these nights.  I would just cry the minute I walked out the door and many times on the way home.  Oh I hated to see her suffer.  And oh, the way my daddy took care of her as best he could.  It just overwhelmed me, the love he showed her as frail and burned out as he was.

They would dance in little steps, arms around each other, round and round ever so slowly in a circle, until Dad got her to a position next to the bed where she could sit down.  Then he'd go down with her the whole way until she could comfortably sit on the edge of the bed.  Next step was to swing her legs around.  Often a painful step.   This process often could take up to 20 minutes or more just to get her from the wheelchair to the bed....actually a short distance.

What was so significant through this routine of getting her in bed, was  the way he would talk to her.  So loving, so gentle, yet so strong.  "Come on now, honey, we're going to go right over here.  Put your arms around me.  Let's just move nice and easy like.  That's right.  I'm here.  I'm not going to let you fall.  That's good.  Nice and easy.  Nice and smooth."  Even through her protests that she was hurting or was scared, "Don't let me fall.", if he sensed she was in too much pain.  He'd just stop and hold her for a minute.  Then he'd begin again.  "Alright we're almost there.  We're just dancing a little dance here.  Getting closer to the bed.  We're going to dance a little more now.  That's good.  Ooooh, I like dancing with you!!"  There his personality came out.

I would smile when he made comments like that.  The whole time he was looking at the floor to make sure they both didn't fall.  Amazingly enough, they never did.

Sometimes she would say things like, "You do?" when he said he liked dancing with her and other times she would not smile or respond to him.  He would say these things anyways.  He loved her.  He wanted her to feel comfortable and loved.  

Incredible.
Absolutely incredible.

And all I could do was stand there and watch and pray they BOTH did not fall.  He had her though.  He was making sure she got in bed.  He was her rock through this suffering.  I hated watching her in pain.  He hated watching her in pain.  But once again, he was not going to leave her.  And I was not going to leave them, nor was my brother.  There were several nights like this that I witnessed that February.  And I have no idea how many more were similar in nature, when I was not with them.

Oh isn't this what Christ does for us?  He never leaves us in our suffering.  He slows down and holds us tightly when we are scared.  He wraps His loving arms around us and guides us where we need to be.  He whispers truth and reassurance to us as we dance together, and he tells us He likes just being with us. 

I saw this in my Dad that night, a mirror of Christ.  Thank you Lord for showing this to me through an earthly father.

No other love have I seen quite like this....