Guest post by Kristy Horine
“I think there’s something I need to let you know about,” Momma said. “I got this letter from the VA.”
My heart melted. My gut clenched. My mind scrambled for the right things to say. “Are you okay?”
“I think I am,” she said. Then she blew a hard breath through the little ‘o’ she made with her lips.
Receiving this letter was yet another hard thing. We’d lost Daddy ten months before. I’d been there through every twelve-hour chemo treatment. I’d been there every time we rushed Daddy to the emergency room in the days that followed the treatments. I had been there when his cancer team told him as gently as they could about his options for hospice. I was there the day the ambulance brought him back home. And I was there the moment he drew and then exhaled his final breath.
My heavy lifting for Daddy had come to an end, but the emotional caregiving for Momma had just begun. Momma was finding her way as a widow after fifty-two years of marriage. Finding her way down a path that included funeral arrangements, endless VA paperwork, holidays, anniversaries, birthdays, driving past their favorite picnic spot, returning to church, and trying to figure out where to sit so the absence of her husband wouldn’t rip her heart apart.
Though I was navigating the deep waters of a daughter’s grief, I still had to figure out how to honor and support Momma through hers.
And then, this letter. I worried about how it might throw her back into a time of re-grieving. I ached for this woman whom I had known all of my life. I ached, and somehow, I also praised the God who had been so faithful to us in these hard times.
The Lord had gifted me with time to honor my dad in his last days. The Lord was gifting me now with time to honor my mom on this, her widow’s walk. I could not walk it for her, but I certainly could walk it with her. My heart was full of gratitude for these hard, precious gifts.
And I knew, deep down, God would give me strength—and a certain, mysterious joy—for this journey.
Say thank you to the Lord for being so good, for always being so loving and kind.
Psalm 107:1 (TLB)
Kristy Horine is a Christian, wife, mother, keeper of home and chickens, baker of bread, and a writer. She makes her home in Paris, Kentucky. Her heart’s desire is to be found faithful with her heart, her life, and this gift of words.
Tracy Crump dispenses hope in her award-winning book, Health, Healing, and Wholeness: Devotions of Hope in the Midst of Illness (CrossLink Publishing, 2021). A former intensive care nurse, she cared for her parents and her mother-in-law and understands both the burdens and joys of caregiving. Her devotions have been featured in Guideposts books, The Upper Room, and many other publications, and she has contributed 24 stories to Chicken Soup for the Soul® books. She also conducts writing workshops, produces a newsletter for writers, and does freelance editing. But her most important job is Grandma to five completely unspoiled grandchildren.
Having to be strong for someone who is grieving while you’re also grieving is hard! It’s emotionally wearing. I think it’s important to somehow find some time to feel your feelings; process them, if you will.
So true, Jen.
First, thank you Tracy for providing this venue and for sharing it with me only yesterday. What a great resource.
And Christy, this was a lovely reminder of the honor we are given to honor our parents in such times.
“And I knew, deep down, God would give me strength—and a certain, mysterious joy—for this journey.“
‘Mysterious joy’ is a great summation of His grace.
So glad you joined in, Stephanie. Blessings on your caregiving!
The emotional caregiving role equals or surpasses the physical one. Thank you for that reminder, Kristy. Blessings as you share this journey with your mom.
So true, Diana. The emotional role is much harder.
Thank you, Diana. Emotional, physical, prayerful … all ways to obey the “Love one another” command. Though difficult, so worth the journey.
The “Daddy” and the “Momma” references are killing me right now. Who says that?
Me.
I still say it.
My “Momma” is 88-years-old, and I’m trying to help her navigate her way forward. This is the stuff we are called to.
Thank you for sharing the raw. Thank you for being real. This is the caregiver journey.❤️
I did, too, Jonna. It’s not a sign of immaturity. It’s a sign of love. Bless you in your emotional caregiving.
Jonna, such sweetness in your care for your Momma. May you walk with her in love and with continued tender grace.