It is amazing what denial can do to a person. My mom was diagnosed five years ago this past Spring and I have held every ounce of grief inside since the day she was diagnosed. The exception is a "good" cry I might have every other month or so, but nothing significant. I have dealt with my emotions in true Bain fashion - make a joke, put on a smile, tell just enough to get by without bringing tears to the surface. This has proven not healthy after several doctors visits because of numb hands, heart palpitations, migraines - all factors of increased emotional stress and anxiety. Last Friday, however, something inside me changed. I cried, and have cried everyday since (almost a week). Not in a "hitting rock-bottom" kind of way, but a healthy, pained by realization way that made my neck loosen a bit. I also had my second visit with Cynthia, my counselor, this week. It was so refreshing to have someone facilitate the conversation and help me articulate the feelings I have kept bottled up for these five years.
*(Please excuse the William Faulkner style writing)
The biggest revelation I have had in counseling is that I am angry and have not yet grieved the loss of my mother. I am angry that my mom is suffering; angry that such a wonderful mother is sick being taken away when there are terrible mothers who are not sick; angry that my mom will not see me raise my children; angry that I can't remember how she used to smell. I am so angry that she doesn't always remember who I am; angry that the world is an imperfect place; angry that five years has gone by so quickly; angry that she will not get to make my children clothes like she did for me and Eleanor; angry she gets scared of dying; I am angry that she wants to die. I am angry that the medicine doesn't seem to help; angry that there aren't any research trials she can try; angry that she might not see my brother and sister choose a spouse one day; angry that she doesn't remember my wedding day; angry that none of her friends know how to act toward her; angry that my dad is loosing his wife; angry that my brother; sister and I are so young to have a dying parent; angry that my mom is dying at only 56; angry that Alzheimer's is hereditary is some instances; I'm angry that, though it is within God's power, he hasn't healed my mom.
I am working through this last statement with a book called Shattered Dreams by Larry Crabb. If you are reading this post, I understand you may have an answer as to why God has not healed my mom. I, too, know this answer and will scream if I hear it again! I still love God, but God and I are working through some things right now. Please let us do that.