Easter Thanks

These pics are slightly mortifying so please excuse me while I get sentimental. This was me and Mom just two Easters ago. I was 8 weeks preggers, still not believing that Wade and I would have another person in our house in a few months. Easter Sunday 2009 was spent in Houston, TX with Mom, Bert, Lindsay, Wade, me, and my in-laws. We spent it with Wade's best friend from college, Anthony, his wife Katie, and their adorable son, Andrew. You see we had just started treatment for Mom's cancer. She was so incredibly weak and pale, a shell of my Mom just a month prior. Some days it was hard to look at her without crying. However, if we did that, she would quickly question what the problem was. She didn't want to end up "gray like the other MD Anderson patients." No one told her then, but she did turn quite a morose gray color.

Easter Sunday, Mom and I woke up early so that we could catch the service at the hospital prior to her chemo for that day. Cancer doesn't take Sundays off. I loaded her in her wheelchair and wheeled her down to this strange chapel, surrounded by people I'd never seen. Almost everyone in attendance was accompanied by an IV pole, some beeping straight through the service. Most churches give a glance to "that" Mom that just had to bring her fussy baby to church. At MD Anderson, you could dance on the pew and scream out and everyone there will just turn a blind eye and resume with their prayers of thanksgiving for living one more day.

We sat on the outside seat of the first row in a circular chapel so that I could pull Mom right up to the pew next to me and, if she got sick, we could get out quickly. I could tell that Mom wasn't feeling good but when I questioned if she wanted to go back to the hotel and lay down, she stated quietly and slowly, "I'd rather feel crappy in a chapel on Easter Sunday than good in a hotel. I'll stay right here." Seeing as she's as stubborn as me, we hunkered down for this (hopefully quick) worship service. It didn't take long before Mom started dozing off. Chemo does that. It just sucks the energy right from your bones. I pulled her over to me and let her sleep from the first hymn until the final prayer right there on my shoulder. I sobbed the. entire. service. What had our life become? Whey did THIS have to be my last Easter with my Mom? Why did she have to hurt so much? I would never liken Jesus' suffering to Mom's, but I sure was questioning why anyone so good would have to suffer so much? In addition to the ignoring of beeps at church, the congregation also turned a blind eye to those weeping in the pews, unable to stop the tears (and snot. ewwww.) A sweet lady just quietly walked over and handed me a box of tissues. The church service concluded and I woke Mom. We headed upstairs to fight the damn cancer again. I must say that I was having quite a pity party. I watched as the poison dripped into her veins. I was bitter at those that I knew were eating lunch with their families. I tried to be grateful but I just couldn't find the energy.

This year, this is us. She wears the hat, not because she's covering a bald head, but instead because it looked fab with her outfit. I cannot believe where we are today. I cannot believe our blessings. So many people are not as fortunate. I let myself go back to that day when I woke Easter Sunday. I shed ONE tear, then I got up, took my baby to his Easter basket, and texted Mom that we'd see her at early church. I, then, finished preparing the lunch that I was going to be eating with my family.

Thank you, God. For my Mom's health and for your suffering for me.