“my whole life hurts”

The joy can hurt, too.

Yesterday, the big burly dude and the kids and I cooked an Easter meal for Nanny and Bapa and traipsed across our driveways in the windy snow, carrying dishes of food to their place next door. (Yes, the windy snow. On Easter. Enough said.)

It could not have gone better. There was some kind of grace dust sprinkled on everyone. The sixteen year old was talkative. Elsie made us guess which one of us she was acting out and we laughed and laughed. My mom asked my husband for a whisker rub on her cheek and he obliged, very gently. The irony here is how much she hates it if dad has any bit of hair on his face whatsoever, but she was just tickled (literally and figuratively) by the big burly’s beard.

Dad and I laughed hard at that one. Seriously? You want WHAT?

File this under Nonsensical Things Alzheimer’s Makes You Do. You just never know, and sometimes it’s fun, silly, and sweet.

Something was different about Mom yesterday, and I realized later it was that she was more of her Before Alzheimer’s self than she has been in years. No one can understand how mind-blowing that was for the rest of us. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her, that’s what it felt like. It was like she had been taken over by someone else for five years and now she was back. It was like going back in time, to Easters of the past. It was a respite. It was heart-wrenching because she won’t be there again today.

I missed her. I had no idea how much I missed her.

Meanwhile, my daughter continues to struggle with on-going symptoms like fatigue and stomach issues and a lack of appetite and the headaches are creeping back in. And she is honest about her worries and struggles and she said, “My whole life hurts” and it gutted me.

I sat down in the living room with her and we talked a while. I read an email from a friend when we went back to doing our own things, and this friend has a chronic illness that’s wrecking her and I responded telling her what Elsie had said and then I said, “I wish I could take the pain from both of you. I would. I would.” And wouldn’t you know it, Elsie right then asked me and I am not lying, “If you had one wish what would it be?”

I had to catch my breath and then I read her what I had just sent to our beloved friend and tears welled up, “OH mama,” she said. “Oh mama…” and then she came over and climbed into my lap and we hugged and cried and I told her I would. I would. I would be so happy to take it for them.

“But then we would just be worried about you, so…”

Good point, kid. I love you.

I say it all the time, I know. But I need to remind myself and maybe you need reminders, too. All is grace. Even this, and that, and this. I am feeling all of it, and it’s snowing in April. Imagine if we were not in this together, no really, imagine it. Imagine if we were not all doing it wrong and right at the same time, together. Imagine if we could not have the pain and the weird moments of reprieve, together. Imagine if there was no one to email or walk by on the street while you both smile. Imagine if there were only winters, because that’s what it would be like.

Instead we are holy and grace-sprinkled together while our whole life hurts with pangs of sorrow and joy.