The challenge of understanding God’s delays.
by Kathryn Cox
“She’ll be gone in two weeks, or, if I’m wrong, two months.”
The words spilled out unintentionally cold. I rebuked myself as I met the concerned gaze of my neighbor, Francis. Regret washed over me. I made a mental note to stop saying such callous things. Still, always one to speak the truth, I had yet again predicted with certainty Mom’s death.
Second guessing
“I’m so sorry,” Francis offered with a warm embrace.
Numb to her sympathy, I wondered if I’d been a sorry excuse for a daughter. Had I done everything God wanted me to do in the clash with Alzheimer’s disease? Did I miss a specific vitamin or medicine I could have put Mom on to slow or even halt the progression? Were my prayers not frequent enough? What could I have done differently to avoid this disaster?
Although friends and family scolded me for branding myself a failure, I couldn’t help but tease the idea in my heartbroken soul.
Difficult choice
“Jesus.” His comforting name was the only word I could whisper one dreary afternoon as I placed my wobbly signature at the bottom of a deposit check made out to Sunny Hill Home.
Mom sat content in her power recliner a few rooms over in our house, completely oblivious that I had, for the most part, signed her eviction notice. Shattered and defeated in body, mind, and soul, I sat stunned on our couch as my husband saw the facility’s head nurse to our front door.
Stress at home
I closed my eyes in emotional exhaustion. Six and a half years, and you couldn’t go one more year? What about a few more months? Weeks? Days?
I knew the answers to the questions I peppered myself with. When my mother moved in with us, my young son and daughter enjoyed “Grandmama” for a while. But as the dementia progressed, juggling the care of children plus a disabled parent proved arduous and draining.
The kids drifted away from their grandma who wasn’t the same gregarious, loving person they knew from their toddler days. I pushed myself to care for Mom until I realized if I didn’t make a change, it would be me headed out our front door to live in a nursing home.
Attachment
“God, how will she survive without me?” I cried out multiple times. As the Alzheimer’s disease progressed, Mom had become extremely attached to me, frequently throwing fits when I walked outside her range of sight.
What I wanted to do (keep taking care of her) did not align with what I could do, physically or emotionally.
As “moving day” approached and friends offered their support, in pain, I prophesied, “Two months tops. She’ll be so upset. Her heart won’t make it.”
Surprising survival
At 3 p.m. on July 5, 2023, I suppressed every emotion in my being to slip out of the memory care facility, leaving my best friend behind for good. Yes, I would come for frequent visits, but I’d never bring Mom back home to live with me.
Convinced the countdown clock had begun, I visited her daily for many weeks. The first fourteen days proved horrendous. Mom threw countless screaming fits when I left, but I still kept going.
As the days stretched on, to my total surprise, she did not gain her angel wings but slowly settled into the routine of the care facility.
Phony prophecy
Days stretched into months. A year passed. Was I happy?
It’s hard to explain. Of course, I did not in any way want my mom to die, yet clearly the ravages of Alzheimer’s disease had robbed her of everything she knew. Seeing her miserable and confused, knowing she had a great reward one day with Christ, filled me with grief.
She cared nothing anymore about horses, Australia, the color blue, John Wayne, or Kenny Rogers belting out a ballad about gambling. She didn’t recognize friends, other family members, or even her grandchildren. I sighed in sadness as Mom showed stony indifference to my visits. I became to her no different from another smiling stranger.
Frustrations
My mother told me years before she never ever wanted to languish in a nursing home staring at walls, yet here she was, borderline comatose for a good stretch of each day.
Why didn’t Jesus show up? Why wouldn’t He simply let her pass and end this disaster for both of us? My two-week to two-month timeline ended up tossed into the trash. Life for Mom in room 3 at Sunny Hill Home dwindled to mere existence. I absolutely hated it for her. Now what?
Uncomfortable meeting
“Chaplains are non-denominational,” the speaker on hospice services informed me and others sitting at a table one afternoon at the memory care facility. “Their training incorporates the study of many beliefs, such as Islam, Hinduism, Judaism, and even Atheism. Chaplains aren’t exclusively for Christians. I guarantee you Jesus is not interested in my family!”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. The meeting became more dreadful by the minute. I reached for my cup of herbal tea and took a sip. I frowned. Lukewarm. Gross. I scooted the mug to the side and reminded myself that the residents at the facility would most certainly burn themselves on hot drinks.
Personal hostility
Ms. Hostile-Toward-Christ Spokeswoman continued her presentation, showing obvious disdain for anything related to the Messiah.
In all honesty, I harbored my own twinge of hostility. I tried not to blame God, yet I despised watching Mom ebb away mentally and physically. I wondered what trial the spokeswoman had endured causing her such opposition to Jesus.
Still, I understood how disappointments can lead us to question God’s love.
Pointless existence
Pointless. I hated to think such a thing, but really, what was the point? Mom spent much of her day sitting and snoozing or staring into nothing. Sorrow swallowed me whole during each visit.
“I miss her so very much!”I bawled to God one afternoon. The answer the Holy Spirit gently spoke caught me off guard:
I know.
Tears dripped down my face. I know? Well . . . can You do something about it, please? It felt as though my mother were stuck in some cruel twilight zone, and I had no idea what to do. I certainly knew God didn’t cause her infirmities, yet why didn’t He intervene?
“Jesus is not interested in my family!” The bitter words echoed in my mind from the hospice informational meeting.
I shook my head. Wrong, Ms. Hostile Spokeswoman. Yes, He is! I said a prayer for her and her family.
Shifted focus
My focus shifted to Opal, a sweet lady in room 2. I interceded for her. My eyes widened. What if . . . God wasn’t ignoring me but calling me to uplift Mom and others at the memory care home?
In my spirit I sensed the Lord say, I love Ms. Hostile, and I want her and her entire family in My kingdom. Nurse Laura doesn’t know Me; neither do the groundskeeper, Tommy, or aid Mary Anne. Keep visiting your mom and pray for them while you are there. Walk the halls and uplift every worker and resident at Sunny Hill.
Purpose in the pause
My attitude shifted. What I defined as senseless, God labeled strategy. I recognized this difficult journey wasn’t solely about me and Mom. “The point” may not have been pleasant. It still remained hard to visit multiple times a week and see her in such decline. Yet God’s apparent “pause” held divine purpose.
I may never fully understand the “why” surrounding this Alzheimer’s battle, yet I’m confident God will ultimately use it all for His glory and His kingdom.
Finding A Care Facility – Resource
Kathryn Cox has been published in MomSense, LIVE, and Devozine. She enjoys studying the nature and character of God and has recently started a blog, www.lightwords.me, where she posts articles on the theme “Who is God?” You can connect with Kathryn via the blog or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/LightWordsWithKathryn/. She lives in Lexington, KY.