She is clothed with strength and dignity … (Proverbs 31:25 NIV)
When I walked in and saw my mother, I knew the inevitable day we dreaded for so long had arrived.
She was sleeping on her recliner, breathing heavily, and still in her nightgown, an oversized T-shirt. Her aide, Jeanie*, was just leaving. “I can’t believe the overnight change in your mother,” she said. “She is in a lot of pain and is developing a rash, and she insisted I put a nightgown on her after her shower. This is not like your mother!”
I had to agree. This was the first day since my mother was diagnosed with brain cancer six months prior that she had not gotten dressed. My beautiful, classy Mom, who, even on her weakest days, would at least make sure she was dressed in a color-coordinated outfit, ready to meet whoever she might encounter—even if it was only me.
We knew we were on borrowed time. Mom was only expected to live at most two months after her diagnosis, but, defying all odds, Mom had managed remarkably well. Just the week before, we had a party celebrating her six-month mark. She walked into the party herself, well-dressed and cheerful, greeting all the guests. And two days later, she invited me to a chair yoga class with her. I was amazed at how well she kept up with the class.
But today was different. Mom was in severe pain and so weak she couldn’t even bear her own weight. Her hospice nurse told me to try giving her hydrocodone, which Mom was not happy about, but she wanted relief from her pain. The hydrocodone didn’t seem to help.
The next evening, I got a text from Mom’s aide that she was tucked in bed, and the aide was leaving her shift. Then the phone rang at 9:45 pm. It was Mom. I could barely hear her, but I could make out that she was in severe pain. I drove over to her apartment, and she asked for morphine. This was a first, and it scared me. I didn’t realize until I opened the package that it was not a pill—it was a liquid that had to be administered with a syringe under the tongue. I had heard from several people they thought morphine had killed their loved one, so I was terrified of getting the wrong dose. But I gave it to her, and she was able to sleep.
Her symptoms worsened, and a few days later, she was diagnosed with shingles. Shingles! She had been battling cancer for six months, but it was shingles that brought her down! With her immune system compromised from the cancer, it attacked her fiercely. I was as overwhelmed as when she was first diagnosed. It was so hard to watch her sudden decline. I worked to get aides to cover the night shift, and I took care of her the rest of the time. Hospice increased their coverage and started sending aides to shower and dress her each day. I worked closely with her hospice nurse as her meds were tweaked, and we tried anything we could to lessen the pain.
I felt so limited, so bewildered that there was nothing I could do as both her cancer and shingles progressed—a feeling I am sure is common to anyone caring for a loved one with a terminal illness. “Please, Lord, what can I do to help her,” I prayed, “just one small thing?”
Then one small thing came to mind. On my way home from taking care of her, I stopped at a department store and found their loungewear. I picked out three floral-printed “nightgowns” that were soft and flowy but were as pretty as dresses that are worn in public.
Mom smiled the next day when she could wear something soft and comfortable, but classy. How I wished I could take away her pain and weakness! That wasn't possible, but I was grateful I could do something to restore her dignity and help her feel better about herself.
That was five years ago. Mom has long since been ushered to heaven, but I try to use that same principle when friends or family members are going through hardships. What is one small thing I can do to brighten their day? Could I stop by for a visit? Send a card? Bring over a meal? If you are feeling overwhelmed and think there is nothing you can do to help a loved one experiencing difficult circumstances, ask God to show you one small thing you can do to uplift, comfort, or encourage them.
*Name has been changed.
**Photo credit, Jim Brewer. Photo is my mother, Elizabeth Brewer on her 90th birthday, July 3, 2020 with my sister, Elizabeth Shannon.