Nobody warned me

It's 16 degrees, cloudy and snowy. The weather pretty much matches my cloudy, dreary, depressed mood.

Wait, before you quit reading because it might sound all down and out, bear with me while I explain.

I'm sitting across from my sleeping mother in her skilled nursing room. This is her new temporary home. My dad is sound asleep on the mat beside her bed.  This scenario is a pretty accurate picture of the last two-and-a-half months of my life.

My just-turned 69-year-old mother had her second stroke on Oct. 16, 2014. This one was MASSIVE. And when she had this stroke, all of the attention in the family had been focused on my just-turned 70-year-old dad, who had recently finished up six months of treatment for stage four prostate cancer.

My sister and I traveled from what had been a fairly gentle slide into caring for aging parents to a rocket-like speed-race of hurry up and wait. Since Oct. 16, we have experienced the extreme darkness of believing my mom would have to be removed from life support to the joys and highs of sweet moments and hopes that Mom and Dad could live together again ... and back to the blackness of understanding my parents most likely will never live together again, my mom might never be "ok," and my parents will live out their lives emotionally separate from one another because of some of life's crueler cruelties.

But then again, sometimes we are surprised with blessings, such as when my dad's body scan of his bones showed no cancer growth. THAT was unexpected (from me) news on Tuesday. One of the most horrendous realities of this ordeal with my mother has been witnessing my dad's emotional and physical health decline by leaps and bounds. He says he can handle his cancer just fine. But, he says, he simply CAN'T deal with watching what's happening to the love of his life for 55 years.

Who can blame him? She has been his rock and best friend since they were in high school. They've been through truly wonderful times to hell and then back again during their time together. Seriously, is it going to end in disappointing heartbreak? Please, God, no.

So these last two-and-a-half months have been crazy for sure. I never want to experience it again, yet I know "it ain't over yet." So my sister and I brace ourselves for more.

We also continue to look for the blessings and all of those things we can be grateful for in spite of it all. Believe me, the blessings have been endless, and as I continue to share my experiences with you, you'll see. Those blessings keep me going; otherwise I would already have quit in brokenness.

You see, I always dreaded getting older. I've always dreaded it for all the reasons you might guess: Wrinkles, sagginess, gray hair, loss of physical conditioning, limited physical abilities, etc. Did I mention wrinkles and sags?

I'm just vain like that.

Nobody warned me, though, that the heartbreak of seeing my parents' hearts breaking would overshadow all of life and everything I've ever held dear to me. Nobody warned me I would step out of my shallow self-centeredness long enough to sit and wallow in my parents' brokenness.

Nobody warned me about any of this, and I suppose if they had, I would not have listened. It's simply too much to fathom.

Nobody warned me, and it's a damn good thing I wasn't warned. I would have quit before it started, I'm sure.

Now, I can't quit. I can't quit because I'm not as shallow as I thought. I can't quit because I love more than I believed I could. I can't quit because I'm in deeper than I could swim out of if I wanted to.

And I can't quit, because there's still a miracle waiting to happen.