In Memorandum

I apologize in advance for what this blog post is, and what it cannot be. It is a mere snapshot of life in the Tam Household, three days ago.


"Do you want to see the diary that mommy and I share?"


I walk into the room where Glenda is sitting bedside with Mama Tam. Covered in a green fleecy blanket and supplied by an oxygen tank, Mama Tam looks peaceful, although struggles with breathing periodically. "She can't hear us. Or at least, I don't know. I tell her I love her anyway."


Glenda reads a couple of pages to me aloud. She smiles through tears at silly things that her mom had written and drawn. Contained in the pages of that little book are genuine displays of love and affection. Hand-drawn pictures of each other and messages of appreciation fill the first portion of the book.


"I wish we had started it sooner. Mommy was in too much pain after a while so we stopped."


Becky arrives. Glenda gets up and pops an old audio tape into a stereo. "It's of me and Ricky when we were young. I sometimes forget how much time my mommy spent raising us." We listen to the recorded sounds of children talking and laughing. The tape finishes.


"Remind me again. Does my mommy know how much I love her?"




These words break my heart. Becky and I tell her, yes. Of course. I glance over at Mama Tam, sleeping. There is no doubt in our minds.


The three of us sit on the bed next to Mama Tam's for a while. After the nurse comes and goes, Glenda gets to work. She carefully loads a syringe with pain medication. "I already have the skills to be a hospice nurse, just need a degree," she jokes. We don't doubt it; she expertly administers the medication more lovingly than any hospice nurse. When she finishes, she holds her mom's hand and kisses the top of her head. She adjusts the bed, fixes the blanket, and makes sure that her mom is comfortable.


Glenda has been the light of her mom's life, doing far more for her family than she ever claims credit for. I am reminded that she has been taking care of her mom for a year and a half now--not only of Mama Tam's physical body, but of her eternal one. All of her prayers and family Bible studies and acts of love have shepherded Mama Tam into Jesus's presence. Glenda has been optimistic in times of hopelessness and handles suffering with grace.


Her cries to the Lord are raw and genuine. They are full of grief and questions, of anger at injustice and timing, of confusion and what-ifs, of grim prospects, of once-hope and now-hopelessness, of knowledge that the burden of caring for her family is both lifted and continuing, and in the end, of understanding that it is better to be with Jesus than to suffer on this earth forever.


"When will I ever be happy again?" Glenda asks us with pleading eyes. We don't know. My words feel futile. All we can do is hug and pray to a God who listens and mourns with us.



I am reminded of Psalm 23.


The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
for his name’s sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
forever.


Mama Tam, please wrap your love around Glenda from heaven.