Growing up in our house, my mom would always make us talk things out. There was no such thing as the silence treatment. If there was something wrong, we talked through it and my sisters and I were very open with her about plenty of things. Her wisdom and strength shown through in so many situations that she could have easily broke down. I admired her ability to process and work practically in storms.

And even after the doctors sent her home to be cared for by a hospice caretaker, she kept telling us to never stop talking to her about everything we were feeling. She wanted us to be open and not keep it in so we could also process through everything that was going on.

She used this time that she could have felt sorry for herself to care for our feelings and futures. Even the hospice nurse that came to the house twice a week talked to admirably about my mom’s attitude and look on life. They would sit and talk about God and His love through the whole visit. My mom truly cared for the souls of others.

She would ask me my plans and would pray over me and my little family then would ask for some canned fruit cocktail. Should couldn’t wait until her healing came so she could drink a tall glass of chocolate milk.

But then the days started coming that she could no longer get out of bed. My son would climb up next to her and bring her book after book for her to read to him. She would go through every book he brought until bedtime.

Eventually, she couldn’t sit up in bed for more than a few minutes and we knew it wouldn’t be too much longer. My heart ached as I watched this strong woman decline to bones.

Through this whole time, I wanted to much to have Andrew home to hold my hand. My sister’s had their husbands but my husband was only reachable by email. That did not leave me much availability for any emotional exchange. I resorted to crying in the shower after Brayden was asleep.

My feeling of loneliness was only deepening.