It was a Thursday afternoon at 5:33 PM. I was rushing to get all of my work done before I had to leave for the day. I was standing in front of the drawers containing the investment files, struggling to pull all of the investment files for the tax clients who were scheduled to see Lynn the following week. Just as I was contemplating how to move a towering stack of emerald green folders, the phone rang.
"Lynco Financial & Tax Services, this is Christina; how can I help you?" Breathless, because I had barely reached the phone before the fourth ring.
"Have you checked your cell phone lately?" My sister, Sara, in a weirdly intense and accusatory tone.
Then, getting defensive, I replied, "No, I'm at work."
"Mom just had a heart attack. We're at the hospital now. She's in surgery getting a stent put in."
The words "mom" and "heart attack" kept reverberating in my mind. They couldn't be in the same sentence. The two nouns couldn't be related. My mom? Had a heart attack? For a second, I forgot how to breathe; then I realized it was because the tears were already trying to choke me.
MY MOM. HAD A HEART ATTACK. It finally clicked in my brain. Sara had given the phone to my other sister, Jessica, who was calmly relaying more details.
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
What's funny (if you can call it that) is that earlier that day, a woman had come in for a meeting. After pulling out her file, I realized her husband wasn't with her.
"So will your husband be meeting you here?"
"No, he won't." Her voice broke a little. "He passed away last year."
Of course, then I felt like a jerk. Jerk of the year. What do you say to someone like that? I'm sorry for your loss? What a cliché.
Then I started thinking. This guy was only in his fifties. Which meant he probably died of a heart attack. My mom is in her early sixties. How much would it suck if she had a heart attack? If she were suddenly gone?
But, of course, at that time, I figured it wouldn't happen for at least another 20 years, if at all.
But here it was, happening.
I could barely see the road while driving. Thoughts kept popping into my head. What if she's not there for the birth of my first child? What if I never get to see her again alive on this earth? So many thoughts and worries crowding my brain like telemarketers who won't JUST SHUT UP.
As soon as I get to the hospital, I try to find out how to get to her room. They try sending me to the Emergency Waiting Room, which is packed to the brim. I get in line and wait my turn. Then I see a familiar face. A woman from church has come to find her husband who was taken in an ambulance - he had a seizure in the middle of the day.
She prays for me with tears in her voice, and I can't return the favor, because my voice has failed me. I whisper a shaky "thank you." Then it's my turn. Of course, they can't find my mother's name in the computer, because the man isn't listening to how to spell her name. I have to write it down for him.
"They've been calling you over the loudspeaker for the last ten minutes," he says, something akin to pity in his eyes.
This is it. A feeling of dread and foreboding wash over me. They send a nurse to escort me to the consultation room where my sisters are waiting. She tries to make small talk the whole time, and I just want to scream at her, but I smile and nod politely.
The next hour drags by...then the doctor comes in...the stent procedure went well, but the next 48 hours are critical...a lot can happen in that time...she needs to be under 24-hour watch.
My mom. In a hospital. It just doesn't seem real.
We go to another waiting room. Two hours later, we're finally able to see her. I'm not prepared for what I see.
She looks so pale, tired, and old. She looks as though the life has literally been sucked out of her. I can't stop crying, but I know crying won't solve anything.
She struggles to speak, and I feel like she's only half-aware of our presence.
I see my grandfather juxtaposed over my mom's body. It's as if he's laying there, not her. My grandfather who had a heart attack and three strokes, deteriorating slowly until his death. I don't want that to happen to my mom.
But then, a reminder - GOD is in control. God gives life; He can take it away. Nothing can be accomplished or gained by worrying. And just like that, the weight lifts. The unbearable seems bearable, because it is being born by my Savior.
People are praying for her. People are showing their love for her. Glory is being brought to the power and grace of God through this whole situation.
I choose joy.
Crying and praying.
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