What if our destiny presents to us as an atrocity that we have to handle on our own? Sometimes this is the case. No matter if we see it as destiny or simply a terrible place to be in, a terrible place we have been asked to go, we cannot get out of it, and there is nothing stronger pulling us than to do just that. We would do anything to walk away, but it’s too late, we are there and we cannot leave.
Eight years ago I was asked to go home. My step-mother had passed and my father needed me. Having such a close relationship with him, I didn’t hesitate to go. I quit my job, packed up and moved within six months. What I didn’t know at the time was what was going to happen, and for the next four years I went through hell. I lost my mother, father and best friend in one year.
My mother died of cancer and I was the sole caregiver due to Covid. Only one person was allowed to go into facilities including hospitals. I carried the power of attorney papers in my purse and had to argue with the guards to let me in when she was frequently rushed to the ED. It was traumatizing on a whole other level with the pandemic. People were dying only able to say goodby on an iPad. Not a good way to convince your mother it was not going to happen to her.
When she was back at home, I was totally lost as far as what to do. I had no help at all, and my questions for some un-Godly reason were never answered due to people being unavailable because of the upset going on globally. I thought I couldn’t handle it. I had no choice but to. She died in October of 2020.
Then it was on to my dad, also having cancer and knowing it was going to end his life as well. In this case I had help but it was way too much. I was once again DPOA so I took the role as administrator so to speak. Each and every day I had at a minimum six people calling me. Nurses, Physical therapists, and frequently doctors as well. During hospital stays I was called upon to make life and death decisions as to what could and could not be done. I did not sleep. I did not eat. I had a go bag next to the door. I never had a moment to myself. It went on for six months.
This now was hell on earth, but I had to stay afloat. I could in no way take care of my son, so he was shuffled to his dad’s, so I was also shouldering my thoughts of failing as a mother and missing him badly. Covid was still a very real thing so once again there were restrictions. The only thing that kept me going was the job. I took this on as a nurse, which I was not, and just put my head down focused on the technical necessities. I spoke in medical terms. I learned things and did things I never wanted to know and do. He passed away on Christmas Eve.
Meanwhile, my best friend of 30 years died suddenly in-between all of this, but I could only lose it for a night, then it was back to my responsibilities. I didn’t get to grieve her death until two years later. My grief for all of them did not come until two years later. I still had too much to do. I had to sell a house, wrangle three other angry siblings, and fight a legal battle over the estate, also by myself because I was put in charge of that as well.
At this point I had two doctors, a therapist, and a grief counselor. Each one of them sympathized but had no idea how to help me. They all said the same thing, that I began to laugh at, which was, “Wow. That’s a lot.” Nothing more. Just that. I had sunk like an animal unaware of the quick sand, and was drowning in alcohol, cigarettes and misery. I did not leave the house. I did not answer the phone. I laid on the floor. I once again was failing as a mother.
It didn’t take long for my body to give out. I became very, very sick. Now all of my doctors started prescribing. I would eventually be on nine different medications, that all counteracted each other, so I was just as sick only in a different way. Then, as a final crushing blow, my back shifted gears and within two weeks I was unable to walk. I could not drive, grocery shop, cook or clean, so my 18 year old had to do all of that. I was in constant excruciating pain. With laws now put in place baring physicians from prescribing narcotics, I was ready to turn to street drugs, which I may have done if I didn’t live in the world’s smallest town. I had CT’s, MRI’s and had been tossed around to five different doctors. Even after a year none of them could find a thing wrong. Nothing in my body could be causing this.
What these four years can only be compared to, defined as, is The Dark Night of the Soul. I had no idea of what that meant. I got my hands on a book by St. John of the Cross and what I read in that very short book scared me like nothing else. If that is what I had endured, and was desperately trying to recover from, I was in a world of trouble. God, absolutely terrified me. What did I do? I only cared of others over all of those years. I figured I was still being punished for something and I didn’t have a clue as to what it was. Mostly though, I realized that if God could do this to a person, me, I was in a hell of a lot of hot water if I didn’t figure out what he wanted from me.
It took me two years to recover. During this time I consumed any literature I was directed to buy on the subject of mysticism. This was because, after understanding this was somehow a calling, albeit in a terribly dark way, I started having experiences that I could not explain. Grace came rushing into my life suddenly and I can only describe the start of my days as in complete bliss. I walked around with my head in a euphoric fog of comfort and did not feel a part of reality most of the time. It was utterly overwhelming. It was the most sublime feeling I have ever felt. There is nothing to compare it to that could happen here on earth.
I continued to fear God, slightly less, but was on guard with everything I thought, spoke or did. It has been enough time now that I realize I was operating from a place of humility. That’s more comfortable to think of. I understand that- no, actually I do not understand. I have no idea why those four years took place and why they were necessary. All I can say is, now I know the Divine. I know what He is capable of. I have replaced fear with awe, but I am still scared to fall again. As I have said to many others, “I could not handle that again. It would kill me.” I know this for a fact. I know what it feels like to be destroyed. I had the devil on my back for four years and he was absolutely not letting go.
I suppose, if all of that was part of my destiny, then I am destined to know God on a higher level. Dump all of my baggage. Forgive others. Take responsibility for my actions. That is all I can do. Pray and take responsibility. The only thing good I can say about surviving the dark night, is that I now walk a very straight line with only the vision of the Divine up ahead. Stepping off is not an option.