My mom is in the hospital again. This has become a monthly occurrence, it seems.

I don't want to lose my mom, but the simple fact is, I will at some point. I just always thought I would be older, a "grown woman," perhaps with teenaged, or even grown, children of my own. I definitely didn't think I might be barely 30, childless (though not by my own choice), with my life on complete tenterhooks. I thought my mom would be a lot older than 59. Seeing her so ill, every time, I wonder, "What is the point of no return?" Where is the point at which I know it's truly the beginning of the end, that this is going to end, and soon? Because I keep thinking, every time, that this is it. Is this it?

I keep telling God, "I cannot handle this. I am not ready for this," and I feel like He answers, "You will be, if I want you to." That probably sounds more threatening than I hear it; His voice is more matter-of-fact than ominous.

And little by little, He breaks my heart every day, seeing parts of my mom that might never be restored. It hurts me that I cannot hug her with a real hug, because I will hurt her; she's too fragile. It hurts me that we cannot share a meal because cancer eating away at her makes her too nauseated to eat. It hurts me to think of all the things I want to do with her that we might not get to do. It hurts me that she is uncomfortable, all of the time. It hurts me, mainly because It. Hurts. Her. A lot.

Why does God let people experience such pain? I know that He could heal her in a second if He chose to. I know that His not healing her does not make Him any less good. But, why her? Why us? Why now? My mom is not even 60. We have so much life ahead of us. We have so many things to do.

Every time I think I'm at the end of my rope, there is a little progress, a single step in the right direction. It doesn't feel like enough, but at the same time it feels like everything. I got to talk to her on the phone today. I hadn't talked on the phone with her in weeks, it felt like, because she's been too weak or sick or tired. Even though I saw her yesterday at the hospital (while she was very ill), talking on the phone felt like a mile in the right direction. Was it? Or was it just a momentary comfort for us both?

I write so many of these blogs I never publish, because (1) they're depressing and (2) I don't know if my mom or others would like me talking about her illness so brazenly. I guess I write them for myself, because I need the reminder, that I know God sees us. My mom was always telling me, "He is El Roi: the God Who Sees." It's comforting and maddening at the same time.