Dear Reader,
So far, all of my stories have grown out of struggles I’m having in my own faith walk or from questions I’m wrestling with at the time, and the story in these pages is no exception. I began writing Within My Heart in the fall of 2008 with the goal of finishing the first draft by late spring of ’09. However, with no warning, life changed, as life often does, and I had to put this book on hold for a while. My publisher graciously extended my deadline, and I took a hiatus from writing and spent the last few precious months of my mother’s life by her bedside.
Mom was diagnosed with gallbladder cancer in February 2009 and went home to be with the Lord on August 17. Six all-too-short and painful months . . . yet they were full of blessing. Mom faced the road that God asked her to walk with bravery, courage, and grace, and when my time comes to cross over from this life to the next, I’ll do a better job of it because of watching her go before me.
Many of the conversations between the characters in this story had their seeds in conversations she and I shared during those final days. Upon learning that the chemotherapy was having no effect on the cancer, which had already spread to Mom’s liver by the time it was diagnosed, Mom made the decision to spend her remaining time at home, surrounded by family in the sunroom she so enjoyed. With the assistance of hospice—for whom I’ll be eternally grateful—we made the transition and brought Mom home. We thought (hoped) we had weeks left together, but ten days after coming home she breathed her last here on earth. And as her lungs filled with the sweetness of heaven’s breath, Dad, my older brother, Doug, and I stood by her bedside as she stepped into her loving Savior’s waiting arms.
Losing Mom was painful, but we shared some humorous moments in our journey too. On her first oncology visit, I went with her and Dad, and as we were waiting on the doctor, the nurse came in and asked some preliminary questions, then asked if Mom would take some deep breaths. Seconds passed, and Mom and I looked at each other, hearing “deep breaths” coming from someone else other than Mom. It was Dad, sitting in the chair beside her, taking breaths for her, not even aware of what he was doing. We got so tickled. I told them I thought that was taking the “oneness in marriage” thing a little too far. We laughed about that many times, but it’s always been that way for them. They truly were one.
Days before Mom passed, I was getting ready for the hospice aid to arrive when I saw Kenny Chesney singing on TV. I’d muted the TV during a commercial, since Mom was resting. Yet knowing how she loved Kenny, I turned up the volume. She immediately started shimmying from side to side in bed, just smiling. I asked her, “What on earth are you doing?” She smiled that sweet smile of hers and said, “I’m bed dancin’. ” We laughed and danced together for a minute. She was such a hoot and such fun. She always was. That’s one thing I love most about the relationship we shared . . . we loved to laugh together, and laughed together a lot. And will again. Someday.
Closer to her passing, Mom awakened from a nap and with anticipation in her eyes, she told me and Dad, “I feel like a big surprise is coming!” She giggled, and wriggled her eyebrows. We told her, “Well, there is a big surprise coming.” “When is it coming?” she asked. We responded (much as Lyda did with Ben), “If we told you . . . then it wouldn’t be a surprise.” I’ve no doubt that her anticipation was spurred on by her desire to see her Lord and to be with Him in her forever home, cancer-free.
Two dear friends, Judy McMahan and Eva Lyn Frieden, who have already lost their precious mothers, walked this road with me as I walked it with Mom. Early on, they both told me that the person dying gets to choose . . . that when “hope for healing” gives way to “good-bye for now,” the person making the journey home should get to make the final choices. I took that advice to heart, and it made such a difference in the final weeks and days with Mom. It gave me a peace and a “release” in that my role was to aid her in her journey that God was leading her on, not to help determine the path she would take. God was already working in her to lead her steps on that path. My role became to help her take those steps, and at times when she could no longer take them on her own, quite literally.
I treasure every moment with her, every overnight hospital stay, every “early wee hours of the morning” chat when she couldn’t sleep and we’d sit up and talk. Every one of those times is written on my heart and has changed me and my view of this life. I think for the better. Though I miss her in a profound way, and know I will for the rest of my life here, knowing she’s in the presence of Jesus brings such a measure of peace and joy.
Many of you wrote to me during this past year and shared words of comfort and hope. Every note felt like a hug. Thank you. I especially appreciate your overwhelming excitement for this story, and for your patience as Rand and Rachel’s journey finally took shape and found its way onto the page and into your hands. Rand and Rachel each took steps of faith into the life God was calling them to, though they couldn’t see what that life would look like. Because, like us, if they could see, then it wouldn’t be faith.
When thinking of great faith, we rarely think of great fear. But the Bible shows repeatedly that people of great faith also trembled in their boots as they took that first step in following God’s will for their lives. Nevertheless, they took it, trusting Him and then running for Him with everything they had.
May we do no less.
I’m already hard at work on a new three-book historical series, with the first book scheduled for release in 2011. These new characters and their stories have captured my heart, as I hope they will yours. For more information on upcoming books and to stay in touch, visit my Web site (www.tameraalexander.com) or my blog ([email protected]).
Until
next time,
Tamera