Before they reached my house, I struggled with how to tell my parents about the new spots on my liver or even if I should. It was going to be my dad's 78th birthday this week. I didn't want to spoil it for everyone.
I determined in my heart not to cry. I was going to be brave and stoic. I was going to be the pillar of a daughter that exuded strength.
Didn't happen. Broke down like a little baby.
While we were in the kitchen unpacking all the food, my mother asked how I was doing and about the CT scan. I asked her if she had spoken to my husband. She said no. It was then that the tears started to flow. I felt like a little child again. Do you remember when you were younger and you had suffered some type of hurt and cried? After a while, the tears dried up and you were better. BUT, as soon as you saw your mom or dad, and they asked what had happened, you started crying again. That is what happened on Wednesday.
But my parents were the strong ones. They were brave. They exuded strength.
I saw my dad go to the couch and start praying. My mother hugged me and comforted me with words that only God could have given her. We ate. We talked a lot. We laughed. And when they left, I felt so much better.
Thank You, Lord, for parents who love you and cover me with prayer.
Thank You that they always point me to You - the Giver of strength and hope.