“Though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for You are with me." ~ Psalm 23:4
One of Gia’s favorite childhood memories
was storytime with her Mama, Chantel. Chilly winter nights brought plenty of
reasons to draw them closer to each other. They’d huddle late at night on the
couch before a blazing fireplace. She’d lean against her mother’s shoulder
watching the lines on her face disappear when she used different voices to
mimic the characters in the book.
Stories came to life as her Mama laughed and pretended to cry. Sometimes Chantel looked almost childlike herself in those moments. When she read Cinderella, Gia could feel the transition from rags to riches because Chantel used her imagination to feel it, too.
It could’ve been her Mama’s time to relax after cooking,
disciplining, or paying the bills, but instead, Chantel would smile when Gia
slipped out of bed and tiptoed into the living room after everyone else fell asleep.
It was their special time together to read and talk about books.
After Gia became a busy parent with her own children, she
understood her mother’s sacrifices for those late-night story sessions.
When Chantel was first diagnosed with a rapidly advancing
form of dementia, Gia knew she’d need support. The once-proud entrepreneur struggled
to manage simple tasks. Making a sandwich, answering the phone, and even short
walks gave her difficulty; leaving her alone at home became dangerous.
Gia left her full-time nursing job and became her Mama’s
caregiver. Chantel would stay with Gia’s family until she needed specialized
memory care. They’d cherish those challenging few months together, making the
most of the time she had left.
Pieces of Chantel visibly slipped away each day. Their roles
had reversed. What Chantel had done for Gia growing up, Gia was now doing for
her Mama. And, although her life wasn’t turning out the way she thought it
would, Gia refused to allow Chantel’s twilight years to be characterized solely
by the suffering that comes with the deadly brain disease.
The constant cycle of care and
monitoring of Chantel was emotionally exhausting. But faith in a trustworthy
God helped dissolve her fear and personal insecurities. Gia was providing the
best care she possibly could – in comfort, with dignity: well-loved, and fully
supported.
Chantel’s bedroom was filled with a nice collection of her
favorite books. Holding her favorite classic book brought peace and familiarity.
Tonight, she was holding her well-worn Bible. Gia began reading Psalm 23,
again. She had read the passage so many times she knew it by heart.
Chantel relaxed back in her
chair, went very quiet, and at the end simply muttered, “Read it again." Somehow,
Gia needed it as much as her Mama did.
“Change my heart, O God, and give me
compassion to love others even when they are difficult to love and unable to
show appreciation. Please rid me of any negativism, and help me know that this is
Your purpose for my life right now.” ~ Gia
