The following story was written by Janet Lynn Mitchell, a wife, mother, author and inspirational speaker. She is the co-author of A Special Kind of Love, For Those Who Love Children with Special Needs, published by Broadman and Holman and Focus on the Family, 2004. Janet can be reached by E-mail by clicking on her name. or faxed at (714) 633-6309. Used by Permission.
"Don't you know my miracle will never come. There will never be a cure!" my daughter screamed from the backseat of the car.
I steadied my hands on the steering wheel as Jenna continued to rant and rave. I tried to swallow the unwelcome lump that immediately formed in my throat. Not finding a single word that could or would change the situation, I remained quiet as tears stung my eyes. "Lord, they're working on a cure. Please guide their progress. Lord, my daughter has lost all hope...."
"I'm tired of feeling sick. I'm tired of being tired. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired! It's just too hard!" Jenna sobbed from behind me. "Mom, I just don't think I can do it any more..." she said as her voice faded off.
Her words cut deep. I knew without hope her heart would break. Wishing that this conversation were occurring anywhere but on the freeway, I fought traffic and slowly made my way to the off ramp. Periodically I looked into my rearview mirror only to see Jenna's penetrating eyes gazing back at me. The unnerving silence was interrupted only with the sound of my blinker.
Jenna was right. I knew that it had been years since she truly "felt good." I knew that she had shown great courage for the past 12 years and that it was tough fighting her disease. I, too, was tired of daily watching my daughter as she tended to her catheter, injected herself with the proper medications and experienced the unpredictable side effects that came with her disease and treatment. I, too, wanted to scream, "I'm also sick and tired of you being sick and tired!"
I loved my daughter and watching her in such emotional and physical pain made me ache all over! If there was only a way, I would take her illness upon myself—I'd give her my health and bear her infirmity. But I knew that this was not a possibility and I felt helpless, not knowing how to console her.
Within minutes I pulled into the first parking lot I could find and parked the car. I stepped out and then crawled into the backseat where my teenage daughter lay motionless across the bench seat. I wrapped my arms around her and brushed her hair away from her eyes, hoping she would open them and look into mine. For moments I just sat and held her, praying that God would renew her strength and will to live.
What does a mother say to her child who is living a nightmare, praying that she'd someday soon wake up? What words if any could bring comfort? What do you do when your child loses all hope? Not knowing the answers, I spoke from my heart hoping to reach Jenna's.
"Jenna, I need you to look at me. I need to know that you really understand what I am about to say." She turned her head, which now lay in my lap, towards me. She opened her eyes and began to repeat her words of hopelessness. Gently I placed my finger against her lips.
"Honey, today you're tired, and you've lost all hope. Today, you can rest in my arms and let me hope for you. You can be assured that my hope is endless and so is my love. I'm so proud of you."
Jenna interrupted me with a slight smile, "Mom, if you can hope, I guess I can, too. And Mom, tell me again that your hope is forever."
"It's forever, Baby. My hope is forever!"