Inspire, Winter 2004

20 Winter 2004 Cessna Catherine Winslow began writing for “Inspire” in 2000 and has faithfully been sharing a part of herself in each story ever since. Although not an alumna of Cedarville University, Cessna has come to know and appreciate the Cedarville family over the years, but never more than while she went through the deep waters of her father’s brain injury, as she shares here. Cessna lives in Cedarville, Ohio, where her husband, Kevin, is an assistant professor of education at the University, and she works as a freelance writer for “Inspire” and “Torch.” The Winslows have three children: Addison (10), Jenna (8), and Devra (2). O n January 1, 2001, as I often do on New Year’s Day, I pondered the things I hoped to improve about myself that year. As I reflected, I prayed that God would help me grow in compassion and grace. Nine days later, on January 10, I received a call that was to be the start of an answer to that prayer. My dad was critically injured in an auto accident. At that moment, I began to learn what it really means to “honor your father and your mother.” In the two-plus years that followed, my dad (or “Daddy,” as I still called him) became my teacher. By “accident” I was forced to grow in compassion and grace. After running errands, Dad was heading back to his home in Topock, Arizona, a small town south of Nevada, when a five-ton water truck pulled out in front of him. Dad was airlifted to Las Vegas where he was treated for a traumatic brain injury (TBI), spinal cord damage, and several other injuries. Suddenly a man who was always on the go helping others was now comatose, fighting for his life. He was only 64. My mom was accustomed to Dad doing everything for her, and knowing that she was incapable of reversing the roles, I flew out to assist them. When Dad stabilized, the hospital explained to our family that Daddy would permanently need assistance, and it was clear that Mom could not handle him alone. His prognosis was not good. As soon as he was able to be transported, Dad was air-ambulanced to Ohio and placed in a nursing home near us. A month later Mom flew out and moved in with us. (One word: Grace .) You see, the task of honoring my mother was all the more challenging because we have never been close. In my youth I feared and disliked her. She abused me, and so my memories of her were haunting and painful. When she wasn’t throwing frequent violent tantrums, she was verbally cruel or emotionally distant. After graduating from college I pursued a career on the East Coast — miles away from my painful past. Though my dad was occasionally abusive, I was a daddy’s girl, and we kept in close contact. Mom and I remained distant. Our adult relationship was cordial, but shallow. Caring for Dad and having Mom in our home brought flashbacks and unimaginable stress. My mother is unreliable and very unstable. Being around her is like wandering a minefield — you never know what’s safe or when things will blow up. With Dad’s progress at stake, I had to overlook her issues and limitations and find ways to work with her as a team. Dad was still in a coma when he arrived, so our first task was to learn everything about TBI and try to waken him as quickly as possible. My husband faithfully did his part. Between teaching at Cedarville and working on his doctorate, Kevin was still able to spend hours with Dad. Not only was he Dad’s recovery partner, but he also helped Mom where Dad left off. He became her legal conservator while I was Dad’s guardian. Parenting parents and being a parent meant that we had to multi-task, set boundaries, and find balance in our upside-down world. Blessing in Honoring b y C e s s n a C a t h e r i n e W i n s l o w By “accident” I was forced to grow in compassion and grace.