Garage Sale Treasure

“Please help, Mom,” I whispered.

- Daryl Lynn O’Connell

“Show me that everything’s going to be okay.” It was a quiet Wednesday night, and I was in bed, trying to fall asleep. My husband, PJ, was already asleep beside me. The past three months had been hard for us. It all started when a terrible flu triggered a mysterious pain in my right side. It continued to worsen by the day. Is this the beginning of the end? I wondered. Am I going to meet the same fate as my mother?

I’d lost my mom, Anita, to ALS when I was 24 years old. Her diagnosis came out of nowhere. Her decline was rapid and brutal. She went from fine one day to slurring her words the next. Coughing, choking, muscle weakness and weight loss quickly followed. I’d watched my strong, selfless mother—a pillar of our church community—wither away. Now I feared some illness would take me away from my own children, just as ALS had taken her from me. My son, Brent, was only 15. And Carleigh was barely eight. How would they and PJ get along without me?

I rubbed my aching abdomen and thought about the countless doctor visits, scans and ultrasounds I’d undergone over the past few months. No one could tell us what was wrong. I had yet another test—a gallbladder scan—scheduled with a gastroenterologist the following morning. I hoped it would give us some kind of clue. Emotionally exhausted, I drifted offto sleep with Mom on my mind and a prayer in my heart.