Breadcrumbs Of Mercy

There are so many times in my life that I have stood in hindsight and seen Gods hand in something. In everything. In moments of great distress when I cry out to God like a child. The feeling of loneliness and desperation trump the gratitude I know will come from the graces I gain in hindsight. When we begin to find God in even the worst of times we begin to see him in every single breath. Every single inhale and exhale. That flat tire may have saved you from an accident ahead. That job loss might bring an opportunity you never would have seen bogged down by your work. That loss or that hurt created a pathway to Christ even when you didn’t see it. And so lately I’ve tried to live in that space. Gratitude for the crap. The anger of the breadcrumbs left on the counter turns into thankfulness for the bread. The muddy floors are a sign of my children’s feet coming inside from play. The lack of money shows me we always have enough.

When I stand in that space. God shows me. 

If you're new here...I have mommy issues. If you are a verteran to my weirdness welcome back, take a seat. My mother and I have a very complicated relationship that stemmed from the moment of my conception and traveled into my difficult birth followed by a tumultuous upbringing and subsequent fall into darkness as a young adult. I spent a lot of my life wearing darkly tinted rose colored glasses. I worshipped my mother because I deeply loved her and believed she was good. Later to be betrayed by her then left neglected, alone and lost. I don’t say these things to paint her in a bad light. I love her deeply and can stand here today with confidence knowing Gods timing with her and I was absolutely perfect.

As His timing has proven to be over and over again.

For the whole of my life, I shouldered my mother. You know that Kelly Clarkson song called "Because of you"? Lyrics in it say " I was so young you should have known better than to lean on me". This line describes to the T our complications. And on my shoulders I also held her hatred towards God. She believed there was a God but thought he was an absolute dick. I carried her AS my cross. I mothered my mother. It wasn’t apparent at first but became very noticeable when I became an actual mother to my second child (my first is in heaven which is a detailed story of destruction on this blog called “Fluff and Stuff”). As I grew into being a mother the rose tint began to fade, and I saw failure and deceit surrounding my relationship with my mother. I took nothing from her example except what NOT to do. This is definitely not how this should go. And I found myself confused and angry. Anger consumed my heart and hatred began to grow towards my mother. Not a good place to be. At. All. 

More recently my mother’s health has just tanked. She went from a vibrant and active woman to a lump in a bed. This only grew my animosity. I found myself in the confessional a lot apologizing to our Lord for wishing she would just die. And die she did. 

NOT ACTUALLY DEAD. Calm down. But in a way…a spiritual living could only arise from a self-death. 

A few weeks ago, my mother, who now has to live in a skilled nursing facility, awoke one morning feeling very sick and confused. She called for help only to find that she was hypoxic. Hypoxia is caused by low levels of oxygen in the blood. She was rushed to the local hospital who unable to control her breathing had to transport her to a bigger more equipped facility. Nothing was off the table. As her oxygen levels dropped, her carbon dioxide levels were skyrocketing which essentially began poisoning her own body. Intubation became a real possibility and with her health as bad as it was…survival seemed fleeting. 

I’ve stood in this space with her before. From botched suicides to blood clots. And each time I find myself in her hospital room I offer to her Jesus. After one such occasion she was inclined to try RCIA and see if our Catholic faith was for her. It worked for a little bit but inevitably her failing health made it impossible to leave the house for the classes. With this constraint a priest then began to come see her privately. He took her general confession, and it seemed like she would get the sacraments. Seemed. Bogged down by her sin and pride and dwindling health she declined the offer and continued to decline in health. 

My hatred grew. 

My bitterness grew.

I stopped visiting her. I put her in a facility to take care of her and surrendered her to Jesus. Told him “Hey…I can’t be doing this anymore. You got this? Cool. Deuces!” 

(yes, I do be talking to God like that) 

As I stood at her bedside this time, intubation imminent, I begrudgingly offered to her a priest once again. Believing it was futile but nonetheless offering. To my surprise she said yes. So, I got to work at 9pm. Not an easy feat as one might think. Although the road to Emmaus never is. I was put in touch with a priest and told him all of the above. Her attempt and failure at holy life. Upon hearing this he said “well hearing this I can confidently say that I can come now and administer all the sacraments to her as it’s a dire emergency. Would that be something you would like?” 

UMMMMM DUH FATHER HESS! LFG! 

So, On September 28, 2026, at 10pm my mother Michelle was confirmed and received holy communion for the very first time in her life. She was anointed with oil for the sick and dying. Because intubation was considered necessary, she was given the smallest particle of our Eucharistic Lord. Father turned to me and asked if I’d like to receive the rest for her.

UMMMMM DUH FATHER HESS! LFG! 

Knelt beside her hospital bed, our hands clasped together, I took holy communion with my mother. A thing I’d prayed for fervently but never ever expected would happen. Ever. 

Shortly after, her blood gas was drawn so the doctors could glimpse better into how much of this and that she’d need for intubation. To their amazement her CO2 levels had begun to go down substantially. What was once 90 was now in the 60s. Still high but dwindling. Intubation was taken off the table, and more blood was drawn an hour later revealing levels in the 40s. She was leveling out and her body had begun to repair. 

The TINIEST particle of the body of Christ had begun to make the particles in her failing body function properly again. I’ll never forget when I woke her to tell her the results. She looked at me and said “I don’t know Natalie. When I took communion, I felt something move inside me.” I gaffed at her. “Mom don’t say shit you think I want you to say.” She looked me dead in the eyes and said,

“I AM SERIOUS.” 

She’s since received that heavenly body several times. Her mood has changed. She changed facilities and is beginning to envision a future for her life which prior to this she begged for death. The road is still long. Praying for her holy death is still on the table as two collapsed lungs is a diagnosis that’s bleak. But the joy in her is majestic. 

Part of my mother died that night. 

Yesterday I brought our Eucharistic Lord to her bedside once more. We prayed and she ate of his body. We joked and laughed. Hugged and kissed with promise of more times like that to come. 

Miracles are real. 

The moral here is hindsight. Years and years of absolute despair disappeared in an instant. A single particle miraculously healed brokenness. Lives changed. Weight was lifted. Chains were broken. 

Love was restored. 

Don’t. Stop. Praying. 

Pray for them. Pray for you. Pray for EVERYTHING. 

Inside each inhale and exhale be thankful. That cross is mercy. That hard thing is grace being forged. 

Let the smallest particle heal. 

BE Safe

BE great

BE YOU!

NG