At about this same time, my mother underwent sudden heart surgery and afterwards suffered a massive stroke. Her death was a blow to me. My father - so dependent on her - died a few weeks later. That year I would face the death of both of my parents, the horror of September 11th, and the increase of responsibility that came with a job promotion in the next year. I worked as long as I could, but eventually it became apparent that the demands and the stress of work were more that this disease would allow.
Parkinson's Disease is a progressive and incurable disease. Without a miracle, my future looked hopeless and horrible. Outside of a miracle from God, I knew there would be nothing more than suffering, loneliness, and darkness ahead of me.
My new husband and I attended church regularly and became a part of the body of believers in a small non denominational church. I attended Bible studies (even facilitating sometimes) and grew to love the women I got to know. But within a few years, my disease had progressed to the point that I could hardly walk. I couldn't attend Bible studies or do my art any more. I was increasingly isolated as I could not drive, or even feed myself without great difficulty. It was hard to sit in a chair and type or hold the phone more than a few minutes to talk. Sometimes it was an effort just to breathe. I couldn't even turn over in bed.
People began to bring meals and send cards. There were so many people praying for me regularly. Some were even people I didn't know. I stubbornly held onto God, believing that He is a God of miracles. As more and more time went on without a healing I began to despair of ever receiving it on this earth. But my belief in God never faltered. I was heartbroken yet still believed in His love.