Last year on Divine Mercy Sunday, I was at my breaking point spiritually.

When your husband has leukemia, life is at a standstill. Literally everything is put on hold because his health could fluctuate at any given moment; just because he was fine when he woke up did not guarantee he had the same energy after two hours. His disease meant that he was frequently exhausted and unable to be around crowds. Between constantly being neutropenic or hospitalized for most of his last few years, finding the time to go to Sunday mass as a family with four kids under six was extremely difficult.

Sunday mass for me is an anchor that keeps me steady. By the time we went to Mexico I was a rowboat in a maelstrom. I had missed so many Sunday masses that I felt a constant pressure in my chest due to the uncertainty, anxiety, and immense burden of hopelessness that we were facing. For years, I told no one about my thoughts and feelings surrounding Stephen’s health; I knew the facts and medical jargon, but never really discussed anything beyond his current treatment plan. I needed to be hopeful for everyone else and especially for Stephen.

Divine Mercy Sunday marked my half way point in Mexico. I had been away from my children for seven days, Stephen had been showing signs of improvement, and I had finally made it to Sunday mass. I wept bitterly when I finally told the priest that my husband was terminally ill and we were seeking treatment and that we had four young children. Being able to finally verbalize the gravity of my situation elevated the tremendous burden that weighed on my heart. There were no real answers, as I find there rarely ever are, but I did feel peace. The priest told me that I need to be strong for my kids because they were entrusted to me by God.

This year, Divine Mercy Sunday is exactly a week before Stephen’s death anniversary. This year I wept before my confessor because my lacklustre parenting of raising a young woman and three young men was overwhelming. Solo parenting was not in the plans for my life. Where is my husband to discuss how to raise our kids? Where is their Daddy to talk to them about being a man? I was angry, upset, and discouraged. Again, there were no real answers, but again there was peace.

I have always looked forward to Divine Mercy Sunday since it fell on my birthday a few years ago. This Sunday after the joyful Easter celebrations we are reminded of the unfathomable love and mercy of our God. Despite the state of my heart and the deplorable state of our world, on this Sunday, I always find a little peace that resonates with me long enough to find just the right amount of hope to hold on to. And with a little more peace in our hearts, not because we know what lies ahead but because we know we are loved despite of everything, we carry on.

Jesus, I trust in You.