Living On The Far Side

She Treasured All These Things in Her Heart

During my dad’s last few days on earth, he looked and acted very different from the man I grew up with. It took so much energy to care for him and keep him from becoming a danger to himself that I think a disconnect happened in my mind where he became a project rather than my dad. On Wednesday, he was so restless that it seemed unsafe for him to be left alone for the night, so I stayed on the couch in the living room where his hospital bed was. As the house became quiet and Dad and I were alone and he was obviously uncomfortable, I begged God the Comforter to bring comfort and rest to Dad and that he would, even in his state of confusion, feel the love of his family and his God. I gave God permission to take him sooner rather than later (I’m sure He appreciated that) and started to dictate what time of day, how much longer, and who should be present, but stopped myself short on that, surrendering this detail. When Dad woke up after about an hour, we had about 45 minutes together that began as yet another frustrating bout of restlessness and agitation, but changed into something sacred. I began to sing hymns to him as I cared for him–putting his legs back up on the bed when he tried to get up, gently holding his hands when he started messing with things that needed to be left alone. My voice was quiet because I didn’t want to wake anyone else up and it broke often from emotion, but he seemed to be soothed by the familiar songs. He sat up twice and as he leaned his head on my shoulder because he didn’t have the strength to hold it up on his own, I talked to him. I told him that I love him and hoped that he understood what I was saying. He picked up his arm and patted me on the back. I’m choosing to believe that it was him telling me that he did understand. Then he went back to sleep for a couple of hours.

When he woke again, Mom and Derek got up to help. Derek stayed with Dad & me for a few hours while Mom went back to bed to get some much-deserved rest. What a gift it was to lie on the couch in the dim light and watch my husband gently caring for my father–helping him to roll over in an attempt to get comfortable and patting his feverish skin with a cool washcloth.  At the same time, he was ministering to me by allowing me to rest. When Dad seemed to be getting ready to sleep, Derek adjusted the bed in a way that seemed to work well and Dad went to sleep at about 3:30. It was obvious at that point that he had gone through a transition and would not have any more times of restlessness. At 6:00, Dad was still sleeping peacefully, so Derek went to bed. I stayed with Dad, listening to his changing breathing patterns until my uncle Steve arrived to take over at 7:00. Just after 8:30, as Steve sat holding his brother’s hand, Dad slipped away.

I hesitated to write this post for a few reasons. 1) The time together was so precious and intimate it almost seems wrong to share it with the world, and 2) I didn’t want to risk the reader thinking that I was trying to prop myself up as some kind of saintly Florence Nightingale. However, I have decided to share because the whole night is really a testimony to the amazing comfort, peace and joy that is available even in the midst of what should be turmoil. People everywhere have told us that they were praying for comfort and the peace that goes beyond understanding. Because of my personality, my faith, while genuine, tends to be more of an intellectual exercise most of the time. I am not sure that I have ever FELT the presence of the Lord more than that night. He truly is a God of Comfort and Love.