One week ago I kissed my 83 year old dad goodbye and flew home, after spending a week helping my siblings, mom, and extended family care for Dad in the hospice he had been moved into a couple weeks earlier. It was a gift and a privilege to spend time with him, hugging, praying with him, talking him through spasms of pain, playing his favorite worship music, holding his hand, helping him eat and just being with him. He couldn't really carry a conversation anymore, but he sure brightened up when family was in the room.
Early this morning, my dear beloved dad passed away. My one-of-a-kind gentle, loving father who quietly lived his faith through his deeds, took his last breath here on earth in the early hours of the morning, and is now pain free and whole in every way. He is now supremely happy in heaven with his beloved Jesus, the One he gave his heart to many many years ago.
He had suffered from prostate cancer, then bone cancer, for 6 years, bravely fighting it until his body got too tired. And with some dementia as well, it was time to let go.
We did not know when he would take his last breath. First it was months, then weeks, then last Sunday we were told days. But no one really knew. As my brother said, it was like taking steps down the stairs, with pauses and then another descend, and sometimes, surprisingly, a step or two back up. I was kept posted daily, sometimes hourly.
Whoever has ever witnessed the last months of life of an elderly loved one knows that often dying is a process with so many ups and downs, hopefulness, hopes dashed, seeing progress, seeing pain, frustration, witnessing the decline, the vulnerability, the fear, the uncertainty, the faith, the knowing, the love, the joy, the tears, the hugs, the kisses, the prayers, the thankfulness, and the mixed deep emotions.
And then the phone rings much too early, and one hears the words, "Dad passed away early this morning".
That's what my day has been like today.
We are one blessed family. Having parents who loved each other and loved their 7 kids fiercely, not perfectly, but deeply and with such commitment.
I've often said to friends, I don't know what I'll do when my dad passes away. And now this day has come. I'm taking time to cry and laugh, to reminisce, to share my sorrow with my friends and family, and looking forward to flying out again in the next day or so to again spend time with my family and help make the plans for the memorial service.
Although I've said goodbye and shared many hours together recently, and spoken words of comfort to my dad, I still am sad that I missed his last moments. As much as I tell myself it's okay.
I will get through this, but never over it. Until we meet again, dearest dad.
Love you forever, Dad!



