Remembering My Dad

This post isn't about my own parenting nor is it about being tired at all. This one is about my dad who passed away 11 years ago this month.

It was 1998 and it was one of those phone calls you never want to get from your parent. "If anything happens to me, I want cremation." My head was buzzing as I was thinking to myself, "WHAT???? Where did this come from?" So, I asked my dad to jump back a few steps and asked what was going on. At that point, he'd been urinating blood for a month and had not been to see the doctor, nor had he mentioned it to my step mom. My dad loved his wife very much and didn't want her worrying. I explained that he needed to let her know what was going on and he needed to get in to see a doctor. He said he understood, but what was very important was that he wanted me to understand that he wanted cremation if anything happened to him.

I am convinced that people, much like animals, know when their time is nearing the end. Perhaps its how your body feels to you. For a believer in Christ, it could be that there is an overwhelming presence of a mass of angels surrounding you every day, and they increase in number as your end date draws near, or an overwhelming sense of peace - knowing you are going Home. I know this, my dad was keenly aware during this phone conversation that his life as I knew it was coming to an end, and he was determined to make sure that at least one of his children knew how he wanted things to move forward after he was gone.

The final diagnosis was stage 4 cancer and he was given a year to live. My dad, in his infinite wisdom, decided he was going to continue living his life to the fullest and enjoy every moment he had left. We already knew that there was nothing that could be done to save him and instead, through hospice care, he was treated to stay comfortable. I know because I was one of the two people assisting him in his last days and was blessed to be there the morning he took his last breath.

I can tell you with all certainty the Jesus saw my dad into heaven on that Sunday morning in May. The morning started like most of the rest of the week had, with Norma and me taking turns watching him and giving him morphine shots for comfort as needed. Hospice care had been to the house on Friday and after looking my father over, suggested that we each say our good-byes as they expected Friday would be the day he would depart. I am not sure I can describe what it is like to sit in front of your parent who is sick with cancer and emaciated to the point that you no longer recognize them, and tell them it is okay to go. I am not sure I can explain the difficulty with which you fight to hold back tears of sadness while trying to encouragingly say "Go, be with Jesus," however I somehow managed to say those very things to this man, my father, whom I truly respected, although not given many reasons to.

In his former life, he was not the world's best father to us (he simply was never there - or was drunk and sleeping when he was), or husband to my mom, whom he eventually left to marry a woman he knew from high school. Now in my 40's, I want to say I understand it more, although it would be a lie. What I do understand about it is that my parents were not in love with one another when they married, nor did they understand what the commitment of "Until death do us part" meant. To say they should never have been together would somehow be saying that my brother, sister and I should not have been born. God has His reasons for everything, and had my mom and dad not married, the three of us would not be here, nor would any of our children, and I know for a fact that there are reasons each of us are here. What I can tell you is that my dad had incredible wisdom (wisdom through failure is still wisdom), and while I didn't know him growing up, I learned to listen to him as a young adult, and he was always the one I went to for advice. I can tell you that my dad was a man who felt deep regrets over his past mistakes which resulted in a penned letter to my mother.

Not long after receiving his diagnosis of terminal cancer, he gave his life back to Christ, and followed him faithfully into Heaven. I believe that were it not for his faith and rededication to the Lord, admitting his failures would never have happened, and seeking forgiveness would have been the last thing on his mind. Matthew 6:14 states "For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you." And so by writing this letter to my mom, he was doing what he knew to be right in the eyes of God. He was seeking forgiveness from one of the people he had hurt. Within this letter was a heartfelt, and God lead apology for every misfortune he ever brought upon her life - for not being a good husband, father, provider, etc. Within this letter he sought forgiveness for his past wrongs. Forgiveness is the glue that holds us together in the family of God - not just seeking it, but giving it as well. I cannot imagine it was easy for him to put all of that into a letter he would not just write and throw away, but that he would write and send to the woman he had so wronged. The woman who bore the burden of raising three kids alone during a time when single parenting was not as widely spread as it is today. I have so much respect for my father for listening to God's word

My father was an incredible trumpet player and had cut two albums in his life that were distributed mostly amongst family and friends. We thought he would like to pass into Heaven listening to his music, so in the background was the sound of my father's horn playing - sounds of my youth circling around me. It was hard to look at this figure lying in the bed and remember the handsome 6'3 man that I knew as my father. I barely recognized the figure lying under the bed sheet as I held his hand which felt like skeleton under feather like skin, and I found myself at a loss for words. I do remember telling him that Jesus was waiting for him and that it was okay for him to leave. I reassured him that I would see him again one day and that was about all I was able to say. I sat holding his hand for many minutes telling myself I would not cry in front of him. When I was done, I left the room allowing my step-mom to enter and say her good-byes as I retreated to the guest room to silently cry on my own.

Friday crawled by slowly with us administering morphine shots every 3 hours or so and with members of his church there to help support us through prayer and genuine Christ-like love. Dad's skin was grey and his breathing was labored, however for some reason he continued to remain with us. His color was better on Saturday as we began another day of watching and waiting for the inevitable to come that again managed to escape for another day. That Sunday morning I could see that the stress of caring for the man she loved was wearing on Norma and so I suggested she leave the house for a little while. If nothing else, I felt she needed some fresh air. She did not want to be away from him, but admitted she had not been to the post office in a while and decided she would just run up to check the mail. To this day I am amazed at the way God works in our lives and that he truly knows what we need and when we need it.

Norma returned from the post office with an excitement in her I had not seen all week. Unbeknownst to her, six weeks earlier my father had ordered a CD through the mail - Jackie Gleason's Songs for Lovers - and it happened to arrive that morning in the mail. She and my father loved Jackie Gleason's music. She put the CD on and sat next to my dad and held his hand. She sat quietly looking at him stroking his hair in a very loving way and I truly felt like perhaps I should give her some privacy to pour her love and affection on my father. I stepped out of the room for what I believe was only a few short minutes and she called me back in stating that it looked as if he needed another shot of morphine. As I quickly began filling the syringe, my dad took his last breath and very peacefully left the room. The presence of Christ was so heavy in the room you could smell his sweetness.

As Norma and I sat and cried together for many minutes, she told me that she had not said good-bye to him on Friday. She told me she just could not do it. She didn't want to say good-bye. My father loved her very much and when he learned of his terminal illness, all he worried about was his wife and would she be okay. Who would take care of her? He needed to know that she was going to be okay and he needed to hear it from her. That morning when I left the room, she said she held his hand and told him it was okay for him to leave. She told him that she would be okay and that if he wanted to go and be with the Lord, to please not worry about her and to go. She told him she loved him and she kissed his face. She told me he squeezed her hand, and it was within minutes that he took his last breath and was gone from this world.

As I recall the memory of that day with tears in my eyes yet again, I am filled with a peace that I can say with all confidence comes from the knowledge that my father is in Heaven with Jesus. Christ was in the room the day my father passed away and He was there to take him home where I will see him again one day.

John 14:1-3 says "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am."