One Week Ago

 TRIGGER WARNING: This is a very specific post about my dad's last days on earth. It might not be for everyone. Maybe these stories are best left private. Maybe they aren't. But this blog is for who it is for.

My daddy died one week ago today at 5:35 a.m. When asked how I'm doing, my response is usually, "I could not have asked for God to write him a more beautiful ending." When I say this it is not my attempt at sounding more spiritual or strong. And, this does not mean that I feel God owed us that. We did not earn this story. My dad did not earn this. He was not more "good" or loved by God than the next daddy. I'm also not a "name it and claim it" kind of Christian, although the story I am about to tell might seem that way. What I do believe though, is that God's involvement in our lives is real, and that each and every one of us have glimpses every day of his goodness and divine providence. And I am compelled by the words of Psalm 34 to "bless God every chance I get." 

I've shared that last May dad went into the hospital with congestive heart failure, along with a list of other health issues. In the past Dad almost didn't seem to mind these hospital visits. In fact, when he had COVID we teased him that he was right in his element with so many new strangers to make friends with from doctors and nurses to the people who delivered his food. But May 2022 was different. He wasn't himself. The spark wasn't there. He was teary. He didn't want my mom out of his sight and he made it clear he never wanted to be in a hospital bed again. Ever.

Throughout his stay in rehab my heart hurt like never before. I prayed that we wouldn't loose my daddy in the middle of the night when none of us could be by his side. I prayed that we'd get to smile and laugh and make him biscuits in gravy in his own kitchen again. 

And God heard our prayer.

Bringing dad home wasn't simple. And my mom made enormous personal sacrifices during those months, her life now revolving around blood sugar checks, and getting him safely from his favorite deep leather chair to bed and back again. He was the family celebrity and whatever daddy wanted, daddy got. He'd spoilt us for years and this was his turn. I know it wasn't easy for Dad to endure this part of his life. But in those months, the visits were made that needed made, the words said that needed said. I learned what it looked like to leave life with no hard feelings. No burned bridges. No regrettable grudges.

During the summer I met with an old friend and we talked about how a life lived out to it's natural conclusion looks a lot like a birth in reverse. Almost a Benjamin Button progression in a way. We begin to have trouble walking. Eating becomes challenging and we revert to tiny bites of easily chewed foods. We sleep more but at odd times. Our thoughts voiced become simpler usually. Until eventually family draws near, watching waiting for the inevitable but unknown time of our soul passing from one place to another. And that's how it was.

Over the summer, dad's tremors increased. Infections would not go away and wounds would not heal easily. He became less and less mobile on his own.

One month ago my parents had a minor accident in a parking lot. No one was hurt, other than a scrape on dad's arm. But he would forget what happened and how, until he would once again ask about his arm and how it got like that. He had been confused often before but the event made it more obvious. What happened in dreams became harder to separate from what was really happening. 

I prayed that he would not forget who I was. Who my brother and sister and mom were. And God heard our prayers.

The week of the parking lot incident, we called hospice. And I can not even begin to tell you what a blessing this was. Instead of stressing over new medical bills, struggling to get dad in and out of the car for appointments, or figuring out how to run to the pharmacy while he slept, mom could hold his hand and listen to his music with him. If she thought of something that might make their life easier, it was usually one text away from showing up at their door the next morning. Help came to them, and not just vital checks, but someone to guide and listen, and offer advice. I think it is a common misconception that calling in hospice means the end is RIGHT NOW, or that the family has given up. Waiting until a loved one is unresponsive before calling them in means loosing out on some of the biggest benefits that working alongside them can offer. My mother in law is a wonderful hospice nurse and so I know that she sometimes has patients for a very long time, and sometimes people can even come off of hospice if their prognosis changes. But I am so thankful for the ways God answered many of our prayers through my dad's fantastic care team, and I'd be happy to talk to anyone who's loved one is facing a prognosis that does not include "getting better" to tell you more about the company we worked with and what they provided.

The weekend dad went on hospice was hard. While I was happy he was in good hands, and relieved that we wouldn't be taking dad back to a hospital room when things got worse, the reality of it all was pretty exhausting. However, the beauty in it was that reality gave us a warning. We had the gift of knowing that each interaction with daddy might be our last. Loved ones drove in to see him again. I watched my nephews tell him exactly what he'd meant to them growing up. We kept our Family Friday coffee dates, and Daniel finally got to make him the biscuits and gravy he'd been promising him for months, which turned out to be one of the last times he cleaned his plate. For the next few weeks we watched dad's memory and understanding of what was going on around him slip farther and farther while his vitals and physical health stayed surprisingly stable.

My sister and much of her more immediate family had a cruise planned for October break, that they'd had scheduled for over a year. I had a smaller but much anticipated trip with my husband and kids planned for the Tucson area at the same time. We'd worried, fretted and prayed about whether we should leave. Would he remain stable while we were gone? And everything pointed to yes until the day before we were all scheduled to leave.

"Something's changed," Darla had said to me over the phone, after our morning coffee. We could not exactly put our finger on it but we sensed a shift. 

Two days later I received a text that a hospital bed had been brought into my parent's living room. Dad could no longer be helped into his wheel chair, and was completely immobile. 

I didn't know what to do. Would I overreact? Underreact? And there's nothing Darla could do. She was on a ship in the middle of the ocean. 

I called a few times, and one of those times mom put the phone up to my dad's ear. It frightened me, as I knew it might just frustrate my dad who was struggling to speak and understand. 

"Christy?" I heard him from the other end, and my heart leapt. He had not forgotten my voice. He had not forgotten my name. Praise be to God.

For three days I leaned into my time with Jesus. I sat on the porch of our cabin on Mt. Lemmon, begging God to help me do the right thing. Begging him to let me make it home in time. To let Darla make it home in time. For mommy to not be alone when he passed. I prayed for strength for my brother and sister-in-law as they shouldered so much on our behalf. I prayed the Psalms...the one filled with gratitude and the ones I label the "angry psalms" too. And God heard our prayers.

I went almost straight from our trip to daddy's side, where I refused to leave for more than a few hours at a time over the next few days. Once again I witnessed my mom selflessly serving my dad who couldn't do anything for her in return. Once again I witnessed beautiful, heart-felt goodbyes and words of thanksgiving. Dad could no longer eat or drink but managed to spend his energy mouthing words like, "Hi hon" and "I love you." We listened to dad's favorite songs, and sifted through old pictures. It may have seemed that I was focused on a task in preparation, but it was more that I needed to see my daddy standing tall, strong, and smiling, with a grandbaby in his arms, which these pictures offered.

By Sunday morning, October 9th, the day that would have been my grandma Gerry's birthday, Dad no longer fidgeted with his blankets and oxygen mask as he had been doing. He no longer opened his eyes. But he was there, breathing, and listening. Together, Mom and Dad and my sister-in-law, Dawn, and I live-streamed the service from church. One of his best friends, a retired pastor was giving the sermon and pastoral prayers, and such a peace fell over our home hearing this familiar voice speaking straight to us from...one of the 'angry psalms'. With YouTube still up, mom began playing all of Dad's favorite music videos, all about "going home." 

At about noon, we received a text from my sister and brother-in-law,Kevin, who had landed and received news that my niece, Kevin's daughter, and just given birth to a healthy, beautiful, baby girl, Melody! Within an hour of that, my sister arrived. Tears of both joy and sorrow were falling, and almost immediately we noticed a change in dad's breathing. The rattle, which would started and stop multiple times began. It must have been such a relief for him to begin to let go.

More family came and went. By 11 p.m., even my niece, who'd had a later flight home from the cruise was able to join us. Most went home, asking for a call if something changed. We all breathed a sigh of relief at midnight when we knew that dad had not died the same day that Melody (or grandma) was born. And we began dozing off in different places around the house. At 4 a.m. I woke up to go to the bathroom and began trying to keep my eyes open. I dozed and opened them again at 5:20 a.m. My sister looked wide awake and especially attentive by dad's side. I watched her a few minutes, willing myself more awake.

"His breathing is different," she said with some urgency.

"Should I call, Scott?"

"Yes. I'll go get mom." 

Scott answered the phone. Mom came back in the room. My niece roused from her sleep. And the breathing stopped. We watched closely. It didn't start again. We heard no struggle, no gasp, no signs of pain. He died an old man, in his sleep, surrounded by love, and leaving no one with doubts of how he loved them back, just as I believe he had wanted it.  

Once again, God had answered our prayers.

The next day and this whole week don't really separate in my head. I remember driving for maple frosted donuts in a state of shock, the coroner draping a flag over my veteran daddy's earthly body, sitting for two hours in the chilly office of the mortuary, receiving hugs, and soup, and flowers. I am not sure what day anything happened or when I've felt so tired before.

I grieve weird. I think. I get hyper-focused on whether I'm grieving right. Too much? Too little? Am I making others uncomfortable or am I much too calm? I talk to a therapist sometimes. It's just part of my mental health maintenance routine, and I'd recommend it just as I'd recommend taking a multivitamin or going to the gym. After listening to me ask "is that appropriate or normal" for the umpteenth time, she asked me, "What would your ideal grief look like?" 

I suppose it would look like being able to cry when others are crying. A good cleansing sob as he passed from this world would have been right. Crying during the funeral would be appropriate, though I have a feeling I won't. Mirroring the emotions of others for approximately two weeks and then being able to tie it up with a nice little bow and "move on" and "do normal" after that sounds about right. But, I know from other losses that I grieve slow and steady for a long time. And I'm thankful for the others who have gone before me who remind us that each grief is unique. I'm thankful for those who let me just feel what I feel at the moment. Who aren't afraid to share the wonderful stories of my dad that keep him present still. And anyone who's had enough time on their hands to finish reading this very cathartic and personal piece of writing. I hope I'll be glad I hung onto it someday. And I hope there's someone who finds it helpful that I shared it.