I have not written about dad’s passing, but I am going to now. This will be more for me and working through my grief than you as a reader. It has been a tough month. I have had to push myself to get my responsibilities done. It will be a month since he left in a couple days. I feel a glimmer of myself returning. It has been a month of grief. I have continued with most of my leadership. I did take the first weekend off. Even though I am plodding forward, the grief of his absence is an undercurrent in my heart and mind that continues to affect me.
Dad had a rough 6 weeks. From the fall, ER, hospital, rehab, and back to the hospital, then hospice. He was taken to the ER Easter Sunday morning from the rehab. I was called before the 11 am service by the ER doc, who said that he was declining rapidly. After a couple days at Toledo hospital, it was very apparent that his life and body were saying no to continuing on. He always bounced back and always made a way, but this was not to be like the last times. He sure tried, and he fought, but his strength was depleted, and would no longer cooperate with his will.
My father gave me a gift. The gift was that he had made it clear the decisions I was to make when this day came. I did not have to wonder and wrestle. His suffering continued, it was not pretty. I got him on pallative care and called Hospice. After, Hospice and I met, the Bipap was removed from his face, the IV taken out, the mitts off, he laid his head back as I played a beautiful song, Gabe sang, and recorded that he had sent Mom and me, and he rested. He laid his head back and peace came over us both. He finally stopped being agitated, confused, and scared. He relaxed. He opened his eyes, and I told him we were going to Hospice of NW Ohio. Ironically, it is the same place Mom passed away years ago. He said, “Good,” looked up at me, and said, “The end of the line.” I wept and prayed. He rested finally in peace. The fight was over, and the transition to everlasting life began. I told him I loved him, and he said, “Love you too.” These were almost his last words, and I will cherish them forever. We finished well, Dad and I. I was losing my dad, but also my friend.
After a few days at hospice, family coming and going, Grandkids, my sisters, and friends, and quiet times of Dad, myself, and Jesus, he stopped communicating. That Thursday night he was surrounded by our family, and all my kids thanked him and loved on him. AT 3 am Friday morning, April 5th, Jesus took my father home. His journey here completed, and real life beginning. Dad has suffered since a 1990 car accident. Pain was his day, life, morning, and night. He is now without pain, walking upright, no walker, no wheelchair, and no dependence on his son for groceries, rides in the country, or friendship. No more disappointing doctor appointments, falling, sleepless nights, or health battles. Dad is finally free of the prison of his body and he is healed and whole (Isaiah 53).
I am thankful for the promise of God and his Word. I am grateful that Dad and I grew close. I am thankful Dad is no longer suffering. I am grateful for his child-like faith that said yes to the Lord. I am lost without him for this season, as he was part of my everyday. Part of my purpose in life was to care for, protect, and watch over him and his health, so I felt like I was supposed to be heading to his apartment, getting some bananas, or fixing the input on his remote. Still, the phone is silent, and the Colorado passes by his apartment as I head south on Lewis Ave. Daily life is very different. My friend is gone.
It’s been a month now. His Veterans hat hangs in my shop on his deer antlers. His flag from the President for his service proudly displayed in my office; his memory is deeply seared into my being. I sure miss him. I will press on. He finished well. We will gather in June at his graveside. They will put his ashes in the ground, but I know his spirit is alive, for to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. On that Great Day, we will once again tear down the dirt roads of Monroe County, sipping on a diet Vernors and laughing at his stories. There will be no wheelchair in the trunk, no pain pills to get him through the ride, and when we come to a stop, he will jump out of the car for his earthly prison of a body is gone and buried, and his glorified body will be flawless finally.
Miss you, Dad. Well done. I love and miss you. Until that Great Day…..
Nathan
nateelarton.com 