How to die (part 3 of 4)

The last lesson Dad taught me, continues (written in 2003, shortly after he died.)...

The next day, Monday, Dad was moved to a nursing home. That Friday I got another call at work saying, “You might want to come; it may be soon.” Dad’s family again gathered around him, singing, praying, looking into his loving eyes, and wondering how many gazes we had left. As we said good-night to him, he kissed each of us, raised his arm in a parting wave, and smiled. We marveled at his display of love for us while in such discomfort...

I returned the following afternoon and spent a couple of hours with him. They were miserable hours for me – I can’t imagine what they must have been for Dad. All I know is that the whole time I was in his room (the only one there at the time) I was silently pleading with God to take him home and release him from his pain and discomfort. I sensed he knew I was there but he seemed to be sleeping or perhaps in a semi-conscious state. He was clearly miserable as he coughed, and breathed with difficulty. I cried, pleaded with God, and wondered how long it would be…

That night at home I felt so helpless from not being able to ease Dad’s pain and discomfort. I was discouraged. I desperately wanted to do something to lift his spirits, or to whisper comforting words to him, but it seemed all words had been used up and there was nothing left to say or do. As I wandered around the house, trying to accomplish meaningless tasks, my mind was continually on Dad. Suddenly, seemingly miraculously, God gave me perfect words for him. I had this urge to drive to the home and immediately share them with him to see if they would bring the comfort I was sure they would, but I decided to wait until morning.

I woke up on Sunday morning slightly relieved that Dad hadn’t gone during the night because I now had some new, hopefully comforting, words to give him. In fact when I got the phone call that morning saying that he may be going and we should come quickly, I really wanted to get there in time to talk to him. When I arrived, my Mom and sisters were already there. We hugged, with tears, realizing that this would probably be the morning we had both dreaded and anticipated. Dad’s eyes were shut and he did not seem to be responding to us but the nurse told us to talk to him anyway, because "hearing is the last sense to go." I’m so glad she told us that. It was all the encouragement I needed... I placed one of my hands gently over one of his swollen hands and my other hand rested on his cold forehead. Then I leaned in, close to his left ear, so he could hear me.

“Dad,” I began, with the words whispered to my heart the night before, “I don’t know what you must be going through right now, but there is someone who does. It’s Jesus. He died - on a cross - so he knows exactly what you’re going through. And He can help you. And He didn’t stay dead, and you won’t either. He rose from the dead and you will too. Not because you’re such a wonderful man, though I think you’re pretty wonderful, but because you’re trusting in Him. You’re saved, Dad. Don’t let Satan tell you otherwise. You’re saved, and you’re going to be with Jesus.” Then I added, “And don’t worry about Mom, you know we’ll take care of her, and Jesus will too, like He’s taken care of you.”

As tears streamed down my face, I sensed God’s truth was releasing Dad and he was letting go. I quickly turned to Mom and my sisters and said, “I think he’s going.” They immediately came closer, as they had stepped back to let me speak to him. We gently covered his hands with ours, and Mom caressed his cheek. We quoted Bible verses out loud, said some spontaneous words of prayer, and with many tears said our final, loving good-byes.

Each breath became farther apart from the last one and then, in a minute or two, there were no more. Dad had gone home.


(Next post...the best part...)