MY LAST GOODBYE

MY LAST GOOD BYE

We sit. We wait. At what time will death come?

My brother and his wife stand vigil at his bedside, not wanting to leave, yet very tired and in need of some rest themselves.

Dad has been in the Veterans Home for almost a year, gradually declining in health, yet still holding his own, while dementia robs him of his mental capabilities, still viable, in a sense, still holding the highest position in our family as the family Patriarch.

Yesterday his liver became non-functional, sending poisonous toxins into his bloodstream, resulting in a hepatic coma. Somewhat of a surprise to all of us, as Dad was “quite himself” on Sunday.

So the time we had hoped would never come has come upon us without invitation. We knew this day would arrive but somehow one is never quite prepared. And at Christmas, no less. I trust God’s timing to be right, so now we wait---my brother, on the east coast and me on the west.

I’ve struggled with whether to get a flight bound for Maine or not. Dad’s in a coma and he wouldn’t recognize me. Perhaps I wouldn’t even arrive in time. But the thought haunts me-what good would I accomplish by going? Perhaps I could whisper loving words in his ear or read Scripture verses to him. I would tell him, “it’s ok—go—mom is waiting for you”. That’s what I would say. The last sense to leave is hearing, so perhaps he would hear me and he would smile.

Maybe it’s best to remember Dad as he was—a vibrant, strong father, husband, provider, our family’s protector. I will always remember, at the young age of three or four, standing on the end of the dock at our camp at Swan pond—my Dad in the water with arms held high, shouting, “jump Ruthie, jump!” and I would leap into the air, totally confident that he would catch me in his wide open arms, the arms of safety and love.

Our Heavenly Father does that too, opening His loving arms to engulf us at just the right moment, when we need Him the most.

What will my life be without Dad? For sixty-two years he has been there for me, how be it, the last few years he has needed us more. Who will fill the void, the emptiness? Just knowing that he is available has been enough. The capacity of his abilities wasn’t important. I needed to know that I could call and he would answer the phone. I would picture him sitting on the couch, watching TV, smoking those awful cigars. That was Dad. Yet, I was confident that he would have an answer or a solution to my problem.

So I wait for the inevitable phone call from my brother. My mind wants to scream, “this can’t be happening…not now---not ever!” I want my father returned to me. Death is coming. I can’t stop time and its events, but I can be strong in the Lord and lean on friends and family.

I’ve cried most of the day. The grieving has started. Dad, say hello to Mom for “us”. I will miss you!