Thankful: For a Father Who Waited for Me

Honor your father...

Exodus 20:12

A week ago today, one of the staff at the church where I work left to travel to her father's bedside in South Carolina.  He had not been doing well, and she felt compelled to make the trip for just a few days to see for herself how he was doing.  Two days after she arrived, he took a turn for the worse, hospice was called in, and the family gathered around the bedside to wait.  I texted her on Friday, letting her know that I was praying for her, and also that it was so wonderful that she was there with her dad, instead of frantically trying to get there.  Her father passed away on Saturday evening, peacefully and quietly, with the entire family gathered at his bedside.

In the summer of 2005, my father began to suffer from congestive heart failure.  I lived in the southeast and my parents lived in the southwest, but I made several trips out to visit and oversee their care.  In December, it became obvious that Mom, who suffered from Alzheimer's, needed to be moved to a care facility.  They had been married almost 70 years, and we were all worried that taking her from the home might hasten my father's decline.  In the end, we had no other choice.

In January of 2006, one of my daughters and I went out see my father and move my mother.  Taking her from the house caused Dad to have a spell that landed him in the hospital.  We stayed for almost a week, until he was home again, then went back East while my brother flew out to take my place.  At the beginning of February, I flew out again, making sure that hospice was still engaged with my father, and trying to quiet his anxiety and fear.  My oldest brother, though autistic, moved into the family home to watch over Dad.

On Friday, February 24, Dad fell in the kitchen, and hospice came and took him to their inpatient facility.  During the night Saturday night, he took a turn for the worse, and the nurses called me.  I asked them to please relay to Dad that I was coming - as quickly as I could.  The first flight available was Sunday afternoon.  I remember grabbing my rental car and flying down the highway to the hospice center.  As I was buzzed through the door, the head nurse came over and took my hand.  "He's been waiting for you," she said.

When I walked in the room, Dad was flailing from side to side, his clawed hands scratching at the air.  I caught one of his hands, and began to whisper..."Daddy, I'm here."  Ever so slowly his body began to calm, then his other hand came down on my arm, and he quieted down completely.  He had fought for life until he knew I was there.  Three hours later, he breathed his last.