Looking Back Part 1 - Bizarre Midnight Ramblings

Three years ago, our family was living through one of the best and worst seasons of our lives. My father had a massive heart attack in April of 2006 and "should have" died immediately, but he refused. He fought through the next 17 months to be with us even just a minute longer. Most of that time was spent with us in our home in Atlanta. Rob had just started a new ministry, the girls were 6 and 3 years old and I was given an amazing gift for 17 months. It was one of the greatest honors of my life to serve him the way he had always served all of us. In the final days of his life, I recorded my thoughts (spewed them out is more like it) for friends and family via email. I thought that maybe someone else out there might be going through those final moments right now and might benefit from our experience. For the next few days I thought I might "reprint" four of those emails as part of our catharsis and for anyone dealing with the "ism of grief" right now. I must warn you that these were written when emotions were pretty raw, so please keep that in mind. Thanks for the indulgence.

Originally written:
July 26, 2007

OK, beware, I hardly ever share what my brain vomits anymore, but thought since many of you have asked - here is what is really going on inside my head right now:

A year and a half ago I helped my dad to live, now I have been asked to help him die.

How do you do that? How do you say the words that all the “dying” experts say he needs to hear, but not really mean any of it? I am telling him that it is OK to go on and be with the Lord and on some level I am sure I believe that, but in my gut I am thinking “Are you kidding me? This is my father. This is the man I love. The man I can trust. The man who protects me, who sacrificed for me. How can I tell him I will be OK without him when I am not sure I will?” I know he is in a win-win situation – but only slightly. If he stays he has us, but he is so miserable, enduring such suffering, robbed of all the things that he loved, his independence, his work, his home – having to be taken care of instead of the care taker. If he goes, he experiences total healing, complete restoration, full joy, reunions with the others he loves so much. If I were him it would be a no-brainer, but on this side I can only say these things out of love for him. I know that he needs to hear them so that he can truly (temporarily) let go of me and move on. This is that moment when I look in God’s face and say, “It better all be true. You and all your promises better be real.”
I look into those incredibly blue eyes of his (daddy’s not God’s) and think, “How will I not be able to look in those eyes someday? How is that possible?” I know the Sunday school answer. I know to say, “God knows best and he is trustworthy.” But in reality there is this sense of “If I trust you with this love, this person, this loss, then you better be who you say you are. You better be able to heal that kind of wound. You better be able to give him a new body. You better be waiting for Him and preparing a place for him. You better do and be all you say you will and are.”

I know it sounds blasphemous, but it is my truth in this moment. It is a gritting my teeth letting go.

But somehow the words are coming out. They are calm and peaceful words and they seem to bring him peace, which makes it bearable. They are words that I know I believe but never thought I would have to say.

And so I help him die. I say what needs to be said, do what needs to be done, trust what needs to be trusted and walk through this.

I am asked “how are you doing?” to which I respond, “I don’t know the word for it.” I don’t know what you call this. Some have suggested, “numb, adjusting, as well as can be expected.” But the word that I hear isn’t what is expected.
When I hear, “how are you doing?” all I hear in my heart is “I’m doing what my dad taught me to do. I am obeying.”

Tonight my dad asked me to pray for him - that “God would help him.” So I did. And under my breath I prayed the same prayer for myself. Help me.
Help me help him to die well.