Looking Back Part 4 - It Is Finished

Originally written
Friday, August 10, 2007
Homecoming
Sweet Daddy decided to go on home at 4:15 p.m
I will fill in the beautiful details later.
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Saturday, August 11, 2007 1:00 AM

I thought for sure I would be able to just crash into bed tonight without having to get these thoughts out, but I should have known better.

Where to begin?
First let me again say thank you to everyone. Your words, prayers and actions have helped us in ways you will never know. I am so thankful to serve a risen savior who walked us through this journey.

This morning there was a noticeable difference in daddy. His breathing was labored and slow, but never desperate. He looked like a hard working machine that was determined to keep going. He rarely opened his eyes, but did on occasion and slept soundly from about 2:30 AM to 9:00 AM, as did I. The nurse's only explanation for how daddy had made it through the night was, "he is just a really strong man." And she was right.
At around 12:00 the hospice chaplain came by and prayed over daddy. As she finished praying, he sat up and opened his eyes with a sense of urgency. I moved quickly to his bed and held his hand and again respoke the words I had said so many times, "I love you daddy. It is OK to let go and go home." I even had the nurse alert my sister and my mom, but he slowly relaxed again, closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

But in that moment I realized that what the hospice books referred to as "the death rattle" had come. It is a unique sound that they say comes as a sort of warning bell that death is approaching. In daddy's case it was very "darthvadarish" and mimicked the sound of a respirator. And so from that moment on, I never left his bed (I was literally sitting on his bed) I also held on to his hand and decided I would not let go of it until I could "hand him over personally" to Jesus.

For about the next three hours I sat in his bed holding his hand much like I had done when I was a little girl. You see every night when I was little, daddy would come home and sit in his very "Archie Bunker-like" recliner. I was not content just to sit in a chair next to him. I had to sit on the arm of his chair while he watched the news, Sanford and Son, Hee-Haw, you name it. That was my understood designated spot with his left arm wrapped around me. It was my princess's throne.
As I sat in the bed with him today I could not help but think of that sweet memory. It was my favorite place in the world to be. I thought, "No wonder the disciples fought over who would get to sit next to Jesus." I felt the same way about daddy.

Mom brought a plate of lunch into his room for me to eat, but I couldn't bear the thought of letting go of his hand. So I ate one-handed and placed the computer right next to us. Worship songs played continuously and we all would occasionally sing them to daddy.

Finally at about the third hour of the hand-holding vigil, I figured out a way to actually lay down in the bed with him while still holding his hand. My head was at his feet so that I could continue to look at his sweet face. Everyone had sort of settled into naptime mode and I even found myself closing my eyes only to open them every time I thought the "rattle" had stopped.

The RN came in to check daddy's vitals and I asked her if what I as hearing was the infamous "rattle." She said yes. She wanted to check his blood pressure to be sure and it was at that moment that I felt like daddy's room was transformed into a holy sanctuary.

It is hard to put into words what began to happen so I will do my best, but remember it was so "of the heavenlies" that I know I cannot do it justice.

Her attempt to take his pressure was unsuccessful because it was so low and as she began to remove the cuff he squeezed my hand and opened those beautiful crystal blues eyes never to close them again.

As strange as it sounds I had been praying that I would be able to see those eyes just one more time again. I had no idea the final moments of daddy's life would play out like they did and how powerful that answered prayer would be to me.

When he squeezed my hand and opened his eyes it was as if it was a "call to arms" - this was no practice drill for him. He had a grid-lock stare into my eyes and as if I was his "birthing" coach, he looked to me to begin and I did.
"Daddy it is alright, you can do this. I will help you. We will do this together. Just let go of me daddy. Let go of my hand and reach for the hand of Jesus. I know you can hear your mama calling you for dinner. She is ready to hold you again. Daddy you can do it. I know you can. It is OK sweet daddy. I will be with you again. Save a place for me on your lap. I will be there in a twinkling of an eye. I promise you I will do everything in my power to see that those you love will be there too. It's OK daddy you can do it, just let go of me."
And in a moment that nearly took me with him, I felt daddy's spirit leave him. His armor tank of body was still pumping blood and air, but I knew instantly that he had gone. He was incredibly cold and I let out a deep sigh, because I knew he was gone.

A thought came to me that just as we had done in the CICU, I needed to tell daddy what he needed his body to do. When I would leave him in the CICU I would whisper instructions in his ear - things like, "OK daddy, while I am gone you have to get your blood pressure up, you have to fight that infection" or whatever he needed to tell his body to do.

And today I found myself still coaching him in how to die. "You did it daddy, you did it. Now daddy, you need to tell your heart it can stop beating, you're gone. You don't have to breath anymore, you're not there." And eventually the small tiny breathes he was determined to keep taking stopped and the small pulse disappeared.

I thought for sure I would need to run outside, scream, have a hissy fit maybe even "let God have it" for a minute, but by His grace I walked on to the back porch alone, took a deep breath and felt my spirit say, "It is finished." I lifted my hands in the air and admired the beauty (and the heat) outside. What a glorious release. I was so taken aback by the beauty and miracle of it all.

As Rob came out to comfort me I remembered that as daddy and I were "birthing him into heaven" right next to us Third Day was singing Blessed Assurance.

You want to know what daddy's death looked like? It looked like every word of that song that was blaring as he was ushered in.

I am living with blessed assurance that it was real. Jesus did come for him. Not a high power, not a great light, not the black abyss of uncertainty, Jesus his savior came for him and I got a foretaste of glory divine. And this is our story. The beauty of daddy's death can only be explained through the reality of his resurrection. It is not about being comforted by some thought of "a better place," Its about being so close to the face of God that my heart almost stopped too.

I have said before and I say again, I am a blessed, blessed, blessed woman. I will treasure daddy's death as much as I treasured his life.

Thank you for walking through these days with us. You just have no idea what a ministry it has been to us.

All my love,
Denise

Missin' My Daddy Ism

If we are maintaining that our definition of "ism" is something that challenges us, but God is helping us through, then I am suffering today from "missin' my daddyism." With your permission, we'd like to spend a few days remembering him and his gifts to us.

It was three years ago today that I sat on my daddy's bed, holding his hand, coaching him through the last moments of his life. At the exact moment daddy decided it was time to let go and be with the Lord, Blessed Assurance (the Third Day version) was playing in the background. Incredibly poignant timing - and incredibly hard to listen to - even now.

I've spent the last 24 hours in my first pilgrimage back to his grave since his funeral. I've never been much on staring at tombstones and talking to people who aren't really there. But this year, I felt the need to go touch it, see it, and be near it. In all honesty this is the first time in almost 2 years that I thought a trip like this was even possible. Grief held me back the first year. Our isms at home held me back the next. Finally grief is in its proper place and isms seem to be in their's.

From the year 2005-2008, our family experienced more than its share of grief - we lost my brother, my dad and a cousin, almost simultaneously - and I have found myself just sort of "done" with grief. Kinda tired of being so intimately familiar with it. But like everything else God allows in my life, I know, in my head at least, that grieving is part of living and part of trusting. And perhaps more importantly - temporary - eternally speaking. But on days like today, it certainly isn't about what I know in my head. It's about what I feel. I FEEL like I miss his sweetness, his kindness, his gentleness, his hidden humor. I FEEL like the world is an emptier place without him. I FEEL like I was better, truer, more centered when he was near. I FEEL like 79 years weren't enough years for such a man as my father.

But what I KNOW is that separation from him, like my grief, is only temporary. I KNOW that our days are numbered and his were perfectly completed. I KNOW that the inheritance my father gave me is greater than any I could have asked for. He left a legacy of James 1:19 - "be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to become angry." I met a man today who knew my father for most of his life and his memories of him are like so many others.

"I don't think I ever knew Tom to be angry about anything."

I agreed.


I knew him to live through pain, sorrow, betrayal, near poverty, and sickness without the need for anger. That is not to say my daddy was a saint by any means. Daddy had his shortcomings, insecurities and I dare say "isms" like the rest of us, but I don't know of anyone who was quicker to listen, slower to speak and even slower to become angry no matter what life threw at him.


I am missing my daddy today. I cried big tears for him at his very modest grave. I told him how convicted I feel that I fall so short, so often, of his beautiful legacy. I confessed how I have strived to be slower to anger in these last few years, but it has been increasingly difficult as so much has been asked and so much has been taken away. I am missing my daddy today. And my sweet Abba Father comforts me in His grace with the blessing that the words that rang out on that day 3 years ago are just as true right now:

Blessed Assurance - Jesus is mine!
O what a foretaste of glory divine!
Heir of salvation, purchase of God
born of his Spirit, washed in his blood.

This is my story, this is my song,
praising my Savior all the day long.

Perfect submission, perfect delight. Visions of rapture now burst on my sight; angels descending bring from above - echoes of mercy, whispers of love.

Perfect submission, all is at rest; I in my Savior am happy and blest, watching and waiting, looking above, filled with his goodness, lost in his love.