Life and Death

I share this today as I remember my father, my daddy, on the anniversary of the day of his death.  What I’m going to say may be painful for my family to read, so let this be fair warning.  I do not write it to invoke pain, but to demonstrate my point of view that the act of passing from this world into the afterlife isn’t always wracked with turmoil and grief.  It can be a peaceful, joyous journey.

There have been deaths in my family that were not so peaceful.  Deaths that came too soon, in my opinion.  I lost a 16-year-old niece from injuries she sustained in a car accident.  She was in a coma for a week, unable to say and hear her goodbyes.  That week gave us time to come to terms with her condition, but the loss hurt no less for it.  

A friend as close as a brother succumbed to cancer in his late 30s.  He suffered too long.  At the time I was overwhelmed with the birth of my son that I never visited or said good-bye and other important words.  It’s a regret I’ve learned to live with, but not forget.  At his funeral the first person I saw and went to for comfort was my oldest sister, Barbara.  Little did I know then that only one year later she would be the next person in my life to leave me for heaven.  

At the age of 43 Barbara’s earthly life ended due to complications arising from heart surgery.  She was in a coma for two months.  By what can only be described as a miracle straight from God she woke from her coma and was awake for a few weeks before she slipped away again and then forever.  My family was blessed for that short time of lucidity.  It gave us time to tell her goodbye even though we had every hope and belief she would recover.

I had a 24-year-old nephew snatched away in a tragic accident.  My brother-in-law suffered a massive heart attack just as he was getting ready for bed.  These were the hardest, I think.  No warning, just phone calls that they were gone.  Within six months of each other.  

So you see, when my 89-year-old father’s health started to decline rapidly I knew the inevitable was coming, but I had time to prepare.  I knew he lived a good life.  He was a good man, son, brother, husband, father, grandfather, and undecorated war hero.  He was the kind of man who never wanted to admit to being sick.  He was proud of his independence and worked until his health absolutely would no longer allow it.  He even had all of his own teeth, something he proudly told the hospital nurse when she asked him for his dentures.  

His illness, congestive heart failure, weakened him so he could not walk without assistance.  This was not a quality of life he was used to, even at 89 years of age.  I knew he would rather go and be with his daughter, and parents, and all of his brothers and sister who had gone before him.  I knew he was ready when he told me to watch out for my mother’s finances because he knew she was not of sound mind to do so.  I knew then he was preparing himself, because otherwise he would have never admitted such things.

He died on a Sunday.  I had been with him the night before and I noticed there was a change.  So the next day I decided on a whim to stop and pick up my mother and take her to the hospital that afternoon.  My mother had serious health problems of her own at the time that prevented her from sitting with him at the hospital so she was eager to go.  I think my sister, Merni, was there when we got there, or she had just left.  My brother, Julius, was there for certain.  Even though I offered to relieve him he stayed for a good while longer.  Julius has a sense about these things, too.  I truly had not intended to stay too long because I did not want to keep my mother out late, but I couldn’t leave either.  I could tell he was weaker than the night before and I just didn’t want to leave him alone.  I knew my other sister, Becky, would be there about 6:00, so I thought I could at least wait till she got there.  Eventually my brother did leave right about the time the supper tray was brought around.  

I remember there was a big baked chicken breast, a salad with a cherry tomato, and pears.  Daddy told me to take the chicken home to my dog.  He didn’t even touch it.  All he really wanted to eat was the “little tomato” (as he said) and the pears.  He had been talking pretty good and eating good too.  But then something changed so fast, like a finger snap.  He stopped talking. He kept using his fork, pointing at the pears with it.  I went to feed him some, but he had some in his mouth.  I told him to swallow that first, but he just keep chewing and pointing.  Then I could hear the congestion rumbling in his chest.  His breathing got a little more labored.  At almost this exact time his nurse came in to tell us he was going off duty.  He made an offhand comment that he didn’t like the way daddy’s breathing  sounded so he was going to call respiratory in to give him a treatment.  Our eyes met and I knew what he really meant.  Another nurse came in and there were low murmurs between them.  She asked me to step out in the hall with her.  When we did she told me that if there was anyone I needed to call I should do so right then.  

Have you ever had a dream where you are trying to dial a phone but your fingers keep hitting all the wrong buttons?  That is how I felt.  Somehow I managed to call Merni and Julius.  He was just walking in the door to his house after leaving us earlier.  I called my husband and then I left it to them to call everyone else.

All this time my mother was oblivious to what was going on.  I had no heart to tell her.  I just went back in the room and put on a happy face.  By then Daddy already had an oxygen mask on his face and his breathing was much labored.  He was lying on his left side, so I stood where he could see me and talked to him.  I have no idea what I said.  I’m sure it was not important.  I’m sure it was not what I should have said.  But here is where it happened, that little miracle that assured me it was going to be alright. 

You see, I was looking at Daddy, and he was looking at me, or so I thought.  Looking into his eyes I knew he was no longer fully in this world.  He would not look AT me.  He looked behind me, over my shoulder, above me, all around me and there was excitement, breathtaking awe in his eyes.  What did he see?  Was it the gates of heaven opening?  Did he see my sister?  I know she was there with us because I had asked her to be.  Let me digress for one moment.  Sometime earlier, maybe weeks, maybe days earlier, I had a dream about my sister.  She told me it would be the last time she could visit me in my dreams, but if I ever needed her to call her, and she would come.  Well, I needed her, and I called her, so I know she was there.

My daddy lasted about three hours from the time the nurse and I spoke in the hall.  In that time my entire family gathered at his bedside except for two family members who were out of town and could not possibly be there.  My sons and two of my nieces did not want to watch him die so they stayed in the hall.  My oldest son asked me to tell him “Hi”, so I did and Daddy smiled.  That is when I knew he was aware of us, his brood, and he knew he was a blessed man.

I watched him take his last breath.  It was an easy breath.  There was no discomfort, no fighting, no labor.  Through him God gave me life, and I was there with him, my hands on his knee, when his life returned to God.   Beauty lies in the irony.

But did his life end?  You see, as I have said before, I know Jesus and so did Daddy.  And Jesus said in John 5:24  “Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed from death unto life.”

Daddy saw something that night; something awesome and exciting.  Was it The Light?  I don’t know if I believe in “The Light” as such.   I believe there is so much more than just a light.  What, exactly, I do not know because it is not of this world and my mind cannot imagine it.  But surely it must be more like a supernova. 

I also believe those who die quickly and without warning also see the awesomeness.  Because if a day is like a thousand years to God, couldn’t a split second be at the least like an hour?  I do not think God would deprive us of the wonderment.

I am not remiss to say I was relieved my father passed on when he did.  I was joyful for his victory.  God saved my daddy from further weakness, pain, and nursing homes.  He gave him a gentle, peaceful ending to a long life well lived.  It was so much like the poem by Ben King, Daddy loved to recite, a poem we used in his funeral program because it fit him so well.

“The tall pines pine,
The pawpaws pause
And the bumble-bee bumbles all day;
The eavesdropper drops,
And the grasshopper hops,
While gently the cow slips away.”