Dad's Dying

Last week the doctors sent my father home - or back to his retirement residence, where they could do palliative care for him.

A few hours, a few days perhaps, he had left to us. The next day Dad ate a partial breakfast, and lunch, and drank several times through the day. All of this after he'd not eaten or drunk much the previous week. The doctor at 'the home' was amazed, nonplussed. My father has wonderfully surprised us like this before.

Dad continues to surprise us. It could still be a few hours, a few days - each of which we receive as sheer gift. Mother, my sisters, myself - exhausted, gathered round, we try to carry on our work and other family responsibilities during this long goodbye.

Two years ago Dad had a 'brain-bleed' but after several medical setbacks and adventures seemed to have recovered mostly and returned to 'the manor' to continue his full retirement life there with my Mother. In following months, we did not know how much she was 'covering' for him as he was often awake , up and wandering in the night. Often she hardly slept for fear of what he might do, but didn't tell us. Stoicism, carrying on, making the best of it - all of the endearing and frustrating qualities of my Mom's side of the family are writ large in her.

A year ago Christmas, roughly, Dad had another 'bleed' and since that time has been in another world, another time. I have been sometimes his brother, his father, and sometimes myself to him. My mother has been 'Mary' as at present, or sometimes a sister or a visiting friend while he waits for the Mary of younger years, of another day and time, to come and visit. Sometimes in talking with Dad he reports an earlier visit that day from his Dad and Mom. Milking this morning in the barn, ploughing in the afternoon - helping his Dad with chores. They've just left; I've just missed them.

Grandpa died in Novemember of 1967 and Grandma in November, 1976; buried on her birthday. I've always hated November.

Dad has been slowly deteriorating, or perhaps accelerating in his body's decine since this Christmas past. Dehydrated, his blood-quality failing, he was ambulanced to hospital for fluid drip and this time received a transfusion of 3 bags of blood. Last week his colour so palid, yellow, I too thought we'd not have him with us much longer. But now again his colour is better, though he sleeps most of the time.

Two pastors came to see him when I was visiting two days ago. One the beloved pastor of the Christian retirement centre where Dad lives; the other also a well-loved associate pastor from Dad's church. Both quoted from the 23rd Psalm; Dad gave little indication he knew they were present. After they'd gone, perhaps an hour later, Dad said several times without really 'surfacing' . . . 'oh, going through the Valley; going through the Valley . . .' in reference to his own knowing of his situation and echoing the Scriptures' promise and hope: 'Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me . . .'

And a little later: 'Only trust Him, oh . . . only trust Him . . . ' and then 'O trust in Jesus, O trust in Jesus' - or perhaps it was 'Oh, I'm trusting Jesus . . .'

Such precious gifts and memories and example of faith and hope for all of us, as we are, with Dad, camped in and passing through this Valley. These words will linger with us, my mother especially, when Dad is finally gathered at last in to the Bright Country.

In the room where I dress each morning there are two huge oval individual portrait-photos of Dad's parents - Annie Green and Gordon Barber, taken at the time of their engagement, I think. They look down at me as if to say: 'Take good care of our boy . . .' And I look back into their eyes and think to them the words: 'We will. And, he'll be Home to be with you again, soon.'

Talking to God

Grant me, O Lord, the royalty of inward happiness and the serenity which comes from living close to You. Daily renew the sense of joy, and let the eternal Spirit of the Father dwell in my soul and body, filling every corner of my heart with light and grace, so that bearing about with me the infection of a good courage, I may be a diffuser of life and may meet all ills and crosses with gallant and high-hearted Joy, giving You thanks always for all things.

-- adapted, Robert Louis Stevenson