Once again, grief and loss have touched my immediate family. On Easter, April 24th, at 8pm my Dad took his last breaths, while my husband and I disparately preformed CPR. He was gone...at 60 yrs of age. Home to Heaven.
About a week and a half before, he'd gone into the hospital with what we thought was a gall bladder problem. A few days later we learned he was terminal. His heart, his broke fragile heart had once again become too weak to sustain his life, but this time. This time, his heart couldn't with stand the pressure of a by-pass. We were told that transplant would be an option, but my Dad knew that he'd never make it. He was right...he didn't make it to the first qualification tests.
My husband and I came to live with my parents, to spend time with his, in what he knew to be his last days. I remained hopeful. To be honest, I ignored the signs I'd been seeing, telling myself he'd be okay, he was just in a funk.
The morning of his death, my Mom told me he felt a lot better, that he could breath without pain and took a much loved shower. It took too much out of him, so he rested. He spent most of the day in bed, before rallying himself up and over to a friends house for Easter supper. He ate a bit of mashed potatoes and gravy, a bit of ham, and just sat and listened to the conversation, trying to get words in, and succeeding sometimes. He bantered back and forth with all of us, his normal banter and wit.
Then he wanted to go home. Now. So we helped him to the car, where he proceeded to be restless, even taking off his belt. 45 mins later, he was gone from us. He'd told my Mom and then me, within that time, that he was dying, and he wanted to die.
We had 14 years of wonderful times after his heart attack. I wouldn't change those years for anything. I got to know my Dad, and love him. To appreciate him for who he was.
He loved Arizona, he loved his dog and I think he even loved the cat, although I do believe it was a mutual love/hate thing with them. She laid next to him for the last few days of his life here on earth.
He loved his wife more than anything, his son in law was his other pea in the pod. And myself...I know he loved me a lot as well. He loved our son Michael who passed away, and when we got to tell him of this pregnancy, his face, I'll never forget the happiness and joy, all unspoken of course.
I miss him so terribly much. I know my Mom hates the word surreal, because it's overused, but it's the best in this case. I keep expecting him to walk out of his man-cave, or the bedroom, telling my Mom about something he wanted to get, or some news article he'd read, or some family member he'd found in his family research...or even to just be himself and pick on her. It just doesn't seem right that he's gone.
Many people have expressed that it just doesn't seem fair that we've suffered another big loss in so short a time. While I can't pretend that I don't agree with that sentiment, I remain faithful and hopeful in Christ. I know this walk will be long, but I know I'll make it through it. I have the experience now, fresh as it seems, to know that if I just hold on to Christ, and let the grief come and go, I'll see happy days again. I'll know good times, without the feeling of sorrow overwhelming me.
I can grieve with hope, and sorrow with faith that things will get better, that my Dad is in Heaven with Michael. Waiting for us all. This grief is temporary, as this life is.
Oh, and one thing we thought of...my Dad now knows the sex of the baby I'm carrying, and is probably REALLY happy to know something FIRST...he's a brat.
Now we must pick up the pieces, and take our first steps. But we have Christ holding us, leading the way, lending us his strength and peace. We'll be okay. It might take awhile, but we'll be okay.
About a week and a half before, he'd gone into the hospital with what we thought was a gall bladder problem. A few days later we learned he was terminal. His heart, his broke fragile heart had once again become too weak to sustain his life, but this time. This time, his heart couldn't with stand the pressure of a by-pass. We were told that transplant would be an option, but my Dad knew that he'd never make it. He was right...he didn't make it to the first qualification tests.
My husband and I came to live with my parents, to spend time with his, in what he knew to be his last days. I remained hopeful. To be honest, I ignored the signs I'd been seeing, telling myself he'd be okay, he was just in a funk.
The morning of his death, my Mom told me he felt a lot better, that he could breath without pain and took a much loved shower. It took too much out of him, so he rested. He spent most of the day in bed, before rallying himself up and over to a friends house for Easter supper. He ate a bit of mashed potatoes and gravy, a bit of ham, and just sat and listened to the conversation, trying to get words in, and succeeding sometimes. He bantered back and forth with all of us, his normal banter and wit.
Then he wanted to go home. Now. So we helped him to the car, where he proceeded to be restless, even taking off his belt. 45 mins later, he was gone from us. He'd told my Mom and then me, within that time, that he was dying, and he wanted to die.
We had 14 years of wonderful times after his heart attack. I wouldn't change those years for anything. I got to know my Dad, and love him. To appreciate him for who he was.
He loved Arizona, he loved his dog and I think he even loved the cat, although I do believe it was a mutual love/hate thing with them. She laid next to him for the last few days of his life here on earth.
He loved his wife more than anything, his son in law was his other pea in the pod. And myself...I know he loved me a lot as well. He loved our son Michael who passed away, and when we got to tell him of this pregnancy, his face, I'll never forget the happiness and joy, all unspoken of course.
I miss him so terribly much. I know my Mom hates the word surreal, because it's overused, but it's the best in this case. I keep expecting him to walk out of his man-cave, or the bedroom, telling my Mom about something he wanted to get, or some news article he'd read, or some family member he'd found in his family research...or even to just be himself and pick on her. It just doesn't seem right that he's gone.
Many people have expressed that it just doesn't seem fair that we've suffered another big loss in so short a time. While I can't pretend that I don't agree with that sentiment, I remain faithful and hopeful in Christ. I know this walk will be long, but I know I'll make it through it. I have the experience now, fresh as it seems, to know that if I just hold on to Christ, and let the grief come and go, I'll see happy days again. I'll know good times, without the feeling of sorrow overwhelming me.
I can grieve with hope, and sorrow with faith that things will get better, that my Dad is in Heaven with Michael. Waiting for us all. This grief is temporary, as this life is.
Oh, and one thing we thought of...my Dad now knows the sex of the baby I'm carrying, and is probably REALLY happy to know something FIRST...he's a brat.
Now we must pick up the pieces, and take our first steps. But we have Christ holding us, leading the way, lending us his strength and peace. We'll be okay. It might take awhile, but we'll be okay.
Sorry to hear about your loss! I will rejoice with you knowing that you will see him again one day. Continue to share the memories of him so your seedling will remember him as well. Prayers are being sent up.
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