today's a hard day. they come and go, i suppose, on this road of grief. some days i feel carried by the grace of jesus. i feel at peace although my heart is broken. other days i cry; the weight of missing him too heavy for me to bear. it's a mix of emotions but i'm allowing myself to feel all of them. to live fully in this process so that i can know the comfort and presence of jesus in a deeper way.
a week and a half ago, i lost my dad.
today i feel ready to write about it. writing has always helped me process life (one of the many reasons i started this blog). i love posting lighthearted things like recipes and my latest decorating endeavors... but what i gain most from my time infront of an empty computer screen, fingers pounding on the keys, is a better grasp on what god is teaching me, and where he's leading me day by day. and to be able to share with others who may be on the same journey--or different--whatever the case may be.
seven years ago this december, my world came crumbling down. my father had been experiencing severe itchiness for several months, and went to go get some lab work done to try to rule out any possible culprits. the blood tests came back showing highly elevated liver levels and sent us into an immediate panic. i was living in dallas--far, far away from my family--for my first year of seminary. i had very few close friends as i had just begun my life there, and i remember the crushing feeling of fear and loneliness.
after several tests to rule out cancer and other possibilities, he was finally diagnosed with a rare liver disease: primary sclerosing cholangitis. all i knew about this disease were the scary things i read on the internet, and that chicago bears football legend, walter payton, had died of the same disease in 1999 (and no, this disease was not caused by alcohol; in fact, i struggle to recall a time i ever saw my dad drink). to say i was scared would be a complete understatement. i remember days of trying to write in my journal where my hands would be shaking so badly that i could hardly get letters formed on the page.
for seven years, we watched small changes slowly occur in my dad. he got tired--
really tired--frequently. he started getting a bit jaundiced. he moved slower. and eventually, he had to give up playing basketball in his men's league at the ymca, lifting weights at the gym, and lastly one of his favorite activities: golf. for a man who was known around town for being a star high school basketball player, this must've been devastating.
but dad kept on. he would frequently say to us: "if anything happens to me, don't worry about me. i've lived an awesome life." he took so much pride and joy watching gretchen and i get married, and have babies. the joy he found in life was
infectious. this summer, when nick&i moved home, i can still remember him waiting for us on the front porch as we pulled the yellow penske truck into their driveway. his face was beaming with the most excited smile as he pumped his fists simultaneously in the air (one of his trademarks). over and over this summer he told me "i love my life."
with the summer fading into the fall, dad's health began to take some serious turns. he was sick often, and too tired much of the time to join in on family outings. his jaundice worsened. he began falling; his legs were so weak. his health had declined to the point where his doctor said they would begin to take the next steps necessary to prepare for a liver transplant. several times i hugged him as he cried... telling me he was scared, that he was too young to be experiencing these health challenges, that although life had been difficult, he still trusted his god with all of his heart. what i loved most about my dad.
mid-october, we traveled to boston with a group of close friends and family to meet with the liver transplant board in preparation for the hopeful surgery. the night before we left, he got very sick and was taken by ambulance to massachusetts general hospital. he was admitted and because his health continued to decline, was there for six weeks until he passed.
the week before thanksgiving, mom called me at school and said we needed to get on the road to boston; dad was not doing well and was moved to the icu. we made it down there by six o'clock that evening and i'll never forget our welcome from dad. because his liver was deteriorating so rapidly, it had also caused dementia, which affected his personality and his thinking over the past few months. but on that night, i realized god had given us our dad back... he cried as he hugged and kissed all of us... wanted us to sing... he laughed and joked around... and he relentlessly told his nurses about his greatest love: jesus.
we sat around his bed and cried as we sang hymns that he requested. some of the time he sang with us, other times he sat and motioned his hand jokingly as if he was conducting us :) it was beautiful.
we left that weekend feeling encouraged and hopeful; the doctors said he was much improved and would be a high priority for a transplant in the coming weeks. one doctor told us to expect a christmas miracle.
with the blessing of the doctors (and the urging of my father), nick, bella and i boarded a plane for dallas on monday morning since we had planned for months now to spend thanksgiving in texas with nick's family. i remember the relief i felt, knowing dad was okay. the future looked hopeful and i was anxious to receive a break and some relaxation from such a stressful and horrid fall.
tuesday afternoon, i was back on a plane headed for boston.
mom and gretchen had called me that morning telling me they were headed there again; dad had taken another turn and the doctors were saying it didn't look good. i remember getting text messages from my sister as i traveled that afternoon: "dad's saying: i need megan" and panicking that i wouldn't make it in time to hold my dad's hand, look in his eyes and tell him for the last time just
how much i loved him. it was near eleven o'clock by the time i was running into his hospital room, grasped his hand and wept by his side. he looked at me and said "oh megs. you're so sweet." i loved those words. he continued to tell me how glad he was i was there, and how excited he was to see me. i told him how proud i was of him; that he was my hero. to which he responded "thanks, megs. i really appreciate that."
the next 24 hours, we sat by dad's bed, holding his hands and telling him how much we loved him. i loved stroking his forehead, and putting my cheek on it because he would always tell me "oh, you feel so warm." the memory of seeing my dad--my hero, my rock, the big, strong man in my life since i was born--laying in that hospital bed still brings me to tears. the memory of hearing my dad--who used to have such a deep, strong voice, a booming laugh and who could shake the church pew when he sang--struggling to speak, is a dichotomy i still can't shake.
we had many, many sweet times by my dad's side. my most
favorite memory was when my mom had stepped out of the room for a moment and gretchen and i got on either side of him, holding his hands. in an instant, a beaming smile lit up his face and he began to softly "shout" a strained chorus of words. it took me a moment to realize he was singing, and when i did, i leaned in to hear these most precious words from an old hymn: "oh how i love jesus, oh how i love jesus, oh how i love jesus, because he first loved me" followed by a line from one of his favorite hymns "his eye is on the sparrow": "i sing because i'm happy, i sing because i'm free." i know god gave us that moment. what a sweet and precious gift that i will never, ever forget.
it was just before midnight when my dad met jesus. i wish i could've been there as he knelt at the feet of his savior. i wish i could've seen the smile on dad's face, tears of joy in his eyes that his suffering was finally over. i wish i could've heard jesus tell my dad "well done, my good and faithful servant." because i
know he did.
i know that there may be people who think "why did this happen to him? why to this family? why didn't god answer prayers for healing, for a transplant?" and what i've mulled over and over in this little head of mine is that while god didn't grant a healing on this earth, he granted a far greater one in heaven. as much as my mind is anchored to this temporal earth, god's heart is for eternity, which is something i cannot fathom.
it's not my job to figure out why god does the things he does... it's my privilege and blessing to get to trust him and find comfort in the one who knows all things.while i miss my dad terribly and have my moments of "it's not fair!", i had thirty years with the most amazing dad; and i feel incredibly blessed for that. although he is gone, the love and wisdom and godly discipleship he poured into me will be carried on for generations to come.
for that, i praise jesus. and i rejoice in knowing that my dad can now truly say "
i sing because i'm happy, i sing because i'm free."
