Preparing for the Future
Jan 05, 2022My father loved the Boy Scout motto: " Always be prepared. " That was the motto by which he lived.
He was always ready for any situation. I really don't know exactly how he did it. He was always ready for work, he was always early and waiting with coffee and the newspaper until go-time. In thirty years he was late only once because his early morning dentist appointment took too long! He always knew when weather made roads dangerous so he woke us up early to go to school, thereby leaving that extra bit of time for the commute. He had tools and stuff and supplies and he knew how to MacGyver absolutely ANY thing to make it work. He was a marvel of a man!
When he was undergoing experimental cancer treatments, he never told any of us the extent of his illness and what the possible outcomes could be. He was an optimist and always saw the good in any situation, so dying of cancer was never really going to be an option. He always had hope for the best outcome.
Per the Scouting motto, he was going to hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.
During his treatments, he did things around the house. He went through his tools and his belongings and decluttered things. He sold certain items that he didn't think he had a need for anymore and he busied himself with the file cabinets in the house. Drawer after drawer, he went through files and shredded papers that he didn't think mattered anymore.
Unbeknownst to us, he made trips to the local funeral home. He prepaid his funeral! He selected his casket, he selected his final resting place in the cemetery and even made future arrangements for the possibility of Mom's passing.
He gathered all the important legal documents that Mom would need at his passing. He got his will, living will, living trust and social security card, his veterans' benefits, birth certificate, marriage certificate, discharge papers, life insurance policies and pension benefits. He placed all of these papers in the top drawer of the file cabinet, right in the first folder, so easy to find. Everything was ready.
Then, he decided to take Mom on a road trip all across America visiting all the friends and the relatives that they loved. He didn't tell any of us that it was his final "goodbye tour." He never let on to the relatives and friends that he wouldn't see them again. He made each of them feel like they were the only ones who mattered to him in the whole universe. He laughed and celebrated each one of them with great joy and gusto.
He returned from his trip, tired and worn, happy to have gone, but never the same. His energy was zapped, and he declined in a few short months, all the while, never letting on that he was in his final days of life.
We had merely a few days of warning before he passed away. He was acting very strangely so I called his doctor, and his doctor seemed surprised. "You mean he didn't tell you?"
No, he never told us he was dying. The doctor said he had about three days left, and he sent over a hospice worker.
Wow.
The tears were unbelievable while I watched my little ones tell the most delightful person in their world goodbye. The confusion was in their eyes, but because of their love for him, they pressed into his arms.
The next morning and Dad surprised us all. We couldn't believe it! He was all better! He was alert, funny and sweet; he was his usual good-natured, happy and thankful self. We were so excited to see him turn so quickly and the talks of suspending the hospice care began in earnest. We were so hopeful that he was going to recover fully!
To our displeasure, however, the hospice worker knew what was happening and explained to us that this was known as a "rally," the last push of human strength to love the ones that he would soon be leaving. My hopes crashed as waves of tears tumbled down my face.
After about two hours of visiting, we left the room to fix lunch and returned to find Dad asleep. He slipped into a coma, and that was the beginning of the end. Two days later, he breathed his last breath.
It's been twenty years, and as I write this, the tears are coming. I can't forget those priceless moments with him. During that time with him, we were so grateful to have had a loving hospice nurse to help us understand the process and what was coming up next.
She guided us through that night. Just like a labor and delivery nurse can guide an expectant mother to give birth, the hospice nurse held our hands and held our hearts closely. She explained that my dad was in labor of sorts to free himself from this body, and that the pained breathing that I found so startling was part of the process to bring him to his truest Life and Health and Freedom.
I can never forget the moment he passed. We were singing his beloved hymn, Amazing Grace, and he drew his last breath. It had not been a moment of beauty up until that point; it was confusing and upsetting, like nothing we had ever experienced. But the hospice nurse assured us that everything was following a natural process just as it should at the end of life.
When dad drew his last breath, after having been in a coma for days, he opened his eyes! He opened them so wide in wonder and joy! We could tell he was not afraid. We felt this amazing presence of peace. It was palpable. It was as if another person was in the room with us. There was this amazing and unbelievable substance of peace surrounding us. It was surreal. We received great comfort at a time that we really needed it. The comfort lasted throughout the night and into the next days, for which we were grateful.
The arrangements began, but, because of the thoughtfulness of my father, we had only a few minor decisions to make. He had everything figured out: his casket, his ceremony, his entombment. We made a few changes, and asked our pastor to officiate. We wrote the obituary and newspaper article, and we found tokens and mementos to share at his service.
In remembering this time, I can't help but wonder, how do you recover from a moment of this magnitude? You never really do.
The weight of grief is a physical substance. It is beyond anything that can truly be described with mere words. Allowing the crushing weight to wash over, like a wave slams and crashes upon one in the surf, may be similar to the feeling that I experienced. It lessened slightly so I could breathe, then it came again, washing and swirling, crashing and deafening.
The comfort of dear loved ones and friends who attended the ceremony made it possible to bear the load. They loved, hugged and said beautiful things to me. It felt like a bigger purpose to stow away my pain and to comfort them and thank them for coming. It made the load easier to bear as I was looking after others. I was so grateful they came.
Grief has such strength and such power. It is a real thing, and until it has been experienced, it remains a mystery. But those of us who have loved and who have lost know the reality of its suffocating grip.
Grace, on the other hand, has a power of its own. It's power gives life, strength, hope and peace when it seems impossible to find. The grace of loved ones, of friends, of family, or of Faith: this Grace has a sustaining power that carries us, and carries our sorrow and our load.
Time is a complicated ally: it appears to be the friend who heals all wounds, while simultaneously being the tormentor of our souls---the pain seemingly goes on forever. Time stands still, time marches on; its mysterious interaction with us toys with our sense of reality, and we experience more levels of emotion than we thought possible.
As we reflect on life and death, and allow healing to come into our hearts, time passes, and magically, something wonderful can happen: the painful memory fades just a bit, and joy creeps into the void in the heart. It is a process, and doesn't happen according to our wishes or definition of healing, but "in time" it comes to us.
Twenty years of time have passed since my daddy passed on, and I find that many emotions come and go.
But I am always left with something so valuable, and that is the love that my dad poured into me. I still have that love. I still have the memory of his warm smile. I have the memory of being held by him. I go back to reclaim those beautiful memories frequently, still, to this day.
I bask in the joy of the time that I had with him, and the knowledge that he did everything he could do for his family right up to his last moments. His preparation, making things ready, and his thoughtful love gave me great feelings of care, comfort and gratitude. He provided for those he loved by being prepared.
