This Changes Everything.

My Dad passed away at 4:31 PM on Thursday, October 25, 2012 in the Palliative Care and Comfort Unit at UAB Medical Center 15 minutes after I left his room.  I think he wanted it this way.  My Mom was holding his face in her hands when he left us to be with Lord. He had been in a Coma since Monday, October 22nd after a 10 hour period of seizure activity we tried everything to stop.  He opened his eyes in those final moments of his wonderful life to look at my Mom as if to say, "Goodbye, I'm tired, I'll see you very soon, I love you."  And Jesus took his broken body and relieved him of his battle.  Brain Cancer tried to slowly take him from us, but it couldn't.  He is still with me, my mom and my brother.  And now He is with the Lord.  This message is only my view, my perspective on what we went through and no one else's.



Life is a progression of ups and downs and a series of awakenings.  I feel I've seen things through a series of different filters throughout my life, like wearing different lenses in a pair of glasses.  At certain times in life, I thought I had it figured out.  All of these previous filters were false, just rose colored glasses or lenses full of fog.  I couldn't see the Truth or the importance of life.  I couldn't enjoy life for what it was, in the moment, satisfied for what it was.  I was always striving or wanting to be more or have more.  Granted, I was working hard and trying to be a better person, but it was still work.

Today, after what I have been through with my family, I see the world clearly as if I have clear vision for the first time in my life.  After 4.5 years of fighting alongside my Dad, I have come to several realizations.  One, we had an extraordinary family, a rare bond despite our differences or struggles.  I never left his side, nor did they. We fought as a family, and when one of us could no longer walk, the other one would carry the weight until the other one was strong again.  Amazing, truly amazing.  Let me sum our nightmare up for you in just a few words:  diagnosis of a terminal illness, mourning the loss of life before it happened, overwhelming fear, sadness and disbelief, mourning the loss of retirement or taking trips with my mom, three major brain surgeries, numerous visits to the neuro-intensive care unit, loss of function both physical, cognitive and emotional after every surgery and treatment, constant radiation to the brain with a cage over my Dad's face, constant IV and PO chemotherapy over a 4.5 years, numerous illnesses and infections, paralysis on one side, seizures, doctors, nurses, hospitals, hospitalizations, therapy.  All of this leading to being full bedridden, wheelchair bound and requiring 24/7 help (only we didn't get help).  It was just us up until some of the final moments.  And we did so joyfully.  To serve my Dad and care for him was a true joy and a privilege. To watch someone suffer is difficult, but to watch someone you love suffer is torture.  This is how I have felt and continue to find most difficult in watching both my mom and dad, although they would never complain or ever label it suffering.  They just persevered.  Through this experience, I have come to several realizations, and what I feel are truths. 

REALIZATIONS:
1.  God Was With Us the Entire Time.  Never left us for one moment.  He sustained us.  From the moment my Dad was diagnosed, until the moment I type this note.  He is with us.  The song "Grace Flows Down" copied below speaks volumes to this point. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YWiH90AYhU

2.  Family Matters.  The love of my family is overwhelming.  I am blown away at our commitment and devotion to one another and to my Dad.  It is sort of a testimony to the kind of man he was.  He served us his entire life, giving of himself, providing and loving.  In return, we gave it all back to him.

3.  Kindness Matters.  Being kind to others is huge.  You never know what they might be going through.  I had times where I was barely walking or talking, completely distraught and a stranger would be rude.  It was as if I would look at them and say silently, "Don't you know what I'm going through?"  Be kind to others.  There were times when a small kindness of a stranger would lift me up in my lowest moment.  This happened to all of us, both good and bad.  Think before you act.

4.   Don't Sweat the Small Stuff.  Nothing really matters other than the above.  Grades, work, success in business, spilling something on a rug or on my clothes, small car accidents, acceptance, or even losing my job just didn't matter.  God will sustain me.  Relationships matter.  God matters.  Nothing else. 

5.  Life is but a Flash in the Pan.  This life is short and fleeting.  Tomorrow could be our day.  Enjoy the small things of today, the simple moments.  I see the colors of trees brighter, I hear my son's laughter louder, I smell my mom's cookies more fully, I pet my dog more often, I kiss my husband more often, I see people for who they are, not what they appear to be, I pray more often.  I will see my Dad again soon.

6.  It's ok to be sad and not be "ok."

That being said, I am not doing that great.  I am trying, but I am struggling, which I think is normal.  He was huge to us, a center, a rock and our source of comfort.  He was my dad.  I feel an empty hole in my heart, in my life and in my mom and brother's life.  It hurts to go to my Mom's house.  I miss him and expect to see him sitting there.  It hurts when I see my mom pull up and he is not in the car with her.  It hurts when I think about never touching him or hearing his voice again.  It hurts when I think that my son will not remember him.  It just hurts.  I am sad and confused.  But these moments are up and down.  I do good most of the day with little moments of down times during the day.  This song is perfect for how my heart feels, by Tamela Mann called "Take me to the King":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wU3qgPn3bGA

I am, however, in realization that my Dad was tired.  He was never going to walk again.  I never wanted him to suffer and went to all lengths to make sure they provided to him comfort, rest and peace.  I am at peace with that.  I laid on his chest in the hospital and told him everything I ever wanted to say.  I believe he heard me.  His spirit heard me.  I sat with him every day in palliative care and held his hand, prayed with him, sang to him and read to him the Bible.  I never left him.  My mom never left him.  My brother never left him.  This gives me tremendous peace.  I hope he knows how much we loved him and adored him.  I hope he is with his mom and dad and other relatives in heaven.  I hope he is sitting with Jesus.

A couple months ago, my Dad said to me "I had a dream last night about heaven."  I asked him what he dreamed.  He said he dreamed he went to heaven and asked God, "When I die, can I come shake your hand every day and talk to you?"  And God said, "You sure can.  You can do more than that.  You can give me a hug and talk to me as long as you want."  He cried as he told me this.  I know he is sitting with Jesus talking right now.  This gives me peace. 

Video of photos of my Dad and family below:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-6_5ET1rfmk

A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. Psalm 68:5