This post turned into a bit of a novel.... guess that's what happens when I spend 10 days on it... And I don't expect you to read it all. So, lets cut to the chase. If you missed Dad's memorial service and are interested in seeing it, in part or whole, we've uploaded it all to You Tube. There's 3 videos:
* My sister made this welcome video to play as friends & family entered the sanctuary. It's full of photos that would not fit in his memorial video and some little funny stories from his life - we wanted people laughing, not just tearing up. There's no sound to it, we just had instrumental music playing as people came in to sit and these stories/photos played on the screen, on a loop:
* this next video is a memorial video my sister also put together, full of photos from my father's 67 years on earth:
* and this final one is long - over an hour. It's the majority of my father's memorial service. A family friend video taped it (minus the last 10 minutes that included a friend's solo and my cousin's prayer at the end).
I don't know why it's taking so long for things to sink in for me. And I don't know if that's normal or not, either. There's probably a million little things that have made it hard for me to come to terms with the reality that my dad is dead.
I don't live with my parents. I see them a couple times a year, at most. That stinks. I really do dislike living so far away. But because I don't see them often, it's not normal for me to see or talk to my Dad daily. So it's easier to think he's still there and just out of my sight.
My dad has had serious health problem for years - 18 years. He's always pulled through every hospital stay. He's gone home eventually and been able to get his life back to normal. Even in March, when he had his leg amputated and ended up on dialysis... life was drastically different but he still came home eventually and got back into a normal routine. Maybe all those years of hospital visits, prayers and concerns for my dad... maybe they sort of desensitized me in a way. I just came to take for granted that Dad would pull through again. I just got use to it, because that is how it's always been. How could this time be so different? I don't think I've come to accept it yet.
I keep having dreams about my dad dying or being dead. I wake up with the horrible thought that he's gone. And then it dawns on me: he is. But I have weird, vivid, intense dreams all the time. Just ask me about the baby in the freezer, the time I went white water rafting with Robin Williams, the life insurance aliens, the time I was Abe Lincoln, or the time my husband was a polygamist.... Ok, maybe you shouldn't ask. But I'm so use to training my emotions and brain not to think about my dreams, that I think part of me thinks the last 3 weeks was a dream, too. I'm just not allowing the emotions from that "dream" to change me. And I've yet to accept it as anything but a dream.
I remember sitting with my dad in the hospital. I vividly remember the conversations we had - about memories, his feed tube (that he despised) , conversations with the nurse about getting better and moving out of CCU, etc. And I very much still remember that Friday morning, seeing him on the 4th floor in so much worse condition than he'd been the day before in CCU. I remember being so worried because I couldn't understand a thing he was saying, or make out what he wanted. I tried so hard to understand him, and yet only made out 3 words in our 20 minutes. I remember the look on his face as nurses came in early to take him to dialysis, and how scared I was that he wasn't going to survive thru it. I couldn't tell what he was trying to tell me as they wheeled him out of the room. So I just prayed for him, and the nurses waited. I don't know if that's what he was asking for or not. But I know he knew lots of people were praying for him - and I know he appreciated it.
My thoughts have gone back to that prayer a lot. Because it was during his 4 hours in dialysis that he decided enough was enough, no more medical intervention. Why did he decide that? Was it my prayer? Was it the worried look in my face? I know his doctor saw him in dialysis. Maybe it was that. I hope it wasn't me. But even if that 20 minutes with me was the last thing he had to dwell on for 4 hours, I do know that nothing would have changed long term. My dad's body was too destroyed from the toll diabetes takes on a vascular system. I know, in my heart, that he wouldn't have lived much longer anyways. And I'm grateful he got to be the one to make his own decision. And that he had time to accept it. But it all still seems very much like a dream instead of a memory. Probably because I want it that way.
Another reason I think things haven't really sunk in yet is because we had a memorial service, not a funeral. Don't get me wrong - I think it was the right choice and it was a wonderful service! I can't count the number of people who told me it was the most wonderful memorial service or funeral they've ever attended. My mother was so wise and thoughtful in her planning and desires for that service. But there's just something about seeing a loved one in a casket. And there's something mystical about the closure it gives when you get to watch the casket lowered in a grave. At least, I think that may be true.
We chose to cremate my dad. I know it was the best choice. My dad said he didn't want people staring at what had become of his body. And he was through with it [his body] - he didn't need it anymore, why preserve it? I don't think it all would have completely sunk in to me had I seen his body laying in a coffin. After all, I saw him at the hospital. And at the funeral home. But maybe the lack of a viewing & burial was a very small part of why I have yet to fully grieve. I know my mom is leaning towards burying my father's remains when we're home. I expect that will bring more closure.
Maybe every funeral I've been to in the past has allowed for closure by seeing a casket because I wasn't as close to the person? I've been to a few funerals of loved ones... aunts, uncle, my grandfather, even a few friends. Maybe a casket wouldn't have changed things this time because my dad was a whole lot closer to me than the others who have passed. And, thinking back on it, maybe previous deaths of loved ones didn't hit me till later, either...
I think one of the biggest reasons I have a hard time with all of this is that my dad didn't look like himself in his last days. It's easy for me to remember the look on his face at the hospital. He wasn't himself at all. It's easy for me to think of that man, the man I saw laying in a hospital bed on November 19th. It's easy to think he is gone - I saw, felt and even hugged his lifeless body. But that man didn't seem like the man I knew. My dad was expressive. His face didn't distort like it did in his last days. And my dad was able to communicate; I could hear him clearly and understand him easily. My dad's body was full of life. How can the Dad I knew be gone? I didn't see him go. I saw another man on that bed.
Slowly things are sinking in. As I see his photo in a picture hanging on my wall - one where he was the man I remember. Then it dawns on me... that man is gone. I won't get to see him again, hear his voice, hug him or groan at a bad joke. I won't see his handwriting. I won't learn from him. I won't get to pick on him for silly things like spending two days trying to recover his computer password - getting to the point of willing to lose all his data and reinstall windows again... only to learn that in all that time, he'd just had CAPS lock on... duh. ;)
I try to turn my tears around. To not think of all I've lost. All my mom has lost. All my kids have lost - and how they will probably not remember their Grampa, except in the stories we tell. Instead, I try to think about how grateful I am that he was in, and part of, my life. I am who I am because my dad was my dad. He taught me about love, forgiveness, discipline, creativity, how to write rhymes, how to take photos, how to upholster a chair, how to build things, how to love nature, how to pitch a tent, how to enjoy reading, how to respect others, how to soothe a baby, how to check the oil in my car, how to buy a car, how to shave a cat (ha!), how to parallel park, how to use computers, how to win at tetris, how to have faith, how to build a campfire, what to expect on a date with a man, how to enjoy the starry sky, how to fish, how to filet a fish (ok, he tried to teach me, I refused... ha), how to balance a checkbook (ok, I refused those lessons too... ha ha), how to be calm, how to not worry, how to be patient, how to show love, how to take joy in making others' dreams reality... I could go on and on and on... Although I'm sad for what I lost, and for the loss of so many other loved ones, I am so grateful for the man he was and how he made me the person I am today. He might never have been the healthiest father in the world, but through all his obstacles in life, he was a great man, father, husband, teacher, role model, etc. Most of that because of the obstacles he faced in his health.
For those that don't know, my dad has almost always had health problems. It started when he was diagnosed with diabetes in his 30s. Silently, diabetes began taking it's toll on my dad's vascular system and no one ever educated him on what it was doing to his insides. Diabetic education may have come a long ways in the last 40 years, but it still has a long way to go... by the way. Diabetes truly is a silent killer and once the chain reaction has begun, there is no stopping it. Once symptoms start to appear, it's already too late. There's nothing you can do to fix your vascular system. Sadly, when signs of vascular problems appear (in your heart, circulation, eye sight, sensations in your hands and feet, etc), when signs appear, the irreversible damage is already done.
Slowly, Dad started to have trouble walking and then, in 1994, Dad had his first major surgery. He had no blood flow to his feet and surgeons expected to have to amputate his feet - but God performed two miracles. On the day of each surgery, surgeons found one perfect vein in each leg, in the middle of a vascular mess that they described as "mashed potatoes." They were able to use each perfect vein to perform a bi-pass surgery on my dad's legs, to get blood flow to his feet. We later learned that such procedures can last up to 7-8 years, but typically only give a patient 2 years before amputation is necessary. My dad's lasted.... get this... 18 years! In BOTH legs. God is good! And I thank God that Dad started to care for his feet and legs more in those years. And that he had doctors that were (and are) awesome.
There were a number of "little" things here and there in those 18 years. The most major was his open heart surgery in 2002. It was about a month or so before thanksgiving when my dad learned he needed bipass surgery. I rushed home from where I was living in Wisconsin - got a flight that left in just a few hours, so I packed a bag full of dirty laundry and raced to the airport. Surgeons wanted to do many bipasses for my dad's heart... but, as I've shared, diabetes takes a toll on your vascular system (sugar in your blood is like having those sweet gum balls in your veins - they're much larger than blood cells and they have sharp, pointy edges that literally wear away the walls of your vascular system). Diabetes left my dad had no "good" veins in his body - docs took the only two they could find (mammory arteries) and just did a quadruple bi-pass. I still remember the surgeon coming into the family waiting room after Dad's surgery. He told us how he wanted to do more bi-passes, but had no veins to work with, but said that my dad was doing well, had a long road ahead with many life changes to make. And then said, "I think I may have given him 10 years." The way he said it was somber. But hopeful. 10 years sounded like a lot - right?
The other day it dawned on me... the surgeon was right. 10 years, almost to the day. I am so thankful that my father took advice from his doctors to start making changes in his life. If he hadn't, he would never have seen the 10 years the cardiologist hoped he could have. Yeah... he could have made more changes. But couldn't we all? I choose to thank God for what my dad did and how God blessed him by allowing him to outlive all of his doctor's expectations.
My dad was a walking miracle. Many of his doctors all agreed that there was no reason my father shouldn't have passed away years ago. I don't know what kind of spiritual impact my dad had on his doctors and nurses - but I guarantee he had one. I play scrabble online with one of his nurses often, and she can't say enough about him :) I hope that Dad's in heaven right now, marveling about how his quiet witness touched so many lives.
I thank God that my dad did what he could to keep living as long as his body would allow. And I use his life as an example of how devastating diabetes can be when I talk to people about the disease. You just don't know how seriously it's destroyed your insides until the damage is done - and it's irreversible. I have my A1C levels checked often and always fear the gestational diabetes test with each pregnancy. So far, God has blessed me to not have been cursed with that gene. I got plenty of others, though... ha. I may have some bad genes, but I got them from some AMAZING people!
If diabetes runs in your family, if you've ever been told that you're pre-diabetic or even have elevated A1C levels, please take it seriously. You don't know the damage that is being done until it's too late to reverse it. My dad often said that he wished he knew then what he did later in life. But its easy to think you're not going to be the one to have that happen to you. I think we're all guilty of those thoughts.
Maybe that's another reason its hard for me to come to terms with the thought that my father is dead.... I never thought I would be the one to experience that so early in life - or really, at all. Part of me subconsciously thought my parents would live forever. Or at least as long as me. Right?
I know he's in a better place. There's no doubt in my mind that my father is in heaven with our heavenly Father. He knew Christ as his personal Savior. He'd asked Christ to forgive his sins, and so - as promised in the Bible - God forgave all my father's sin. My father trusted Christ with his life. We had a few conversations about that, and I cherish those memories. I have great confidence in knowing that my father is in heaven right this moment, with a new body and brand new, painless legs to walk on as he walks along the crystal clear river of life with our Lord.
Sometimes I think that maybe I have yet to fully grieve because I know where my dad is right now. Just because I know he's in heaven doesn't mean I cannot be sad, though. But someone please tell my heart that. Part of me holds so tightly to that hope of seeing him again, that I feel like it's much like when I use to say goodbye after a Christmas time visit. I knew I'd see him again, but I had no trip scheduled. So I never knew if I'd see him in 2 months or 6. I'd say goodbye, give him a hug and not worry; knowing a time would come for me to see him soon. And I'd talk to him on the phone on occasion in the mean time. That's kind of how I feel now. I know I'll see him again. But it's yet to hit me that it's not going to be 2-6 months... at least that's not likely. It's going to be the rest of my life, however long God plans on that being. When I dwell on that thought, I am sad.
But I can't dwell on the thought. Literally. I have three little needy children that need mommy constantly. Especially now that we're home and there are no aunts, uncles, grandparents, friends, or Gramma's TV to entertain them. I can't just curl up and think through it all by myself. It's part of the reason it's taken me so long to write this post... I just have such limited time to myself to think.
Maybe that's another reason things haven't fully sunk in. I haven't given it time to sink in. And that makes my heart ache, so much more, for my mom who has the time to think and grieve and miss him. Oh, how my heart aches for my mom! I know she's going to get through this, and God will make her stronger for it. But that doesn't help the present moment. I don't know how she's staying so strong - except for the mercy of God and the blessings of friends. I thank God for both and pray for my mom dozens of times a day.
Jumping trains of thoughts (again)... one (of the many) things the last few weeks have made me realize is how real my faith is. I guess you could say that watching my dad meet his eternity has forced the rubber to hit the road for me, on a new level. I have to wonder if I'm the only one who has questioned, "Is dad really in heaven right now?" Or is he gone forever? Does heaven really exist? Or is all of this faith stuff something we do, as humans, to make ourselves feel better? To give us unfounded hope to soothe hard times?
I catch myself thinking those thoughts and starting to second guess all that I believe, just a little - but enough. I'm not talking about blasphemous thoughts, just wondering is it all really true?? Is he really in heaven? And then I think about my life. And there's not a question in my mind any longer. God has shown Himself over and over in my life. The experiences I have personally are unmistakably God. I know the forgiveness He offers, I know the grace He pours out, I know His patience, peace and joy - all beyond any human understanding. I know that God exists and has forgiven me of my sins. I fully trust Him with my life and I know the freedom that comes from wanting to live in His Will. God's never broken a promise to me, or in all of the world's history. If I trust God so dearly in my own life, I must trust that He's followed through on His greatest promise of all - eternal life with Him. And then I wonder why I questioned in the first place. Yet, I've had this mental conversation with myself a dozen times in the last few weeks.
Well... after a few days of writing this, maybe I should stop. I've poured enough of my heart out - maybe too much for such a public forum. And if you're still reading this, I'm impressed. ;)
In a nut shell... I miss my dad immensely, but not as much as I think I will in a week. As I'm still very slowly working my way through this grieving process. I don't know what to expect or what to say, or what to think or do. But it just doesn't seem completely right to keep on living like nothing has changed - even though things haven't sunk in much in my head. The world has changed a lot. A great man is gone. A man who impacted my life more than any other man on this planet. A man who I proudly take after, in innumerable ways. A man who I will miss a lot and who I wish my children could have known more.
I do know this... I have zero regrets. I am soooooo unbelievably grateful to my husband for sacrificing time, money and time away from me & his kids, so that I could visit my parents so much this past year. I think I spent 8 weeks with my parents in 2012 so far. Most of them with all my children. I feel guilty for that, knowing the kids didn't get to see their other grandparents nearly as often. But I am so very blessed that I got to have all that time with my dad. We made some wonderful memories this past year. I got to have a few really great conversations with him, and a lot of just hanging out time. And I got to know my dad on a new level, as well. And hear some stories from his past I'd never heard before (which should surprise those of you who knew him well - he always told the same stories a bazillion times... haha). Those weeks over this past year, are priceless to me. And I am so very grateful that they were possible. Because of that time I spent with my dad, I have zero regrets. And I understand that is a rare feeling when faced with the lose of a loved one. Which makes me all the more grateful.
One day it'll all hit me. And that sucks. But I still can't help but smile when I think about the last words my dad ever said to me. It was Saturday afternoon, I was heading out of the hospital to go get Ruth from the sitter's. I gave my dad a hug and told him I'd be back that evening. I told him I loved him. And then he whispered to me, "Where's your mom?" I know... silly that I smile at that. He didn't reply with an, "I love you, too." He just wanted his wife and nothing else. I know he loved me. And in a way it was greater to hear that he wanted his wife than to hear him say he loved me. I guess love for your spouse, real love, really is the best thing you can give your kids. It was a wonderful thing to know that my dad's heart literally beat for my mom. That's all he wanted - the woman he adored. I loved watching his heart rate and blood pressure when he was hooked up monitors - they would always go up to healthier rhythms when my mom was in the room. It was pretty amazing to watch. His heart literally beat for her. But I know he also knew, that as much as he loved my mom, and as much as he wanted to take care of her, only God could love her more and take care of her better. He left this earth knowing God has it all under control. I like to think that's why he chose to pass in the few moments when my mom wasn't holding his hand. Because he loved her too much. That's the greatest gift my dad ever gave me. Love.
So much for my "in a nutshell" comment... It's taken me a few days to write this post.... between kids, life, and tears. I love my dad so much. And I'm so proud of the man he was. He's going to be a superhero in my kids eyes, I promise. They already think it's awesome that he's with Jesus right now.
I contemplated not sharing this post at all - cause it's sorta been therapy for me. But I decided to post it, in case someone else can relate. That is, assuming you're still reading this novel... ;)
This is beautiful Kim!
ReplyDelete-Sheryl