I'm completely scatter-brained these days. Bear with me...
My dad lost his battle with cancer on January 1st, 2015 at 5:25 pm.
BUT
We're doing alright.
As I have attempted to process through the vast array of emotions that comes with losing a family member as close as a father, I have learned something:
Things work out the way they are supposed to
For the majority of my life, I never had a close relationship with my father. We were both so similar that we got on each others nerves frequently and at a significant magnitude. A few months prior to his diagnosis of cancer, I started to feel this longing to have a good relationship with him. It got me talking with people close to me.
After a vocal rehearsal one night, I walked out to the parking lot with a friend of mine. I expressed my dilemma and asked what I should do. "I lost my dad when I was 18. Don't wait to work on that relationship. You never know when everything will change." That inspired me to start working on it. Go out to lunch. Go to a concert together. Try to chat about more than just music or church. That was in February. Dad was diagnosed in May. I look back now on that conversation and realize the timing was perfect. I had the opportunity to fix something before I knew I would run out of time, and I took it. Part of me wishes I had taken the initiative earlier. But I'm grateful for the opportunity I had to work on it.
Things progressed with Dad's illness much more quickly than we expected. We thought we had a few more months. It came down to a matter of days. We called in hospice on a Monday. Moved him to a hospice house very early Wednesday morning. Less than 48 hours later, he was gone. But it was merciful. Part of me felt like I was robbed of time I should have had. The other part of me knows that it was a mercy that he was taken when he was.
As I held his hand in the hours before he passed, I wrestled with what I should say to him. What I wanted him to know. At this point, he was not responsive anymore. Eyes were closed. Couldn't speak. The only question he could answer was "are you in any pain?" His response was always a simple, whispered "no". Everyone cleared the room and it was just he and I alone. I could say whatever I wanted. I told him what was on my heart. In that moment, I knew just what to say. I told him I loved him and that it was okay for him to go, that we would all be okay.
I have no regret. Nothing I wished I had said, but didn't.
That is the beauty in knowing that you are going to lose someone. You have an opportunity to minimize regret. When someone is taken abruptly, people always look back and wish they had said something or wished they had done this or that. With cancer and other related illnesses, you start the grieving process early. My grieving did not start the day he died. It started 8 months ago on the day he was diagnosed. Yes, his passing tore my heart into pieces, but it was already perforated waiting for that ripping. I said what I needed to say. Did what I needed to do. No regrets.
So yes, I am hurting beyond belief with this new season in my life. But I have been so encouraged and felt so loved by the people around us pouring out their time, resources, and words.
One dear, new friend came and sat with me twice a day when we were with dad at the hospice house. She brought me and my family anything that we needed, and was there for moral support as well. Tears were shed. There was uncontrollable laughter (mainly caused by my gaseous, comical little brother). Encouraging words. My mother had a friend who drove all the way from Raleigh to spend the night away from her husband and children to be with us. Countless meals. Countless cards in the mail from people expressing their love for us. People venturing into the treacherous depths of our home to clean what should have a bulldozer and a flame thrower taken to it. People are incredible. What a blessing to have wonderful people in life! We have never once felt truly alone in all of this. And as our hearts are burdened, we know we have people to come alongside us and help to relieve just a little bit of that, even for a moment.
So when the "if" became a "when", and the "when" happened, I discovered that the people who said "the waiting for the inevitable is the hardest part", were 100% right. The anxiety and the anticipation of what you know is going to come keeps you on edge and constantly stressed, just waiting for it to happen. You can't heal at that point. You know you will become more hurt and broken before you get better. But when it's all over and done, that's when healing begins. It hurts. But nothing about transition ever feels good. Things have to hurt before they heal, and that's encouraging to me. The fact that I am hurting helps me know that I will feel healed eventually.
To sum it all up, this sucks. A lot. But people are amazing. People are praying for peace and a smooth transition into this next stage of life. And I know their prayers are being heard and answered. That peace that passes all understanding is manifesting itself in our lives again, and for that, I am forever grateful.
I'm grateful that my dad is no longer in pain in this world. It makes it just a little bit easier to know he is now at peace and is with his Savior in a place where disease and sorrow do not exist. He really did fight the good fight, finish the race, and kept the faith. I love you, Dad.
