My dad had cancer. It was in his bones. Especially affected was his lower back. Out of concern, there came a time my siblings moved dad from the home he shared with mom (for many years) into an Assisted Living facility. This caused much grief and mourning for mom and dad. Yet, my parents took it like the Troopers they are. They made the best of a terribly painful and difficult time. A slow death is not an easy death - some passings are more tenacious in nature... both in endurance, and in heartbreak. Most often we fail to see this as a gift from God.
When dad went into Assisted Living I called him every day, twice a day. We spoke of the Lord Jesus, and of life. Dad was heartbroken about being away from mom. He was heartbroken that death was taking him from mom. He missed his wife of 60 years. He missed his life, his home, and his work. Dad loved his work, and was proud of his accomplishments. Dad did beautiful metal work, as a welder, and gorgeous woodwork. These became his hobbies. Dad missed doing his woodwork when he could no longer safely do it.
Dad missed fishing. During his final day of fishing, on his little boat, my brother Mike took a picture of dad holding up a beautiful fish he had just caught. Mike and dad both knew it was dad's final day of fishing on his boat. It is my favorite picture of dad.
Ultimately, dad loved his life here on this earth. This is where his 'treasure' was, and he was having trouble letting it all go in favor of the Kingdom of Heaven.
And dad was afraid to die… I must admit that this surprised me. I, somehow, believed that dad had such a strong belief in, and relationship to, God that his dying experience would be colored with peace. Yet, peace was often not present.
There were many times I, as a child, went into mom and dad's bedroom at night terrified of dying. Dad would sleepily talk to me briefly of Jesus, say a prayer with me, and send me back to bed. I went to bed, still terrified, and not wanting to die and go be with Jesus. The thought scared me, because I had never seen Jesus. He was a stranger to me… not like flesh and blood mom, dad, and siblings, that I knew for a certainty. Now it was I talking to dad over his fears and concerns of dying.
In our daily phone conversations, when dad and I talked about dying, he would sometimes tell me a story about how, when Uncle Curtis was dying, he feared he had not 'done enough' for the Lord. Then came the time when dad admitted to me that he had the same thought… even though he knew our salvation is a free gift of Jesus Christ. Any 'works' are a result of the Holy Spirit manifest in our life. Yet, the thought did haunt dad, even if just a little.
Dad also believed he had encountered demons, and the demonic, while at the Assisted Living facility. There was a time when dad thought he actually saw a demon when the lady in the room across from him died. I don't doubt this is true. We talked about this, too. Certainly the devil was making a play for his soul even to the end.
Many months before dad died - even, perhaps, a year before he died - I had a dream. What I remember of the dream today is that dad had a red backpack on his back. I was frantically telling him that he needed to get rid of this backpack - to throw it out of the window of the room we were in. Just get rid of it before he died because it would send him to hell if he didn't. I was frantic and yelling at dad, at the end of my dream, to get rid of the backpack or he would go to hell. When I awoke I was terribly disturbed. I prayed, and prayed, and prayed, for dad following that dream. I had been praying for him before, but my prayers amped up after the dream. I prayed about the dream, and God showed me that the red backpack was anger and unforgiveness that dad was harboring and needed to be rid of.
So, I prayed fervently - as if in battle, which I was - talked with dad daily, and went to visit him at the Assisted Living facility as often as I could. Toward the end, probably even about just over a week before dad died, I called dad. He answered and seemed a bit distracted and maybe even upbeat. He was looking for something in his room. I asked him what he was looking for and he said he was looking for his 'sin sticks'. He was referring to his cigarettes. My heart sunk. I didn't understand why anyone this close to death - one who believed in Jesus, and the judgement of God - would want ANYTHING to do with sin. It seemed to me that this would be a time of preparation to meet with Jesus. The Lord had delivered dad several times from cigarette addiction, and now - at the end - to cigarettes he did return. I kept the conversation light, and returned to my prayers for dad.
A very short time later - I seem to remember it being a week, or maybe two - dad was in his bed. He could no longer get about, or communicate. I visited him alone in his room. I turned off the damnable TV, and sat with dad. I gave him some water that was beside his bed with a little sponge. He was thirsty. As I talked with him I saw a single tear roll down his face. I wiped it away and told dad that I love him, and that I know he loves me. I told him what was going on in my life, and played some Christian music for him, read scriptures, and prayed (as I recall). I wasn't there long, and then said my goodbyes for that visit. As I prepared to walk out the door dad seemed to get frantic and panicked, so I turned around and spent some more time with him until he was calm.
I knew dad's end was very near, so I visited him again the next day. This time John went in with me. Again, I turned off the damnable TV. Dad's face was disturbing to me as I searched it for signs of peace. I could not see it. His left eye was open, and looked as if it could not close. I believed it was his final day (and it was), so I took pictures - only of the right side of his face. I sat with dad, read scriptures, and sang him a song (actually a medley of two songs):
"I'm trusting You, Lord.
I'm trusting You.
You've been so faithful.
You've been so true.
You never failed me,
Though I failed You.
I'm trusting You, Lord.
I'm trusting You.
Have Thine own way, Lord.
Have Thine own way.
You art the Potter.
I am the clay.
Mold me and make me,
After Thy will.
While I am waiting,
Yielded and still.
I'm trusting You, Lord.
I'm trusting You.
You've been so faithful.
You've been so true.
You never failed me,
Though I failed You.
I'm trusting You, Lord.
I'm trusting You."
Then I prayed with dad. I prayed until I felt peace descend upon the room. I prayed until I felt the struggle cease. I prayed God's protection all around the room, and prayed that the TV would stay off. John said a prayer. I said my final good-byes. I got a message from mom later that night that dad had passed before midnight. With him was mom and Denise (a treasured friend of our family).
It has been just over a year since dad's passing on May 1st, 2021. I have been troubled over all that dad had to go through in his final days. I have been troubled about his passing, and the red backpack… I have remained in prayer. Yet, over the past few days God has shown me something…
God will set people in place to pray for us. God will break our hearts to save our souls. God will teach us to fear Him, even - in terror - to save our souls. These are gifts! God allowed dad fear and uncertainty. God broke dad's heart. In the times dad could no longer communicate on the outside, God was dealing with him on the inside - preparing dad for his departure from this world - a world dad had to release his grip and affections from. And, I believe God helped dad to get rid of that red backpack. The Holy Spirit has comforted me, finally, about dad.
This I know: God is faithful, and God is good. Very good. He is not willing that any should perish. Neither am I. I thank God for the gifts of prayer, heartbreak, and the fear of the Lord.
"He sets on high those who are lowly, and those who mourn are lifted to safety." Job 5:11
"The LORD is near to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit." Psalm 34:18
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