A few months after my father’s passing I wrote a piece dedicated to his final breaths. It was part of a memoirs in-class exercise to write about a loss. Still fresh in my grief, I replayed in my mind the night my father died.
As was customary of these exercises, I read it in class. This one was harder than most as I let the emotions come to the surface—and let my tears do their healing work.
I had forgotten about that piece, but not the events of his passing—as this week marks the 5-year anniversary of my father’s final goodbye. So the hours surrounding my father’s death linger in my memory today. It was a beautiful ending to a life lived to its fullest.
My Father’s Last Breaths
At 94, my father is finally ready to go home to be with the Lord. The family is ready too, as we all hold vigil by his bedside:
- His wife of 38 years, my stepmother, has been his constant caretaker for the last few years.
- My older brother John and his wife, Carol, have graciously converted a bedroom in their home to a makeshift hospital room for Dad’s final few weeks of life and hospice care.
- My younger brother Glen, has flown in from St. Louis hours before. He barely knew our father after the divorce that separated our family over 40 years ago.
- My stepsister Roni, and her husband, Mark, have rushed to the house after the call that Dad had taken a turn for the worse. They arrive too late for Dad to verbally acknowledge them, but are witness to his dying breaths.
- Jeff, one of my father’s grandsons has arrived to pay homage to the family patriarch and bravely holds his hand.
I momentarily leave the room to make a call updating my spouse and kids back home in Seattle. Minutes later I hear my name urgently being called from my father’s room. I rush to the foot of Dad’s bed as the vigil turns more intense.
Looking around the room I notice my brother Glen is missing. “Where’s Glen?” I query almost stumbling over my words. Time is short.
Father and son, final visit.
Glen rests in another room. Jetlag or not, now is not the time to nap. Our father is having his last breaths. I quickly awaken Glen and we return to Dad’s room.
“We are all here now,” I observe silently to myself. “It’s time.”
Earlier today Dad was discharged from the hospital and put on hospice care at my brother’s home. The hospice care team trained John and Carol how to administer my father’s medications. They are gone now, leaving John and Carol challenged to put into action what they just learned.
Heightened nerves and anxiety start to surface amongst the family members as we watch and listen to my father’s labored breathing. It sounds painful—the raspy moaning and gurgle that fills the room with each exhale of his breath. It is the dreaded death rattle. I’ve heard of this, but never witnessed it before.
We were assured earlier by the hospice nurse that the morphine we administer is taking away his pain. It is a serious situation, but there are a few times that we joke we want the anxiety medication for ourselves. It is physically and emotionally difficult to watch.
John and Carol work side by side to care for Dad’s final needs—blotting his mouth with cotton swabs to collect the pooling saliva and dabbing his lips with a lubricant to moisten them. There are no words, just action—working in harmony—like they’ve done this all their lives. We do what we have to do in times like this.
Peace after the passing, my stepmother and me.
Glen and I stand at the foot of Dad’s bed watching as if time is standing still. I take in everything I can into my senses—the smells, the sounds, the sights. I know this will leave an indelible mark on me. I want it to be a good memory. I silently pray and watch.
I am aware of the heightened sense of God’s presence surrounding us.
When my father breathes his last breath, I look up at the clock—8:14. “Well done, Dad,” I internally tell him. “You held out for one last visit with Glen before you died.”
He is not physically here, but I sense my father’s presence. He is at peace.
“Thank you Lord for the gift of this beautiful passing.”
An Exercise in Love
Like my mother’s passing the year before, my father’s passing gave me healing and hope. I wasn’t in fear of my father’s wrath any longer. In the years before his passing, my heart shifted to see him through a lens of compassion and mercy. I came to accept him for who he was and not what I wanted him to be.
In the five years since my father’s passing, I’ve watched and prayed for friends who have also made steps toward healing of their childhood and parental wounds. Each of them entered into the forgiveness process too and were given beautiful passings of their mother or father.
It’s not an easy task to forgive our parents for what we didn’t get or for the real harm they may have caused.
It’s an exercise in love to forgive supernaturally.
And like the above simple piece I wrote to document my father’s final breaths, it’s an investment in ourselves and our loved ones. When we do that, we pay the blessing forward into our future generations.
Memories of a life that ended well.
Ending Well
As I adjust to my aging, I’m seeing how important it is for us to end well. I’m grateful both of my parents ended well with peaceful partings from this world. It wasn’t because they necessarily lived Godly lives or were perfect people.
But maybe, just maybe, it was because God knew the desires of my heart for earthly love from my parents. As I prayed for them and made overtures toward reconciliation with them, healing and love followed. And it wasn’t in the tangible way that I would’ve expected.
It was about walking through the pain of forgiveness and trusting God. In the process He revealed to me a powerful lesson in love: live well to end well. I’m still working on it. And maybe you are too.
Along the way I treasure these little reminders of God’s goodness and that He’s not done with me yet.
12 Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. 13 Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, 14 I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 3:12-14, NIV)
Hard work is one thing, but I was modeling to my son that working long hours into the night and not seeing him, was acceptable behavior—all for a paycheck. That may seem innocuous to many people in these days of high tech and high stress jobs. But his truth about my work habits and unconscious belief system was a glaring red flag.
Stinging words for sure! And they were said to the religious leaders of that time.
Redefining Holiness
Let us join together in celebrating our holiness this Resurrection Sunday! Happy Easter!
Janet, one of my friends had planned a birthday party for me—something I was looking forward to for weeks. It was going to be a big celebration, with invites to women who had all jointly participated in a series of emotional healing classes. It was how I really wanted to mark this major birthday milestone in my life. But God had other plans.
As a first-time voter, I didn’t follow politics much. So maybe I did throw away my vote. But to me it was about the principle. Three election cycles later, in 1992, my husband and I both got fed up with the status quo and seriously considered jumping ship (away from our Party) to vote for independent candidate Ross Perot. His nearly 19% of the popular vote split the Republican Party and significantly contributed to putting Bill Clinton in the Whitehouse.
So what are we women to do?
Which of these ‘prouditians’, Trump or Clinton, is more likely to be humbled (like Nebuchadnezzar) by this election process and the responsibilities of Commander in Chief? Which candidate will God use for His purpose? I don’t have the answers, but I know the One who does.
When Jesus came into the world, he challenged people to use their right brain—to see things from God’s perspective and to live by faith. He challenged the Pharisees and biblical scholars of his day.
Using our chronos time to discern kairos moments gives life more meaning.
Fa, la, la
Making Me Bold 