On July 17, 2014 I received the phone call I had been dreading for a few months prior. It was my mom saying "You need to come home now, dad is not doing well." I remember stopping in my tracks as my heart sank, 'Lord give me strength'. As I packed up my things and quickly left my office, I headed northbound to my parent's house, not knowing what was ahead. I remember my brother calling - we were both going north in heavy rush-hour traffic.
I had ran through this moment over and over again in my head, but yet I still did not quite know what was happening. It was like a haze surrounded me.
When I got home my dad was with Molly, our hospice nurse, sitting in his usual spot on the couch; however this time he did not look so good. He smiled at me and greeted me with his usual "Squirt!", but I could tell he was smiling through a lot of pain. In reality, his blood pressure was dropping, his heart rate rising, and his temperature was through the roof. I found my mom and quickly learned that we were packing up to go to Quiet Oaks a hospice house in St. Augusta.
This is the place where my dad wanted to be when he died. You see, up until his last day here on earth, dad always cared more about everyone else around him - he did not want to leave trauma or memories of him dying at home. He wanted to be in a peaceful place that would take care of the family as well. Quiet Oaks was just the place.
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| Quiet Oaks Hospice House |
We pulled out of the driveway that day knowing, in the back of our minds, that when we came home, dad would not be with us.
That was a long night, getting settled in, meeting with the doctor and hearing that he might not make it through the night. They gave him fluids, hoping to keep him here long enough to see his family the next day. I barely slept that night; waking up every half an hour to check my phone, making sure I didn't miss a call from mom, who was in the room with dad. But he made it through the night, and 9 nights after it. He got to see his entire family, and all of his very close friends. They got to say good bye to dad, and he to them. In the entirety of my life thus far, I have yet to experience emotions the way I did for those 9 days. Wanting so badly for him to be at peace, yet equally wanting him to stay with us. I did not want to lose my dad. However, when your dad looks you in the eye, with pain and suffering and says "I'm ready to be done fighting," you look at him and with everything left in you, you manage to say "It's okay dad. We will be okay. You can be at peace."
Saying good bye has never been so hard. I am so very grateful that I will see my dad again when I get to heaven; and I am overjoyed that he is pain-free with Jesus. But my heart aches every day, knowing that I cannot call him, just to say hi; or knowing that my children will never know their grandpa; knowing that my entire life, as I had it planned, has been altered and everything is going to be different. Saying good bye to my dad, knowing all of this, is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Yet, I am so very fortunate to have had that opportunity. To hear his words "I love you squirt. I am so proud of you," one last time.
I could not have asked for a better father, a better role model, a better play mate, supporter, and encourager. My dad always challenged my brother and I. He never let us give up, but constantly told us to reach for the stars. He always said 'I love you', and never held a grudge-towards anyone.
Many people ask 'why'. Why does a good man have to die? Why did cancer choose his body? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why? Why? Why? It makes me think back to a time during this journey when an acquaintance, who was known to pray healing over people, came out to the house. When she finished praying she said, "God is going to heal you and you will enjoy many more years with your beautiful family". I watched as my dad thought about this for a minute and then said, "But what if that's not God's plan? What if God allowed me to have cancer to touch many people's lives?" Well, dad, I think you were exactly right. And I know this because as I watched the 500+ people pack into our little church to honor your life, I saw the faces of many of those people who were impacted. Impacted because of his life, but even more-so impacted because of his death.
Jenna's Journal
