Dying

Dad and Mom 62 years eml

They didn’t make it another year together. Since then Dad has been dying. Slowly. Two immensely strong trees grown together and ripped apart in one of life’s storms (dad’s words).

I mourn for mom in passing. I mourn for dad as pieces of his life pass. He might not fish or hunt again and I mourn. Walking the woods and hunting together is past and I mourn. Eating food is hard and firing up the grill or smoker for dad has lost it’s enjoyment. I mourn that. Enjoyment itself seems to be passing like a salmon arriving at it’s birth place, there is no more will to fight the currents.

The hardest thing for me to see dying is the wilting of relationship. We are turning our heads away from each other viewing the tasks of making it another day, week, month and secretly Christmas. There is a shadow, a dark cloud in the way of supping with one another and I mourn. Dad has turned his head toward eternity. Like a horse headed to the barn (one of his old farm, can’t wait to get there, expressions).

Today, I’ll get in the car and drive a few hours to see dad. It’s possible he may have much or little time left. I may have many or few visits left. I may have a weeks vacation left with him on the old place. I don’t know. All I know is that Dad is dying in dozens of ways, and that’s hard. I mourn.

I do take comfort in the fact that dad see’s eternity and there is light. The door is cracked open enough for light to spill out but he cannot look inside, yet. He seems to be parked by the door and I want to take him for another boat or ATV ride. Oh, he can still do that physically but it’s not the same. He wants to see Jesus and hug mom again. I don’t blame him but I mourn.

This morning I gave him to God. I sat on the screen porch watching the rain in 50 degree weather with the hummingbirds chasing one another and three rabbits in the lawn in front of me and I let a piece of me die. He is God’s you know. He knows. He always was Gods as long as I have known him. I’m dying too, and I mourn that.

dads sunset eml

Dad and I have something in common. We know Jesus. Personally. Relation-ally. We will both live forever. We both know this “eternal life”. Without Christ we would die forever.  

I will give dad a hug, say “bye for now dad” (you know just in case I need to wait for eternity to see him again), get in the car and make the 5 hour drive back home. Man I miss dad! but not forever.

Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life. (1 John 5:12)

Dad and I would really like to see you there, please don’t die forever.

Gary

Update: Rest in peace dad (February 13 1933- July 2 2019)  Bye for now dad. I sure do miss you and mom.

34 thoughts on “Dying

  1. Sorry Gary.

    Driving down to my parents this weekend. They are 88 and 86 and Mum not so well. Dad feels it is time for us to have their dog so we will be bringing the dog home with us. My only worry is that the dog keeps Dad walking around the village and interacting with various folk – an aid to physical and mental fitness.

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      1. “Dad has turned his head toward eternity. Like a horse headed to the barn” – what a perfect description. But what a beautiful thing that he has an eternal home to go to, friends to see there. His wife. And most of all, Jesus. What breaks my heart is those who, having told God “Leave me alone!” get what they ask for and leave this world, alone.

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      2. I think Dad’s main concern is that if something happens to him then Mum won’t be able to look after the dog. I just want him to stay active as long as possible. Mum is part of that process and I can’t imagine what it will be like for one of them to be left alone.

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  2. A most beautiful description of both the dying and grieving process, Gary my friend. It lends another answer to the question of why Jesus wept. I grieve with you through your description here, my friend.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. So True G.W. Weeping together is a precious thing. Thank you. and… I have always suspected Jesus also wept for putting Lazarus through the death process twice. poor guy. I threatened dad (he took it that way) to ask God for 10 more years for him on this earth. His answer (“don’t you dare do that to me…I long for heaven”)

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  3. A beautiful post. We know that dying is part of living, but it can be so hard to let go, not because of loss, but because of love. May you be comforted by the love you shared with your dear Dad.

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  4. I will see you, your dad, and your mom there, brother.

    Meanwhile: ouch.

    It hurts to know a brother hurts.

    The pain of what you now are experiencing sounds excruciating.

    “…we groan, earnestly desiring to be clothed upon with our house which is from heaven…”

    2 Corinthians 5 speaks loudly.

    May our Lord come quickly for us who love Him.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks Bill, I am grateful that dad lived a life of mentoring those around him (including his kids). Jesus has been a part of his DNA since he was a teenager. I am writing now from his bedside. He is close (a few days to a couple weeks?) to embracing Jesus (and a whole lot of otheres who have gone before).

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  5. Beautiful! We are all little sparks who return to our radiant God of love. Love hurts at times and God understands that. As you have said, the important thing is to remember to whom we belong. Our beloveds will all be gathered together again. How blessed we are with that abundant and life-giving hope. I miss my earthly dad, so many years already in heaven…and yet, I feel his spirit with me. Love never dies. Our mortal bodies die, but love is forever.

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    1. Thanks so much nickyab. Yes it is such a privilege to know Jesus. God’s gift is free and the privilege available to everyone. I thought of this as we put a small urn of ashes into the ground…what Great hope we have, otherwise all we are becomes dust again

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