As I sit here writing this, my dad is in a nursing home, passing away. We got the call on Friday, it could be a few days, weeks or even months but he is in the final stages of life. Don’t judge me harshly for not rushing to his side, dad and I have had a complicated relationship.
The last time I saw him was at Christmas. He spent the time talking with one of my daughters about horses and would ask me, repeatedly, about one of my sisters. One moment he would recognize me and then when a tear would start in his eye, I guess the knowledge of who I was disappeared.
At times he would remember who Mom was and then forget she passed on years before. His body, like his mind, has withered away. He is no longer the strong, fiery preacher running the mountain roads going to various churches or visiting with the members of his congregation.
His memories are distorted, fading in and out like signals on an old radio. One moment clear, then static. The beautiful music, gone. I watched as my grandfather went through this very same thing. Its a tough thing to witness. The people you love forgetting who you are is painful for both. I can see that he wants to remember.
But the past creeps in. I’ve never truly forgiven Dad for not being involved in my life. He never came to a football practice, or game for that matter. He instead either chose the television or his congregation over me and our family.
It seemed, as a child, that no matter what I did or how good I was at something, it was never good enough to get his attention or for him to want to spend time with me. He was well liked in the community but I grew to despise him.
Years later when I was an adult he would try and build a relationship with me. It was too late. I had too much hatred for him built up. Then when Mom passed away, Dad went into a wheelchair to be pushed around the hospital that day. He never came out of it. There was nothing physically wrong with his legs. I hated him even more for giving up.
He wanted to be waited on hand and foot, and wouldn’t even take care of himself. Eventually over the years, his body deteriorated to where he couldn’t take care of himself. That’s when he went into the nursing home and until Christmas was the last time I saw him.
Writing this is extremely hard on me, it’s the hardest thing I have had to write in a long time. Writing about Mom is easy, the beautiful memories just flow onto the page almost without thinking. Writing about Dad brings up a lot of anger and resentment that I had to work through.
Getting this far has taken several weeks, since then I have gone to see him and I am going back again today. I made the two and half hour drive down and all the while angry memories would come up. All the times I wanted him to be around and he wasn’t.
I pulled up to the nursing home and just sat in my car for a few more minutes, suppressing my anger. As I sat there a scripture crossed my mind,
1 Corinthians 13:11
“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.”
Then the Lord flooded my memories for all the times that Dad was there for me and out of anger I chose to ignore those times. He worked every day to provide for us. For an entire year, he would drive 20 minutes out of his way to come pick me up for work and then take me home in the afternoons. We worked on the same horse farm and he was my supervisor.
We spent a lot of time together during that year. I did get to know him better. I did get to see how proud he was of the work that I was doing on the farm and how quickly I was gaining the trust of the managers and veterinarians.
After I had moved away and would come back for a visit he would change the channel on the TV to a football game because he knew I loved football. But I would choose to stay in the kitchen with Mom and visit with her.
Initially I hadn’t planned on staying long at the nursing home, a quick hello and then leaving. But instead I gave all of that anger and resentment to the Lord. I let it pass. Now it was just me and Dad. We visited for a good long time. His memories would fade, he would forget I was there then he would be surprised to see me.
An open wound is now healing, my memories are no longer distorted and I have only the Lord to thank for that. Dad’s time to be at peace will be here soon enough but until then, I will go and visit every chance I get.
Sean