Identity

Dad has been in the skilled nursing facility (a.k.a. "nursing home") for two weeks now.  He has settled in, and adapted his life to the routine of life there.  He doesn't move much, and he doesn't eat much.  We installed his HDTV, and hung some pictures around his bed, and have made it as nice as we can given the circumstances.  My sister visits almost every day, but I can only make it about once a week.  Hospice is meeting his needs and keeping him comfortable.  His old apartment has been cleaned out, with thanks to Uncle Cord.  His beautiful room at the assisted living facility, where he lived for 7 days, has been vacated.  Dad now seems resigned to die in his bed at the nursing home, whenever his time comes.

I've been thinking about what I might say at Dad's memorial.  As eldest son, I will be expected to say something, but I'm having trouble coming up with positive, uplifting comments.  Dad was insensitive, selfish, neglectful, and a bully.  Like most bullys, his aggressiveness was likely a response to an inner hurt, and a corresponding compromise in his self image.  This has evidenced itself in a kind of willful self-absorption, isolation and abruptness similar to children with Asperger syndrome.  He tended to lash out at people who got too close, and would argue over minor trivialities to avoid thinking about big, difficult issues.  He was not a pleasant man to grow up with.  He may have been a good man, but he was not a good father.

On the advice of my sponsor, I just finished reading "The Utter Relief of Holiness".  I am quite a fan of John Eldridge, and really appreciate his casual, direct, and personal style of writing.  Holiness, in this sense, is "a way to be good again", that desire in each of us to let go of the bad we see in ourselves, and actively seek the goodness that is God.  Eldridge points out that Holiness and Wholeness must go together... we can't see our sin (neglect of God) if we are trapped in our woundedness, and we can't recover from our wounds if we harbor resentment toward our healer.

Dad is both wounded and rebellious.  He is firm in his faith in Jesus and resurrection, but it is a child's faith.  He has not made it his identity, and used it to direct his life and relationships.  I've heard it said that an addict or abuse victim will cease to mature emotionally.  Dad's trauma happened when his father died in Normandy.  Dad was 16 at the time, and emotionally he is still a 16 year old.  He has friends and loyalties, but he has never learned to really live for anything greater than himself.  He has never learned to really care for another person.  And, he never will.

It dawned on me in the hospital that I really love the man.  I still complain about him, and I still suffer the wounds he inflicted on me, but I do love him.  He will never be a good father, or the father I always wanted, but he is the only father I have.  This is the challenge I'm facing.

I need to re-establish my own identity in God's love for me.    With that confidence, I hope not to see my Dad as a selfish bully or a pathetic love cripple, but as a man who did the best he could.  I hope for a path closer to God's goodness, and a readiness for his healing.

UPDATE: Dad entered into the arms of his Savior about 6 hours after this original post.

At the Brink of Eternity

Dad is dying.  The bleeding from his tumor cannot be stopped.  He understands this, and he fully expects he will will not leave his hospital bed, save into the arms of his Redeemer.

Friday morning he blacked out and fell in the bathroom.  Luckily, and assistant was standing by and immediately called 911.  He was out for 10 minutes.  I met Dad in the Emergency Room... his blood pressure and hemoglobin were critically low.  He was taken to the CICU, and received 9 units of blood over the next two days.  An endoscopy this morning revealed the extent and condition of the tumor, and the staff shifted their focus from keeping him alive to keeping him comfortable.

He is too weak to go back to his beautiful room at assisted living.  There is always a chance that he could rally his strength, and live for a few more weeks or maybe a month.  That, of course, is in God's hands.  I do find comfort that he is facing his final hours surrounded by people who are caring for him, instead of passing out and dying alone in a small, cluttered upstairs apartment.

I think that God is in this, after all.

Assisted Living

Dad and I faced another life milestone last Saturday.

Dad moved from his tiny cluttered upstairs apartment to a beautiful room about an hour's drive away, in an assisted living facility near my Sister.

The cancer is taking him.  He only weighs 133 lb.  He hardly eats, and doesn't have much energy.  He's a lot quieter and a lot more compliant than he used to be.

My Sister got him a new bed and a new couch, along with some things to brighten up the new room.  She also got him a beautiful new recliner, which he really loves!  My Son got him a new HDTV, which he really likes too.  We were all intent on making this transition a good one for Dad.  He paid for all these nice things, but he will never know... I manage his finances now.  No sense skimping at this point!  Live it up, Dad!

A friend helped move a few pieces of furniture into the new room, and I set up the stereo speakers which I made for him 10 years ago.  They still sound remarkably good to me.

Dad is quickly getting into the rhythm of life at his new home.  He enjoys the company at meal time, and having someone cook for him.  He still has plans to set up a computer and do some research on the internet.  I'll be amazed if he finds the energy.

I'm so happy that he's being cared for, that he's clean and well fed!  Why, then, am I so sad?

It's hard for me to find God in this story right now.