May 08, 2011
What an amazing thing we witnessed yesterday!
Sunday – Friday night my dad was restless and didn't get much sleep. On Saturday morning the pain started. The pain was right below his rib cage on the right side. Mom called me. I ran to the pharmacy to get the Adavan that Hospice ordered on Friday. I took it to Dad and gave it to him. It soon became obvious the Adavan wasn't going to be enough to control the pain, so I called Hospice. We don't have (and can't get) morphine. For morphine you have to pick up a written prescription from the family doctor because they are prohibited from calling it in. The clinic is closed on Friday afternoons so we were going to have to wait until Monday. The Hospice nurse got a hold of Dad's doctor and Vicodin was called in.
I ran to the pharmacy to pick the Vicodin up. Dad was supposed to have two large pills, then in one hour another pill. I crushed the pills and put them in a little melted strawberry milkshake and slowly gave them to him. He could barely swallow. We waited. The Vicodin helped take the edge off the pain but it was obvious it was not going to be enough either. The Hospice nurse called another nurse. She got on the phone and somehow got another doctor to write the prescription for morphine. The Hospice nurse ran to another town (an hour away) to pick up the written prescription, ran it back to a local pharmacy to get it filled, and at 5:30 p.m. was back at Mom and Dad's with it.
Dad became somewhat more restful during the time the nurse left to get the morphine. It was around 2:45 p.m. We thought he had finally fallen asleep, but later we realized it was more than sleeping. Dad was in a coma. After the nurse came with the morphine she told us to give Dad a very small amount of oral morphine every hour by a dosing syringe. I would slowly give it to him orally along the side of his cheek. The morphine worked and kept him comfortable. He did not move his position or respond to us after mid-afternoon.
At 9:20 p.m. Dad went home to his LORD and Savior.
Now... the rest of the story.
When I got to the house with the Adavan on Saturday morning Dad was still able to respond to those around him. The pain would come every minute or so and last maybe 15 seconds. Mom went outside and my brother left, so I was alone with Dad. Up until that time Dad had never asked even one single question about the hospital, tests, hospice, etc. It wasn't that he was avoiding anything, the thoughts just weren't there. He was still planning his garden and had his garden seeds on his bedside table. I said to him, "Dad, your body is starting to wear out." He replied, "Oh, I don't think so... it's doing pretty good." He just didn't know the circumstances he was in. I sang to him. One of the songs I sang was, "What a day that will be, when my Jesus I shall see, when I look upon His face, the one who saved me by His grace. When He takes me by the hand and leads me to the promised land. What a day, glorious day that will be." When I got to the last line on my second time through my Dad joined in. In a rich-full-clear-loud-deep baritone voice Dad sang, "What a day, glorious day that will be." I watched and listened in awe as I witnessed my dad singing about what he was going to be soon witnessing. Beautiful and amazing!
My daughter came. She was able to talk with Dad, telling him how much she loved him. He was smiling and knew who she was and clearly understood what all she was saying. I thanked Dad for the Christian heritage he passed down from his Mother to me, and that I was passing that same heritage to my children and they were passing it on to their children and Dad said, "That is the way it should be." At one point my daughter told Dad that a woodchuck had just crossed their long lane. Dad said, "How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" Later, when the Hospice nurse was there, we were telling the nurse what Dad had done. So—Dad did it again. My daughter was in the kitchen doing Mom's dishes. She called from the kitchen, "Now you're showing off, Grandpa." My brother's son came over. He sat down beside Dad's bed. Dad turned towards him and grinned a huge smile. There was so much love and admiration in that smile. What a gift to my nephew. Dad was confused on some things but he was still very mentally sharp on others. One time in the hospital room (just a few days prior) Mom jokingly told Dad, "Do you remember how you used to say 'quit your belly aching'?" And Dad responded by spelling out, q-u-i-t-y-o-u-r-b-e-l-l-y-a-c-h-i-n-g extremely quickly, something even I could not have done.
There were just wonderful moments the entire day. My brother came over around 6:00 p.m. It was my brother, my husband, Mom, Dad, and me. Mom and I sat on either side of Dad's bed. We just had the most peaceful and wonderful time as we shared memories together. My husband and I told my brother the story of Jane (Her Name Was Jane) and we talked about "the storm" and how we were all amazed Dad was able to keep from confronting my sister about it over the last several years. (My dad so badly wanted to confront my sister, his only other daughter, about her actions, but it would have just opened a firestorm and all of us didn't want either him or Mom to have to endure that.)
What an amazing thing we witnessed yesterday!
Sunday – Friday night my dad was restless and didn't get much sleep. On Saturday morning the pain started. The pain was right below his rib cage on the right side. Mom called me. I ran to the pharmacy to get the Adavan that Hospice ordered on Friday. I took it to Dad and gave it to him. It soon became obvious the Adavan wasn't going to be enough to control the pain, so I called Hospice. We don't have (and can't get) morphine. For morphine you have to pick up a written prescription from the family doctor because they are prohibited from calling it in. The clinic is closed on Friday afternoons so we were going to have to wait until Monday. The Hospice nurse got a hold of Dad's doctor and Vicodin was called in.
I ran to the pharmacy to pick the Vicodin up. Dad was supposed to have two large pills, then in one hour another pill. I crushed the pills and put them in a little melted strawberry milkshake and slowly gave them to him. He could barely swallow. We waited. The Vicodin helped take the edge off the pain but it was obvious it was not going to be enough either. The Hospice nurse called another nurse. She got on the phone and somehow got another doctor to write the prescription for morphine. The Hospice nurse ran to another town (an hour away) to pick up the written prescription, ran it back to a local pharmacy to get it filled, and at 5:30 p.m. was back at Mom and Dad's with it.
Dad became somewhat more restful during the time the nurse left to get the morphine. It was around 2:45 p.m. We thought he had finally fallen asleep, but later we realized it was more than sleeping. Dad was in a coma. After the nurse came with the morphine she told us to give Dad a very small amount of oral morphine every hour by a dosing syringe. I would slowly give it to him orally along the side of his cheek. The morphine worked and kept him comfortable. He did not move his position or respond to us after mid-afternoon.
At 9:20 p.m. Dad went home to his LORD and Savior.
Now... the rest of the story.
When I got to the house with the Adavan on Saturday morning Dad was still able to respond to those around him. The pain would come every minute or so and last maybe 15 seconds. Mom went outside and my brother left, so I was alone with Dad. Up until that time Dad had never asked even one single question about the hospital, tests, hospice, etc. It wasn't that he was avoiding anything, the thoughts just weren't there. He was still planning his garden and had his garden seeds on his bedside table. I said to him, "Dad, your body is starting to wear out." He replied, "Oh, I don't think so... it's doing pretty good." He just didn't know the circumstances he was in. I sang to him. One of the songs I sang was, "What a day that will be, when my Jesus I shall see, when I look upon His face, the one who saved me by His grace. When He takes me by the hand and leads me to the promised land. What a day, glorious day that will be." When I got to the last line on my second time through my Dad joined in. In a rich-full-clear-loud-deep baritone voice Dad sang, "What a day, glorious day that will be." I watched and listened in awe as I witnessed my dad singing about what he was going to be soon witnessing. Beautiful and amazing!
My daughter came. She was able to talk with Dad, telling him how much she loved him. He was smiling and knew who she was and clearly understood what all she was saying. I thanked Dad for the Christian heritage he passed down from his Mother to me, and that I was passing that same heritage to my children and they were passing it on to their children and Dad said, "That is the way it should be." At one point my daughter told Dad that a woodchuck had just crossed their long lane. Dad said, "How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" Later, when the Hospice nurse was there, we were telling the nurse what Dad had done. So—Dad did it again. My daughter was in the kitchen doing Mom's dishes. She called from the kitchen, "Now you're showing off, Grandpa." My brother's son came over. He sat down beside Dad's bed. Dad turned towards him and grinned a huge smile. There was so much love and admiration in that smile. What a gift to my nephew. Dad was confused on some things but he was still very mentally sharp on others. One time in the hospital room (just a few days prior) Mom jokingly told Dad, "Do you remember how you used to say 'quit your belly aching'?" And Dad responded by spelling out, q-u-i-t-y-o-u-r-b-e-l-l-y-a-c-h-i-n-g extremely quickly, something even I could not have done.
There were just wonderful moments the entire day. My brother came over around 6:00 p.m. It was my brother, my husband, Mom, Dad, and me. Mom and I sat on either side of Dad's bed. We just had the most peaceful and wonderful time as we shared memories together. My husband and I told my brother the story of Jane (Her Name Was Jane) and we talked about "the storm" and how we were all amazed Dad was able to keep from confronting my sister about it over the last several years. (My dad so badly wanted to confront my sister, his only other daughter, about her actions, but it would have just opened a firestorm and all of us didn't want either him or Mom to have to endure that.)
At 8:15 p.m. my sister called my Mom to say they had just landed in Chicago and were on the way. My brother went back home. I told Mom we were going to go out for a walk so she could have some alone time with Dad before my sister showed up and the turmoil that surrounds her entered the home. My husband and I walked up to the end of their long lane and back. Then we walked behind the house to the garden that Dad loved so much. We continued on and walked to the picnic area my Mom and Dad created along the back creek, a place where I spent many hours growing up and where my grandchildren now loved to play. Each summer my Dad enjoyed sitting in a lawn chair and watching as my grand-kids played in the creek. My favorite photo of Dad was taken in that exact spot, both of us sitting in lawn chairs and me looking at "The Wise One" (as we liked to call him).
My husband and I were out of the house for about 45 minutes. We called our daughter and son and told them Grandpa would probably pass in the next 24 hours or so. Mom appreciated the time alone with Dad. She told Dad it was okay to go and how much she loved him. The love between Mom and Dad was so apparent. My husband and I came back inside the house around 9:00 p.m. Mom went downstairs to fix the fire and lock up the house. She came back upstairs. Before Mom came back upstairs I had time to tell Dad that I loved him again, that we would all be okay, and it was okay for him to go.
Earlier in the day Dad would breathe for about 30 seconds and then not breathe for about 30 seconds. This went on for several hours while he was in the coma. But now his breathing was different. His breathing was very even, but shallow. His eyes were slightly open. Mom said she thought he was trying to open his eyes. I told her I felt we were entering a new stage and the eyes slightly opening and rolling back slightly was part of that stage. Mom and I were sitting on either side of the bed again. My husband was sitting at the foot of the bed.
I had this "feeling" we should pray. I tried to ignore it but the "feeling" kept getting stronger and stronger until it became an urge. So, I finally just blurted out, "I think we are supposed to pray." My husband, Mom, and I stood and held hands around Dad's bed with Mom and I on either side holding Dad's hand/arm. I thanked God for Dad and all he had taught us. I prayed for God to receive Dad because he had long ago given his heart to Jesus as his Savior and lived his life faithfully following His will. I asked God to release him. I said, "Imagine stepping on shore and finding it heaven." I thanked God for the Christian heritage Dad passed on to us and our future generations. I thanked God for His promise to bless those that follow him for a thousand generations. I prayed for Mom, that she would have a hedge of protection around her in the coming days and that God would give her the strength and stamina she would need. I asked God to sustain her during this time while she was not eating, drinking, or sleeping properly. Then I once again asked God to receive Dad with glory and honor.
I said "Amen" and Mom and I sat back down. My husband sat back down in his chair. Literally, within just a few seconds from saying 'amen", Dad stopped breathing. I said, "Mom, I think this may be it." Mom said, "Oh, I think it is probably just one of his pauses." I said, "I don't think so Mom." We watched and waited. There was a very small faint movement/sound. Mom said, "I think he is starting again." I said, "I don't think so Mom. I believe that was just a reflex." The same small sound happened again about fifteen seconds later. Still nothing. Then a small tiny exhale of air. His body was releasing the last amount of air that was in his lungs.
He was gone! We all kept saying, "He's home! He's home!!"
There weren't tears of sadness—only joy. God had taken my dad home in the most peaceful way possible. I once again sang, "What a day that will be when my Jesus I will see." Mom went over to tell my brother. I called Hospice to tell them dad had passed. I told the Hospice nurse that because of family dynamics I would probably not be there when she arrived. My husband and I spent about 45 minutes with Mom, then we quietly left, amazed at God's sovereignty and provisions. We had total peace. God had allowed me the precious gift of being able to pray my dad home and to be with Mom when Dad passed to his eternal home. A remarkable and precious gift I will be forever grateful for!
God totally did what I wrote in my journal for Psalm 109—the last sentence I wrote before rushing over to Mom and Dad's on the day Dad died. He defended the helpless and He saved them. Death came peacefully as it should, in an atmosphere of love, honesty, peace, contentment, and harmony. Incredible. What a gift!! To God be the glory for what He has done.
About ten to fifteen minutes after we left, my sister walked in the door.
Next Entry: Psalm 108:1 – 109:31 (Continued)
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