In Revelation 21, God showed John a vision how He, "God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and death shall be no more, neither shall there be anguish (sorrow and mourning) nor grief nor pain any more, for the old conditions and the former order of things have passed away." He goes on to say, "See! I make all things new."
I love that thought. Make all things new. Fresh. I think of it often. It's a phrase I clung to emotionally in my prayers throughout this experience with my dad. It's what I want for him. I want him made new. I want his body fully restored. I want him to not have to take chemo for the rest of his life. I want him to be able to eat a burrito full of beans doused in tabasco sauce without horrible side effects beyond what that meal normally brings. I want him to be able to pee through both ureters. I want him to be able to ride his horse again.
But that is my idea of making all things new. That only addresses my needs; what will make me feel better. The transformation I have witnessed in my father is far greater than what I could have orchestrated in my own power. His spirit has been made new. He is alive, truly alive. He is down right giddy to go home, see his animals, share this war story with his friends and breath the crisp Northern air deeply into his chest. Thank you Jesus. Praise the Lord. Hallelujah. My gratitude is immeasurable.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
What Now?
My brother moved out here about a year ago and stayed with us until he got a job and got on his feet. Three days after he moved into his own apartment, my dad moved in with us. It's all winding down for me now. My dad bought a truck, has cleaned out his room and is packing for Idaho. His mood is light, jovial, kind. Only a couple of weeks left. It hasn't hit me. Might not for a while. It's going to be weird to not see the nurses at the clinic or the oncologist every two weeks. To check him into his chemo appointment and then run to McDonalds to pick up his breakfast of two sausage biscuits and a small black coffee. I have no idea what it will feel like to run nude through my house, cook one dinner for everyone or have normal work week after normal work week again.
This experience has forever changed me and it doesn't seem like anything could possibly feel the same after this. The world has definitely changed for me. I've gained 20 lbs., I am emotionally drained and I cannot remember what my face looked like without these black circles under my eyes. How petty, I know. But it's true. It's a bummer. I've officially participated in the 'sandwich generation'; caring for my own small children and elderly parents under the same roof. It sucks and it's lovely. I don't know how people do it. It's damn near impossible to keep everything straight. I forget everything dad wants from the store, I forget to send show & tell to school for the boys, and I can't sleep at night for the list that is running through my mind of all the things that still must be done. What will 'normal' life look like? I have no idea.
Things I would like to do:
I feel a bit selfish. What does the world feel like for him now? Nine months ago, he was given three to six months to live. Is every day a gift? I don't know. He weighs 145 lbs now and will most likely struggle indefinitely to keep weight on. We spoke recently about the quality of life. A very depressing conversation about pulling plugs and what-not. I really want him to have a great quality of life. But now his feet are going numb and he's having a hard time sleeping. It's killing me to see him deal with these daily challenges. I know I'm neither God, nor a doctor, but I was really hoping to send him home in better condition than this. All of that said, I am reminded what a miracle it is that he is alive. This time I've been afforded with him is a gift. And really, I am eternally grateful. Exhausted, but grateful.
This experience has forever changed me and it doesn't seem like anything could possibly feel the same after this. The world has definitely changed for me. I've gained 20 lbs., I am emotionally drained and I cannot remember what my face looked like without these black circles under my eyes. How petty, I know. But it's true. It's a bummer. I've officially participated in the 'sandwich generation'; caring for my own small children and elderly parents under the same roof. It sucks and it's lovely. I don't know how people do it. It's damn near impossible to keep everything straight. I forget everything dad wants from the store, I forget to send show & tell to school for the boys, and I can't sleep at night for the list that is running through my mind of all the things that still must be done. What will 'normal' life look like? I have no idea.
Things I would like to do:
- exercise
- plan healthy meals
- give up coffee
- write a song
- play a show
- take a hot bath
- sleep
I feel a bit selfish. What does the world feel like for him now? Nine months ago, he was given three to six months to live. Is every day a gift? I don't know. He weighs 145 lbs now and will most likely struggle indefinitely to keep weight on. We spoke recently about the quality of life. A very depressing conversation about pulling plugs and what-not. I really want him to have a great quality of life. But now his feet are going numb and he's having a hard time sleeping. It's killing me to see him deal with these daily challenges. I know I'm neither God, nor a doctor, but I was really hoping to send him home in better condition than this. All of that said, I am reminded what a miracle it is that he is alive. This time I've been afforded with him is a gift. And really, I am eternally grateful. Exhausted, but grateful.
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