posted August 29, 2004 03:15 PM
This is a bit of my experience of taking care of my stepfather Odell last year at this time, while he was dying of lung cancer. It is a bit spiritual and religious, so if you find offense to that sort of thing, you may want to stop reading now...Love and light,
Amanda
On October 5th, 2003 my stepfather, warmly known as “dad”, began his journey home. Home as in his Heavenly
place. As he lay, confined to his chair, seemingly a prisoner to his recliner, he began to mutter broken phrases and
parched words to me about his visions. It would seem that he lay in some sort of spiritual and physical limbo, as on
this particular day there were angels behind him, didn’t I see them? There was no white light that is spoken of
frequently, but there were angels and they were everywhere in the room. My sister Cathy, Aunt Lucille and
stepbrother Buck passed glances of dismay, grief yet amazement. After moving in with my parents in mid August
of 2003, I had witnessed his rapid decline in health and grieved myself daily, facing each dawn with the wonder if
it were his last. This was no time to look to the future, only towards the day at hand.
Heeding God’s calling, to leave my own family, take a leave of unpaid absence from work and face the unknown I
felt like Johah as he sat in his whale long ago. And then, days, weeks, months later, the end was evident and the
real wait began. Each time he slipped further into an altered state of mind, where his visitors became more and
more frequent, it left us clinging to his every word, hanging by hope, and looking towards signs that would reveal
the mysteries of God to us. “I wish I had words-no words”, he whispered that day. Asking him to describe his
visions, he took a deep breath and used his whole body to speak to me, of beautiful angels, a river and much music.
By October 6th, the angels were coming much faster and swift and he was even more determined to use all his
strength in his frail body in order to share with us. He specifically asked for his sister Sue and wanted me to be
certain to tell her “what joy.” At that point he recognized me, smiling and asking me “Do you hear it?”....”what?
what shall I be hearing?” I asked and his reply “The music, what joy, oh what joy.”
More time passed as we sat by his side, looking for signs of death that Hospice had trained us for. With each
passing hour he would listen to his grandfather clock and count the tolls, so he knew the time, and with each toll
more angels arrived. I asked him once that if he saw them, to please tell my grandmother and my real father that I
loved and missed them so much. He replied that they were with me at that very moment. They were beside me, and
then behind me and then in front of me. They were there, among his angels. Then he grabbed my hand and
squeezing it he cried out “Oh I wish you could see!” I asked “see what?” and he said over and over “the river, the
river.” At last he managed to explain, as he so desperately wanted me to hear, that Christ was at the river. He then
said that this angels had moved behind him and when he looked forward, that “everybody” was there. Emily came
into the room and sang as sweet as an angel, her favorite hymns to him, the tears flowing as we watched him
mouthing each word to “Amazing Grace.”
At 1 am on October 7th, he slipped into a coma and I finally took refuge on the couch. My eyes begging me to
close them just once, as my body was beyond exhaustion. At 5am I woke to the sound of the “death rattle” and I
find that even up to today, I will wake many times in the night, hearing that sound, churning in my ears. Buck was
awake and beside of him, holding his stiffening hand. We talked for awhile, and then I moved to the den, where
Cathy and Emily were attempting to sleep. We all talked a while longer, the topics now a blur and eventually I
made my way back to the living room. I think I sat beside him for a while but not able to keep my eyes open
another minute I made my way to the hospital bed beside of him. I laid at the foot of the bed, so my head could be
beside of his. His breathing began to slow and I prayed to God for his grace to come and take over, as we had done
everything humanly possible to ease his suffering, to offer him peace, and to give him the respect that he
demanded, even on his death bed. But it was now time to turn it all over, to a higher power. And so, as I turned my
face, to watch the rising sun out the living room window, he turned his body over to God at 7:25am and gave up
his brave and courageous fight.
For what seemed an eternity, Buck and I sat with him, in silence, in the stillness of that room. I felt very much the
presence of God. No tears would come though, as waves of emotions swept over me and filled me with grief to
relief. I knew not what to say or do, so I turned to my beloved music and sang quietly “Praise God To Whom All
Blessings Flow.” As I now begin to face what occurred over the past few months, and years since his diagnosis, I
have come to realize just how true those words are. How we sing them each Sunday morning, during our time of
tithes and offerings, out of duty, habit, obedience, but have you ever considered them to be more than just part of
the ritual of giving your tithes?
In life we are blessed and if you are like my dad, you can be blessed even in death. Actually, I’ve come to
determine that because of these many blessings that he didn’t die that day, he simply moved on, to the next level,
leaving behind his legacy and his memories so abundant. And he is eternally praising the same God whom all my
blessings flow. If you have tarried through this life, never thinking you’ve been blessed, please think again. As
each day you live, you are given the chance to draw closer to a gracious and loving Father. A Father who never
disappoints, who never leaves us and who is waiting for you, for me, for us all. When will you heed His voice and
come out of the whale, known as the sinners life, follow Him and come to know and understand “what joy” you
could experience the rest of your life, on earth and eternally?