J
Happy Father's Day...
By God's great grace I have survived the past week, but now I must recover. Most of you know my father was very abusive and manipulative, and disowned me in January. I got a call Thursday that he was in the hospital, and I flew back home the next day hoping he would see me. That same day, last friday, I told him I forgave him and that the Lord would have mercy on him if he allowed it. When the doctors spoke to us, by default I became the one who told them to take him off life support. I then called a few of my siblings to say their last words knowing he wouldn't be conscious much longer. I spoke with him again about the Lord and asked if he wanted me to pray with him. He listened, but he was unable to respond. I prayed with him anyway. The next night, Saturday, everyone left to have dinner, and I was allowed to speak with him a little more. The Lord had spoken to me about how afraid my dad was of dying. He was Mormon and very arrogant. He loved to argue, but never truly lived anything out. But the first thing I told him was that he would have to let go and it was ok. He didn't have to be afraid to die. Jesus would walk right into the room and take him perseonally if he wanted. I'm not sure of his response, but part of me was horrified that I was torturing him. And as I prayed, "Lord, what do I do? I don't want toture him." The Lord reminded me of Acts 3. I couldnt give my dad what he wanted. All I could offer was eternal life--what he needed. I sang him a few songs including the song I planned to sing at his funeral. I sang him some worship and he got very still and quiet. It was within a few muntes that his oxygen levels started to decline. They stabilized and I left after a long day. He was resting and peaceful. Five minutes later I got the call that his breathing was getting worse, and we rushed back to the hospital. Less than ten minutes from the time I'd left the first time, to my returne, he died. It was 1:20am Sunday morning... my brother's 17 anniversary. And it was my job to tell the three siblings who weren't present.
I flew back home the following day, wrote the obituary, planned the music, and put the funeral together with my aunt from 500 miles away. Three days later I flew back. I spent the next day going through a few old photos and spending time with my niece and sister. Yesterday was the funeral which was held at the Mormon church. I sang two songs and did the closing prayer. The service was small, but nice. However, in the frenzy, grief is coming slowly.
My father was 62 and died of complications related to bile duct cancer. He has 6 kids, several of whom are by his life and character, and 10 grandkids. He was loved and hated. This is a very confusing time for my family, but it's been a blessing for me... more to follow...
By God's great grace I have survived the past week, but now I must recover. Most of you know my father was very abusive and manipulative, and disowned me in January. I got a call Thursday that he was in the hospital, and I flew back home the next day hoping he would see me. That same day, last friday, I told him I forgave him and that the Lord would have mercy on him if he allowed it. When the doctors spoke to us, by default I became the one who told them to take him off life support. I then called a few of my siblings to say their last words knowing he wouldn't be conscious much longer. I spoke with him again about the Lord and asked if he wanted me to pray with him. He listened, but he was unable to respond. I prayed with him anyway. The next night, Saturday, everyone left to have dinner, and I was allowed to speak with him a little more. The Lord had spoken to me about how afraid my dad was of dying. He was Mormon and very arrogant. He loved to argue, but never truly lived anything out. But the first thing I told him was that he would have to let go and it was ok. He didn't have to be afraid to die. Jesus would walk right into the room and take him perseonally if he wanted. I'm not sure of his response, but part of me was horrified that I was torturing him. And as I prayed, "Lord, what do I do? I don't want toture him." The Lord reminded me of Acts 3. I couldnt give my dad what he wanted. All I could offer was eternal life--what he needed. I sang him a few songs including the song I planned to sing at his funeral. I sang him some worship and he got very still and quiet. It was within a few muntes that his oxygen levels started to decline. They stabilized and I left after a long day. He was resting and peaceful. Five minutes later I got the call that his breathing was getting worse, and we rushed back to the hospital. Less than ten minutes from the time I'd left the first time, to my returne, he died. It was 1:20am Sunday morning... my brother's 17 anniversary. And it was my job to tell the three siblings who weren't present.
I flew back home the following day, wrote the obituary, planned the music, and put the funeral together with my aunt from 500 miles away. Three days later I flew back. I spent the next day going through a few old photos and spending time with my niece and sister. Yesterday was the funeral which was held at the Mormon church. I sang two songs and did the closing prayer. The service was small, but nice. However, in the frenzy, grief is coming slowly.
My father was 62 and died of complications related to bile duct cancer. He has 6 kids, several of whom are by his life and character, and 10 grandkids. He was loved and hated. This is a very confusing time for my family, but it's been a blessing for me... more to follow...
