At 56 years old, I have walked through the passing of three great-grandparents, four grandparents, a father, a father-in-law, a brother and a brother-in-law and a number of friends. I lost my last great-grandparent when I was in my early 30's. I remember my emotions were somewhat distant because my great-grandfather was 106 when he passed. He was old, had lived a wonderful life, and I knew he was tired, very tired.
When I started loosing my grandparents it was more personal. I knew that I would never have that type of relationship in my life again. I was spoiled (in a healthy way), loved on and prayed for in a different way than parents can. They left a mark on my life that I would always carry with me. For the first time in my life I also had to acknowledge the mortality of my parents as they would move to the top of the ancestral ladder.
The loss of a parent, however, is indescribable. I suppose the best way I can describe it is having a large part of my heart cut out that leaves a large gaping hole. Fifteen years have passed since I lost my father. My faith in God and my love for my dad have allowed the regeneration of a complete heart again. The loss of my father, as well as my father-in-law, led me to acknowledge the circle of life and all of its joys and sorrows.
Lastly, the loss of siblings was a loss I never anticipated. It felt unfair and made me realize the fragility of life and to never take it for granted.
In the last couple of weeks I have been studying the journey of life to better understand it in its entirety. I recently read the book, Final Gifts by Maggie Callahan and Patricia Kelley. I heard about this book for years and I am so glad I finally read it. It helped make the passage of this life to eternal life more normal and it answered a few questions I have had for years.
It is intriguing that the subject of death makes most of us incredibly uncomfortable.
Further on, it says,
--Final Gifts
I observed the first portion of the book as knowledge. I responded with a "Yes, that makes sense," but then it got personal. All of the memories of loosing my little brother came back to me. On that cool fall day, ten days before I would turn 50, I sat by his bedside. I was both mystified and grateful.
Larry had been battling a number of health challenges but it was renal cancer that would claim his life. His final days came upon us like a thief in the night but as his passing approached, he gave us a precious, final gift.
Larry's eyes were open but he didn't look at us, he looked past us. He would often put his hands in the air as if trying to take hold of something and then he said, "Hi Dad!" I cannot remember his exact words but he told Dad it wasn't time yet and he would see him in a few days. He also told us that Dad's knees were fixed and he looked great.
Those moments were mystifying because we couldn't see what Larry was seeing, yet we knew it was a glimpse into heaven. I was grateful that Dad felt closer in those moments and grateful that Larry was going to be embraced on the other side, by not only his heavenly Father, but his earthly father as well.
I have respected the ministry of those that work in hospice care for years, but now more than ever, I see the value of it. As Bill and I have met with people walking through the journey of aging parents, we have experienced some commonalities in the conversations we have had. The surprises and difficulties of aging parents is not that different from becoming parents. We don't really know what we are doing. Education through classes, seminars, books, and conversations with people farther along on the journey are our best allies.
I realize that this post has been heavy, but it is a part of life that we "have to walk right through the middle of." Don't worry, we will get a little more light-hearted soon. I already have plans in my head to share the beautiful stories of children, their perspectives on life and friendship, and the ability to embrace friendships with friends of all abilities. I look forward to sharing the stories!
When I started loosing my grandparents it was more personal. I knew that I would never have that type of relationship in my life again. I was spoiled (in a healthy way), loved on and prayed for in a different way than parents can. They left a mark on my life that I would always carry with me. For the first time in my life I also had to acknowledge the mortality of my parents as they would move to the top of the ancestral ladder.
The loss of a parent, however, is indescribable. I suppose the best way I can describe it is having a large part of my heart cut out that leaves a large gaping hole. Fifteen years have passed since I lost my father. My faith in God and my love for my dad have allowed the regeneration of a complete heart again. The loss of my father, as well as my father-in-law, led me to acknowledge the circle of life and all of its joys and sorrows.
Lastly, the loss of siblings was a loss I never anticipated. It felt unfair and made me realize the fragility of life and to never take it for granted.
In the last couple of weeks I have been studying the journey of life to better understand it in its entirety. I recently read the book, Final Gifts by Maggie Callahan and Patricia Kelley. I heard about this book for years and I am so glad I finally read it. It helped make the passage of this life to eternal life more normal and it answered a few questions I have had for years.
It is intriguing that the subject of death makes most of us incredibly uncomfortable.
"There's a reason for this awkwardness. Besides the absence of easy answers to questions like the ones above, death has become remote, no longer an integral part of life,
but a fearsome and unwelcome visitor."
Further on, it says,
Today many families don't have close, frequent, or continuous involvement with the one dying. Unlike earlier generations, they don't learn how to be at ease with someone whose life is coming to an end. Illness and death have been moved out of the house and into the hospital or nursing home. Professionals provide the care; relatives and friends become spectators watching something occur-not in a continuous stream of emotions and experiences from which to learn, but in awkward chunks of time, determined by official visiting hours that leave them uncomfortable and unsatisfied.
--Final Gifts
I observed the first portion of the book as knowledge. I responded with a "Yes, that makes sense," but then it got personal. All of the memories of loosing my little brother came back to me. On that cool fall day, ten days before I would turn 50, I sat by his bedside. I was both mystified and grateful.
Larry had been battling a number of health challenges but it was renal cancer that would claim his life. His final days came upon us like a thief in the night but as his passing approached, he gave us a precious, final gift.
Larry's eyes were open but he didn't look at us, he looked past us. He would often put his hands in the air as if trying to take hold of something and then he said, "Hi Dad!" I cannot remember his exact words but he told Dad it wasn't time yet and he would see him in a few days. He also told us that Dad's knees were fixed and he looked great.
Those moments were mystifying because we couldn't see what Larry was seeing, yet we knew it was a glimpse into heaven. I was grateful that Dad felt closer in those moments and grateful that Larry was going to be embraced on the other side, by not only his heavenly Father, but his earthly father as well.
I have respected the ministry of those that work in hospice care for years, but now more than ever, I see the value of it. As Bill and I have met with people walking through the journey of aging parents, we have experienced some commonalities in the conversations we have had. The surprises and difficulties of aging parents is not that different from becoming parents. We don't really know what we are doing. Education through classes, seminars, books, and conversations with people farther along on the journey are our best allies.
I realize that this post has been heavy, but it is a part of life that we "have to walk right through the middle of." Don't worry, we will get a little more light-hearted soon. I already have plans in my head to share the beautiful stories of children, their perspectives on life and friendship, and the ability to embrace friendships with friends of all abilities. I look forward to sharing the stories!
You may also want to read the blog post, the day Daddy died
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