My Dad's Living and Dying

Touchstones of Love – Everyday Reminders for Living in Love

My Dad’s Living and Dying

My father affected me by his living.  He modeled patience, kindness, good humor and gentle strength.  What I hadn’t realized at the time, was how much I was affected by his dying, which was done living fully with those same virtues.

Dad was one of a family of ten.  His parents had immigrated to America from Germany.  He had worked all his life since he was a young teen when he dropped out of school to help to support his mom and siblings after his father died.  He never got any degrees, not even a high school diploma. Yet through study on his own, hard work, intelligence and faith he had advanced to an industrial engineering position as head of 3 large departments in a major aircraft corporation. Dad was even elected engineer of the year through one of the professional societies. He was a favorite uncle in our large family.

Growing up, on Sundays we went to our church and Dad went to his.  I noticed that during Holy week even Thursday and Friday, Dad would go to his church.  I remember the music theme of the Lutheran Hour from the radio and I recall he would watch Billy Graham and Bishop Fulton Sheen on TV (I always wondered about the angel who wiped the blackboard).  You never heard him say a negative word about anyone. Dad didn’t talk about his faith but he walked it so humbly and so well.

Two years before he died he had cardiac problems and needed a valve replacement and arterial by pass.  We laughed with him following the open-heart surgery as he talked about how he had a “valve job” at the hospital.  Not long afterward, they discovered prostate cancer that had already metastasized to his bones. He was seeing lots of doctors but apparently no one had checked for it.  I then watched a powerful testimony of a man of faith going deeper.

One of the steps along this journey included back surgery. The tumor was pressing on his spinal cord. They removed a tumor and a portion of his back to relieve the excruciating pain and to prevent the impending paralysis and incontinence that he thought would make it harder for my mom.  They wired rods in his back so he could stand.  I can still see him with the walker as he attempted to recover from the surgery.

Now we prayed more openly and read the Bible together.  We said “I love you” more often and would have done anything to create a different outcome.  Dad, in his part, was most concerned about being more work for my mother.

He lost weight until only his skin was stretched across his bones.  As his physical abilities dwindled, his spiritual power appeared to grow.  Dad shared his wisdom and deep faith from the hospital bed in the living room of my sister’s one floor summer home overlooking Long Island Sound. He had wanted to go home but thought it would be too hard for my mom.

My niece was a young teen and she attended the funeral of a friend’s family member.  Dad told her how proud he was that she did so and how important it was to go to people and help share in their sorrow.  He also told her how it was important it was to share in other’s joy.  Days before he died, he illustrated it so beautifully when visitors told him they were expecting a baby.  So weak he couldn’t sit up he appeared to beam with his genuine pleasure at hearing their good news.

My middle son was little at the time, eye level to Dad’s reclined head in the bed.  Sometimes he would kiss his Grandpa as he walked by. Dad would wake up, look at Tyler and give him a big smile.

He told us and showed us that faith and family were the most important things in life.  He shared with my mother that she had been a wonderful wife and they had had a wonderful life.  He told his children that he loved us. He was an important witness to all the family, friends and visitors who came to see him, he touched many.  I told a pastor who came to visit what a gift he was to my Dad, how you could see the joy on Dad’s face as he received communion, and how he seemed to be pain-free for a while.  The pastor said it was Dad who was the gift to him as he ministered and talked to this good man.

I had prayed for miracles until the very end when I changed my request to God’s will be done. Maybe that was the miracle he needed – me to let him go. And in my surrender and change of heart, Dad appeared to be released to go forth and leave us.  Maybe it was more to go forth and lead us as he showed us how to take leave of this life and enter his new one.

This he did powerfully with some of his last words.  He had so little strength left his words were spoken in such a low whisper that I had to ask him what he said and put my ear near his lips so I could hear him.  He said, “I am content.”

Dad was Lutheran and my cousin was there and told us that those words were the title of a Lutheran hymn which we used at his funeral. It has beautiful words check it out. It offers “sweet comfort, hope and peace.” A couple lines: “Since He in death could perish never, I also shall not die forever” and “The chains that hold my body, sever; then shall my soul rejoice forever.” He had always lived a contentment that encompassed everything.  It was not a resignation or “putting up with” what he found in his path.  It was more a sense of satisfaction, an opening of himself to God’s will, an embracing of his journey throughout his living and then even in his dying.  It was complete – fulfilled.

If he, with what he had been given, could be content, how could I be otherwise?

His patience, kindness, good humor and gentle strength remained his companions as he yielded to Spirit, as he left this world and entered the next.  I remember a beautiful vision I had reading something about a silversmith burning the silver to remove the dross until he can see his face reflected in the metal.  The fires that we walk through are refining us until God can see His face reflected in us.  I am sure He saw it reflected in my Dad. 

And now, how could I not want his relief from pain, or not celebrate his transition into new life?  At times I felt a sorry for myself and my family, but I know that Dad would wish for me to be happy as he always had.  My sadness did not show that I loved him more.  My joy was testimony to the faith in Christ that was Dad’s legacy. 

His example has taught me well.  I pray now to see through God’s eyes, to be open to His will for me in my life.

It was interesting how the weather changed that day.  There were big waves and dark clouds, I thought there would be a storm. Following his spirit taking leave of that worn out body, the sky cleared and there was a beautiful sunset.  I can remember my 5 year old son coming out on the back deck after the funeral director had removed the body saying, “There, now isn’t this better, sitting around smiling with this beautiful view, instead of standing around the bed inside crying.”  Out of the mouths of babes.

I know that we can open wide our hearts or sometimes our hearts feel broken open.  In either case, this opening to God’s will allows more Love to flow through it, to ourselves, to others and to all we find in our lives because our knowledge of grief has been increased, our compassion multiplied and our wisdom expanded.

There was an interesting quote I found from Tagore that I like: “Death is not extinguishing the light, it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.”  And it brings me peace, the peace that God offers – the one that passes understanding.

I too am content.

For a Lenten Reflection booklet, free on my website see: www.TheWayoftheCrossandResurrection.com

Lynn Durham RN Author of From Frazzled to Fantastic, You’re One Thought Away From Feeling Better 603-926-9700  smile@lynndurham.com