My Dad's Peaceful Exit

Dad died yesterday afternoon a little after 4:00.

As I blogged earlier, he took a turn for the worse last Tuesday night.

From that point on, he was not able to swallow. He went without food or liquids for more than a week, which is remarkable to me because he'd lost so much weight before this all started.

During most of the time, except for losing more weight, he seemed unchanged.

When the end came, it came very quickly. A nurse at the home said that he was beginning to show signs of immanent death about noon yesterday and he was gone about four hours later.

Dad was peaceful throughout. Even with morphine, he seemed somewhat uncomfortable during the last day or so. The Hospice nurse thought that the staff at the home might have been a little more aggressive with the morphine. Who knows?

In the end, though the end came quickly, his room was packed. Dad's remaining brother and his wife and had stopped by for a visit and stayed until the end and one of mom's sisters arrived with her beau about five minutes before the end.

Besides that, my brother and his wife, their daughter and a friend and Evie and mom and I were there. Dad was always a very private man and I'm certain that this was not his idea of a perfect end to his life.

It's a temptation at times like his to remember only the good about a person.

Dad was human. Like the rest of us, he was a son of the first Adam.

But, he was an absolutely devoted husband and father.

His mother died tragically when he was 14 and there were four younger siblings in the house. Over the years the younger ones have spoken to me about what a wonderful older brother he was. I think, in some ways, he took on the role of their mother.

He understood duty as well as anyone I've ever known and he did his duty to one and all.

He was a loyal churchman and did his part over the years, serving on boards, even teaching Sunday School.

And, though he was rarely vocal about his faith, he was, more than a churchman, a follower of Jesus.

In his later years, while he still had his mind, he told me stories of his care for widows who were in need. Twice, he took in a child who had been removed from his parents' home. I was growing up then and knew those stories well.

He lived the life much more loudly than he talked it.

(Undoubtedly, my frustration over today's church's tepid, church-focused definition of righteousness can be traced to the sacrifices dad made to show Christ's love and to obey His commands. Dad would never been vocal in expressing his own frustration, if he, indeed, was frustrated.)

Near the end, when I hope his mind was clear enough for him to understand, I told dad that he was my hero and that he still is. He will always be my hero.

His body died yesterday. Except for rare moments of clarity, his mind had been completely gone for many months.

Still, I'll miss him more now.

I'm blessed to have known him.

I'm proud to be his son.