Dad's Final Week

My dad was so excited to get closer to home. His long weeks at Mayo were pretty horrible to him. He wanted to be near family and OUT OF THE HOSPITAL. I don't think he realized none of us had the capability to care for him at home the way a full team of doctors, specialists, nurses, and medical staff could . . . but he still wanted to be home. He thought it would take a lawyer to get him out of there, but it really just took a stroke recovery specialist facility to arrange for his care. That process took about a week. 

Mom arranged for a medical transport for the three hour drive, because we didn't think there was any way to lift dad in and out of a vehicle (even at his leanest weight in decades, 158 lbs.). So mom went with a professional, because that's the safest. Once dad arrived in the same town as family, we got texts laughing about his transport. Somehow, while strapped securely with three straps . . . dad managed to wiggle off his hospital bed/stretcher and fall on the floor (it was not a far fall, just a few inches)! The driver was so horrified, he just couldn't figure out how this had happened. He alone, couldn't get dad back on the bed, so he flagged down a young, strong-looking plumber at a freeway exit. Together they got dad loaded back safely for the remainder of his trip :)

As you can see in the pictures, dad was received with an abundance of smiles and excited grandchildren! He got to go outside for the first time in nearly two months! Gardens, flowers, fresh air, sunshine (well, the sunshine brought out a reoccurrence of his job's disease), but so much better than being in the hospital! We were all excited, making plans to visit (my sister practically never left), thankful that dad was so much closer to home.



Less than 48 hours later, dad was back in an ambulance on his way to yet another hospital; the same hospital (or wing of) where he'd been treated for cancer half a dozen years or so ago when his leukemia came out of remission. Back then, he was so sick; we thought we'd lose him . . . much like we'd thought we'd lose him after his car accident 17 years ago. He's an emotional rollercoaster, but he always came back to the station okay.

Unfortunately, this time things just weren't going his way. The hospital treated him for dehydration, but he wasn't really feeling better. Soon, doctors determined he'd had a heart attack and that his kidneys were failing. Then they suspected another stroke. While he could still communicate, dad told mom he wanted no more major medical intervention. No scans, no surgeries . . . and really, those things only caused more discomfort and pain. They made the rest of us feel better, but him feel worse. Not much could be done. His body was tired, worn out, and nearly all his major organs and systems were negatively affected in some way.

As I said in a previous post, I took Gabby, Brennen, and Graysen to visit dad last Saturday. My nephews were there and it was good to see them, good for the cousins to see each other. Dad was still talking some, but in a lot of pain. He didn't really open his eyes much or acknowledge that we were there, but he listened to every word we said. The kids and I left as Mary from church arrived. Mom stayed by dad's side.








I told the kids that I knew it was weird to take pictures in this situation, but they might look back and want to remember the last time they visited their grandpa. 

My sister captured these sweet and sad pictures of my mom and dad together. It is just a glimpse of how painful and exhausting this process is, but again important. These emotions are just as valid as all the joyful, happy moments. God created us to feel and express a full range. And we do, and we have, and we are.



We kept hoping for a rally, as dad had given us so many times before. But we were realizing that might not be God's plan this time. So, after Buck got his foot worked on (staff infection, by the way), we made arrangements for our neighbor to take the girls to work and pick them up after. She also offered to get pizzas and feed all of our kids dinner. Our boys went to her house for most of the day to play with their friend Isaiah. It was a blessing for her to cover all these needs at home, so Buck and I could go say goodbye to my dad.

When we arrived, my sister, two nephews, and a niece met us in the hallway. We chatted for a few minutes, they left, and then Buck and I went into dad's room to find three of his college fraternity brothers telling old stories about their adventures. Two of these three men are principal characters in my childhood memories. Amazingly, my dad's influence for Christ on the man standing next to my mom directly affected Buck and my life in several ways. First, we've randomly lived in two towns where his relatives live (instant connections to the area). Second, he and his wife are pioneer homeschoolers and have provided leadership to the homeschooling organization in our state. If my dad hadn't been involved in their story, our way of educating our family might look pretty different.

Similar to the emotion that swept over me when I heard my childhood pastor pray over my dad (on speakerphone at Mayo) a similar familiarity/security swept over me as my dad's lifelong friend, whose voice had prayed prayers at our dinner table and in our living room, prayed one last time for my dad--using his personal nickname, Bear-eye.

As these three men left, Buck and I sat and talked with my mom. Dad's breathing was labored and he wasn't talking, responding, or opening his eyes at all. His blood pressure continued to drop, low enough that they weren't really monitoring it anymore. My aunt and uncle came back into the room, then mom asked the nurse to give dad a little medication to help with his gasping breaths. Soon, his breathing slowed. 

Mom held dad's hand and Buck's across the bed, Buck stood with his other arm around me, and I had my hand on dad's heart. Mom told him all kinds of things about going to heaven and that it was okay. I told dad that Buck was here now, that we'd all been to see him (in one hospital or another since he'd been flown back from California). I told him we'd miss him, but that he'd taught us well how to get where he was going, and that we'd see him again. He opened his eyes just a little, (aspirated a bit), and took another gasping breath. That was it. Then my dad's soul went to be with Jesus. 

Buck and I backed up, so the nurse could do her nurse thing. Next a couple of doctors came in to confirm he'd passed away. Buck and I cried together. We cried with my aunt. We made sure mom had a way home (well, she didn't actually, so we gave her a ride home). She took a few minutes with my dad alone, set an open Bible in his hands--he never stopped preaching and praising while he could still speak. They put a picture of a candle on his door.

We walked outside into a sunshiny, blue-skied late afternoon. It was amazing to think that just moments ago, dad was suffering, but now he was whole . . . greeting loved ones on golden streets, laughing with his friend Jesus face-to-face, asking questions and knowing all the answers, seeing the place that Jesus has been preparing for 2,000 years. 

Like my aunt said, "How can something so good, hurt so much on this side?" She's so right. We know dad is happy and whole, and that makes us happy. But we don't quite feel whole anymore. A big part of our adventure, our fun, our teacher, our faithful prayer warrior is gone from us. It still hasn't fully sunk in. It still doesn't feel fully real. I know that process takes months, even years. We're grieving, and that's good. We're happy somedays, and that's okay. We're sad and grumpy and tired and . . . well, we're a lot of things. But we're also thankful that dad, Grandpa Barry, is with Jesus and that we're going to see him again someday ♡