Six Months
Six months already. How can it be? And on the other hand, how can it not be six years already? It feels short, it feels long, it still feels unreal.
Yes, it is six months today since the doctor told us that Dad is brain dead. Six months since we made hard decisions and released Dad to Jesus. Six months since we stood around his bedside trying to be strong as we watched him breathe his last. Six months since we went to Randy's one last time, this time to talk about planning a funeral; hope was gone. Six months since we made that last drive from Eau Claire to home.
We were just in Eau Claire a few weeks ago on our way to New Jersey; we stayed there for the night right across from the motel we had spent over a week at six months ago. There was no way I was going to stay in the same motel. Not yet; maybe not ever. But I would go to Randy's again, for their comfort pudding if nothing else.
Do those memories never fade? I am blessed and grateful to have been with Dad in his final week of life. I wouldn't trade it, but I can still picture him laying there so still; machines in place doing their work, keeping him alive. I can still picture the silence in the few minutes before he died; watching him take his final breaths and then all was still and silent as the color drained from his face and he woke up in glory land with Jesus. Thankfully, I can still remember Dad the morning of the surgery as well, as we talked and he lay in his bed with his surgical cap on, not saying much as was Dad's nature. We tried joking and talking to cover the seriousness of the occasion. It's a treasured memory. I'm glad I have that one because the rest of them from then on can almost make me angry. How can this happen? How can a 96% success rate mean that Dad becomes one of the 4%? He seemed healthy. I was proud of my healthy parents and was looking forward to talking about my 90 year old parents and how healthy they were. Was it pride? I was anxious to see how much more energy Dad would have after this surgery? How much difference we would be able to see. Well, I realize the difference is incomprehensible now; Dad has more energy and vigor than ever!!!
I know if Dad can see any of the goings on on earth, he would be proud. Dad's death did bring us together as a family more than we were before. Dad would be proud of how his sons take care of their mother; how they step up and do what needs doing, even when it isn't fun. Dad would be proud of how Mom keeps going, doing things she hates doing like driving in the dark. I think he was cheering from the sidelines when Mom called to ask for help with her yard; maybe cheering because he didn't have to help this year :) :), but cheering nonetheless.
We as a family have been blessed with a good legacy. We can be proud to say we are Amos' children. Yes, the last six months have been brutal, but God has been there, church people, community, friends have been there. Thank you thank you, but don't forget us now, especially mom. We still have Thanksgiving, Dad's 80th birthday and Christmas coming up all lumped together in one exciting package.
Grieving is exhausting, but good memories make it endurable. And so we continue on with God.
Yes, it is six months today since the doctor told us that Dad is brain dead. Six months since we made hard decisions and released Dad to Jesus. Six months since we stood around his bedside trying to be strong as we watched him breathe his last. Six months since we went to Randy's one last time, this time to talk about planning a funeral; hope was gone. Six months since we made that last drive from Eau Claire to home.
We were just in Eau Claire a few weeks ago on our way to New Jersey; we stayed there for the night right across from the motel we had spent over a week at six months ago. There was no way I was going to stay in the same motel. Not yet; maybe not ever. But I would go to Randy's again, for their comfort pudding if nothing else.
Do those memories never fade? I am blessed and grateful to have been with Dad in his final week of life. I wouldn't trade it, but I can still picture him laying there so still; machines in place doing their work, keeping him alive. I can still picture the silence in the few minutes before he died; watching him take his final breaths and then all was still and silent as the color drained from his face and he woke up in glory land with Jesus. Thankfully, I can still remember Dad the morning of the surgery as well, as we talked and he lay in his bed with his surgical cap on, not saying much as was Dad's nature. We tried joking and talking to cover the seriousness of the occasion. It's a treasured memory. I'm glad I have that one because the rest of them from then on can almost make me angry. How can this happen? How can a 96% success rate mean that Dad becomes one of the 4%? He seemed healthy. I was proud of my healthy parents and was looking forward to talking about my 90 year old parents and how healthy they were. Was it pride? I was anxious to see how much more energy Dad would have after this surgery? How much difference we would be able to see. Well, I realize the difference is incomprehensible now; Dad has more energy and vigor than ever!!!
I know if Dad can see any of the goings on on earth, he would be proud. Dad's death did bring us together as a family more than we were before. Dad would be proud of how his sons take care of their mother; how they step up and do what needs doing, even when it isn't fun. Dad would be proud of how Mom keeps going, doing things she hates doing like driving in the dark. I think he was cheering from the sidelines when Mom called to ask for help with her yard; maybe cheering because he didn't have to help this year :) :), but cheering nonetheless.
We as a family have been blessed with a good legacy. We can be proud to say we are Amos' children. Yes, the last six months have been brutal, but God has been there, church people, community, friends have been there. Thank you thank you, but don't forget us now, especially mom. We still have Thanksgiving, Dad's 80th birthday and Christmas coming up all lumped together in one exciting package.
Grieving is exhausting, but good memories make it endurable. And so we continue on with God.
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