Monday, June 7, 2010

Not all change feels good

I did not expect the inevitable to happen so soon...

On May 22nd 2010 my beloved father-in-law passed away. 
Passed away...
Passed away...
How can this be?

He received the devastating diagnosis just this past fall.  Stage 4 esophogeal cancer.  I am a google info hog, but when I started reading the prognosis I stopped googling. The information was so bad, so lacking of true hope.  Even the good stories contained such horrendous information.

I am not terrified of death.  I have great faith in the promise of a wonderful afterlife.  I am, however, saddened to the core about losing those around me.  Its a shame we can't get an occasional visit, phone call, or even a postcard from those who have passed before us.

Over the past month the inevitability of the situation became more and more apparant.  I tried to ignore the signs my brain was trying to signal to my heart.  Instead I told myself, "Please no... just shut up... I don't want to hear this!"  But then something happened, I started seeing what life would look like if we kept him around for our comfort, despite his deteriorating health.  He was not getting better... each day he was suffering more and more.  I changed my pleading prayers for healing to pleading prayers for peace.

"He just went to sleep," this is what I told my children when they asked if I was with him when he passed.  It is a much glorified version of what happened in that hospital room his final hours, but it is what I am going to change as my reality.  He fell asleep here painlessly, and woke up healed in heaven.  I can accept that.

Now what?  How do I make sense of this all?  How do I take what happened and turn it good?  Is it possible? 

For now I will just try to turn his legacy into learning lessons for my children.  I have been confronted with the frailty of life, but as a result it just seems all that more precious.  I apologize to my children that death seems to have cruely stripped away their beloved Pappy far too soon for their comfort.  His absence will be an open sore on all the happy times ahead for them for quite some time. 

Until we meet again...