First You Fall
Today we laid my dad to rest.
Currently, we are smack dab in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic. It has wreaked havoc on nearly every aspect of our lives. From work and school closures, to grocery shopping chaos, to fraying social ties; this long predicted pandemic has shown us that life is fragile and that nature is in charge.
My dad had made it through multiple rough patches. But, in the midst of it all, he maintained his faith and his hope that he would see all 120 years that the Lord promised. I believed it too. And, I was worried about who would take care of him when I was gone.
But, life and the Lord didn’t say the same. Instead of the chronic bowel obstructions or COPD snatching him from us, it was what should have been anticipated. A stroke… a massive, debilitating stroke… the kind that robs you of your consciousness, your ability to breathe, your ability to eat.
As luck would have it, my dad was in the hospital when he had his stroke. They took care of him, ventilated him, and waited for him to wake up. But he didn’t, and they couldn’t quite put their finger on the problem… until they did at which point there was no turning back.
When this type of thing happens, all kinds of thoughts swirl through your head. Was there something that could have been done? Why didn’t we see the signs? Is he ready to go? How long does he want to stay?
I also thought about a funny encounter that’d I’d had with a cute little old lady a few years earlier. I was at a craft show in what seemed like the worst booth possible. There was a step down to get into my space.
When this sweet, petite, white-haired darling got to my booth she stopped while the rest of her family walked in. She said that she was sorry but she couldn’t come in to see my items because of the step. She then went on to explain…
“You know why I’m not gonna take that step? Cuz I’m old. You know what happens when you’re old? You fall. You know what happens when you fall? You die.”
She said it with the sweetest sounding voice, a cute little smile, and the happiest dancing eyes. After the initial shock of her words, we both giggled a little and I said well you stay there cuz I don’t want you to fall.
And there it was… I’d always imagined a physical fall would take it’s toll on my dad. But it wasn’t an actual fall. Instead, it was a silent fall that was not visible but just as dangerous and that brought us to the same end.
A week or so after my dad’s death, I received an email about a long-time volunteer. I learned that she was battling some serious health issues but that her “mind was still sharp.” She had lived to be eighty-seven. But, the emailer said, the body gets tired.
Today, I understand that eventually you fall and you don’t get back up. That your body has served its purpose. That doesn’t bring me peace. That doesn’t draw me closer to acceptance. That doesn’t make me stop wishing that my dad will reappear with his loud, obnoxious laugh and his huge smile.
It does make me understand that life is too short. That life is a gift. That living is a blessing. And that all I really want is more time.