Choosing to Grieve

Grief is something we all experience during our life. It is unavoidable.

My Dad left this world on Saturday, November 17. He was in the hospital, with pain medication keeping him comfortable, and a low level of oxygen feeding into the mask covering his nose and mouth. His wife of 44 years was holding his hand. One of his five sons was holding his other hand. A minister was leading them in prayer. They finished praying as his breathing slowly ended and his heart stopped beating. They told me he went peacefully.

Four days earlier he had fallen and broken his hip. After tests to determine if surgery was an option, the decision to begin comfort care was made.

On Friday the 16th, my family living in Missouri gathered to say their goodbyes. I was 860 miles away in Rio Rancho, New Mexico. After staying in contact via text, I called my brother and asked to see Dad using video chat.

My Dad was 92 years old, with advanced Alzheimer’s when I wrote Alzheimer’s disease – Choosing to Remember the Good. After caring for him at home much longer than any of us thought she could, my step-mom, Mary, moved him into a nursing home on July 23rd. My husband and I were living in Sioux Falls, South Dakota at the time, and I drove down to Strafford, Missouri to see him on the 27th.

He looked so frail. His condition had deteriorated since my March visit. Struggling to hold back tears, I hugged him and said hi. It was the first time he didn’t respond to me. He couldn’t speak. I wasn’t prepared for this much change in him. After that visit, I started praying for God to release him, to take him home and free him from the disease that had already taken so much of him.

He celebrated his 93rd birthday in the first week of August, unaware that two of his son’s, and their families, were there with him. They played guitars and sang to him.

Mary told us he had good days and bad days. The first couple weeks after entering the nursing home he had many bad days.

At the end of October, we traveled to southern Missouri, taking time off before heading to New Mexico. When we saw Dad on October 30^th, it was a good day. He was sitting up in his wheelchair, responding to our voices, and wanting to hold hands. He reached for my husband Andy’s hand and held it tight.

Because I had good memories from that visit, I was hesitant to see him in the hospital. I had struggled with it most of the day. After texts from my brother telling me who was there and my Dad’s status, I realized I needed to say goodbye.

After connecting the video call, my brother held the phone in front of my Dad, and I saw him. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing through his open mouth. I told him I loved him and I would see him again. My brother walked around the room with the phone, and I chatted with family members that had gathered there.

The next morning my phone rang at 8:30. It was my brother, telling me that Dad had passed about 30 minutes earlier. We talked a little, then hung up so we could each make our calls to other family members.

Except for the few tears when I told my husband the news, I didn’t cry that day. Or the next.

I would shed a few tears if I started to think about Dad, then I would stop. My relationship with my dad had been a complicated one, and I didn’t know how to grieve for him. Or even if I should.

Three days later, with a pounding headache, I was on my knees praying and asking God to help me grieve. To grieve for a man I had prayed for Him to take.

I was sad he had Alzheimer’s. I was sad he had fallen and had no way of understanding the pain he was feeling. And I was glad he had finally been released.

I asked God for permission to grieve. To feel the pain associated with the death of a loved one. To allow my heart to feel the pain of his loss.

After pleading for the release of my grief and accepting the pain, I relaxed. Knowing that God was with me and telling me it was okay to cry, I finally let go.

Though he brings grief, he also shows compassion because of the greatness of his unfailing love. Lamentations 3:32 NLT