Ronald Reagan famously described his descent into Alzheimer's disease as "the long goodbye." So sadly appropriate, but one doesn't need to have a loved one lose mental capacity to see and sense the footprints down the path to life's earthly farewell. Simple aging will do it.
This morning my heart feels the agony of knowing that good bye has begun. Oh, it could be some time, even years, I suppose, but my awesome father, the greatest Daddy a girl could ever have, has been very aware he is on the path home. His 93rd birthday is May 1, so we are all aware and profoundly grateful we have already been blessed to have him share the journey with us far past the biblical standard of threescore and ten.
The winter has been hard on Dad, and two falls in the last month have given him new struggles to face, and new decisions to consider, decisions none of us want to make. Not driving, and letting his car go, was a tough one, though he did it with grace. Considering permanently leaving his home, the place he shared with his sweetheart Marie (our precious Mother), longer than any other place they had shared--well, it's a shot to the heart. Some people say, "Make him do it. You have to choose for him now." They don't understand the reverence I have for my Father. Control and power have never been in the cards in our relationship in any way, shape, or form, and I can not picture introducing them now, as long as he can think and choose. I know his Father will lead him. He will get to the right decision in the right time.
In these last years since Mom said her own earthly "goodbyes", Dad has been teaching me so much. He doesn't want to leave the town of Sugarcreek for several magnificent reasons. He told me, "My ministry is here, Brenda. I rock those babies at church. They count on me. There's a couple of people on my street I pray with every day. No one else is doing it. What will they do? My small group---we love each other so much. Here is where I am making a difference. When the day comes you can't serve and you just need to be served--well, that's time for heaven." Wow. I know so many of us who are so healthy and so young yet who could use a dose of Dad.
My sister-in-love Patty told me after his second fall, "Dad said to tell you he is doing better, and is encouraged. I can see he is not really, but he's trying to be." No surprise. One of Dad's mantras and choices in life has always been David's: "And David was greatly distressed...but David encouraged himself in the LORD his God." I Samuel 30:6
He doesn't want to be a burden to anyone, let alone the ones he loves so much. I'm 32 years younger than him, and I can already get that. Just being with him has caused me to take a look at what it will be like for me if I get the incredible privilege of a long goodbye. So, I wanted to write my children a letter and tell them what I have learned, what I know I won't be able to say at that point in the journey.
My beautiful children:
It's no secret that Dad and I are no longer the people who live in your earlier memories...strong, capable of balancing many things, handling life on our own, and even rescuing you from time to time. I am so grateful for your patience and love, but I am asking you to try to go even a little further. Can you try to understand what we're going through?
When we talk, I will probably say the same thing over and over. I may tell the same story again and again. Please don't interrupt me and tell me I already said that. Do you remember how many times we read "Three Billy Goats Gruff" over and over when you were little? The thousands of times you said, "Mommy! Mommy...Mommy...Look!" in one day? It's your turn now. :-)
When my clothes are put together a little strange, a stray hair is sprouting somewhere, my bed head needs serious help, or I smell a little funny, just help me. Don't be ashamed of me, Please cheerfully help me match my clothes, pluck the hair, help me get my "do" done, and work with me on hygiene. I will STILL know who I am inside, and how I want the world to see and remember me--what I can't do worries me more than it does you. I'll need to know you still are proud to introduce me as your Mom.
When you watch me struggle with grasping how the TV works, or getting the door unlocked, or how the computer works (all right--I admit it. On the computer stuff, I am already there :-) --or anything requiring technical skill--don't laugh at me, roll your eyes, or get annoyed. The most basic tasks in life were patiently taught to you by Dad and I. We have been very competent, capable people in our lives, and it is bewildering to us to not have our fingers and mind work with the dexterity we once had. Hang with us, please. Try to see it from our eyes.
Give me time to remember. I will be your loving, praying Mother every moment I breathe, and I will carry you right to Jesus when I leave you. So, though it may take me longer than it once did to get it out, I bet if you'll wait for it, I'll have something worth saying.
When my tired and shrinking body can't move like it used to, smile at me, and give me your hand to hold or your shoulder to lean on, just like I did for you when you learned to walk, or experienced your hurts.
Most of all...don't let sadness overwhelm you and keep you from me. Inside the wrinkled old face, I will still be there. Look at my eyes. You will see me there, laughing and dancing, and being me. And remind yourself, we have to say "goodbye" in order to have a great reunion.
As I am writing this, our earthly goodbye seems as though it may be a long time away, and I truly hope so. Your incredible Dad is still cracking us up with his booming stereo speakers and his love of music that makes the floor move. His personal favorite right now is an Eagles' song that says, "There's a hole in the world tonight, there's a cloud of fear and sorrow. There's a hole in the world tonight. Don't let there be a hole in the world tomorrow." Any time that one of us leaves this earth, there will be an unfathomable hole in our world. But, when we know Jesus, we have heaven. Together. Forever. Make sure the highest priority in your life today and tomorrow is knowing Jesus and passing him on to your children and your own grandchildren. We don't want any holes in that world tomorrow.
Love you so much. I cherish and thank God for the privilege of sharing life and eternity with you.
Mom
And to my Father, James L. Mason--what a man. I can't wait to kiss you today, and to remind myself of the truth that, because of Jesus, when we say "goodbye", we will soon say "hello."
This morning my heart feels the agony of knowing that good bye has begun. Oh, it could be some time, even years, I suppose, but my awesome father, the greatest Daddy a girl could ever have, has been very aware he is on the path home. His 93rd birthday is May 1, so we are all aware and profoundly grateful we have already been blessed to have him share the journey with us far past the biblical standard of threescore and ten.
The winter has been hard on Dad, and two falls in the last month have given him new struggles to face, and new decisions to consider, decisions none of us want to make. Not driving, and letting his car go, was a tough one, though he did it with grace. Considering permanently leaving his home, the place he shared with his sweetheart Marie (our precious Mother), longer than any other place they had shared--well, it's a shot to the heart. Some people say, "Make him do it. You have to choose for him now." They don't understand the reverence I have for my Father. Control and power have never been in the cards in our relationship in any way, shape, or form, and I can not picture introducing them now, as long as he can think and choose. I know his Father will lead him. He will get to the right decision in the right time.
In these last years since Mom said her own earthly "goodbyes", Dad has been teaching me so much. He doesn't want to leave the town of Sugarcreek for several magnificent reasons. He told me, "My ministry is here, Brenda. I rock those babies at church. They count on me. There's a couple of people on my street I pray with every day. No one else is doing it. What will they do? My small group---we love each other so much. Here is where I am making a difference. When the day comes you can't serve and you just need to be served--well, that's time for heaven." Wow. I know so many of us who are so healthy and so young yet who could use a dose of Dad.
My sister-in-love Patty told me after his second fall, "Dad said to tell you he is doing better, and is encouraged. I can see he is not really, but he's trying to be." No surprise. One of Dad's mantras and choices in life has always been David's: "And David was greatly distressed...but David encouraged himself in the LORD his God." I Samuel 30:6
He doesn't want to be a burden to anyone, let alone the ones he loves so much. I'm 32 years younger than him, and I can already get that. Just being with him has caused me to take a look at what it will be like for me if I get the incredible privilege of a long goodbye. So, I wanted to write my children a letter and tell them what I have learned, what I know I won't be able to say at that point in the journey.
My beautiful children:
It's no secret that Dad and I are no longer the people who live in your earlier memories...strong, capable of balancing many things, handling life on our own, and even rescuing you from time to time. I am so grateful for your patience and love, but I am asking you to try to go even a little further. Can you try to understand what we're going through?
When we talk, I will probably say the same thing over and over. I may tell the same story again and again. Please don't interrupt me and tell me I already said that. Do you remember how many times we read "Three Billy Goats Gruff" over and over when you were little? The thousands of times you said, "Mommy! Mommy...Mommy...Look!" in one day? It's your turn now. :-)
When my clothes are put together a little strange, a stray hair is sprouting somewhere, my bed head needs serious help, or I smell a little funny, just help me. Don't be ashamed of me, Please cheerfully help me match my clothes, pluck the hair, help me get my "do" done, and work with me on hygiene. I will STILL know who I am inside, and how I want the world to see and remember me--what I can't do worries me more than it does you. I'll need to know you still are proud to introduce me as your Mom.
When you watch me struggle with grasping how the TV works, or getting the door unlocked, or how the computer works (all right--I admit it. On the computer stuff, I am already there :-) --or anything requiring technical skill--don't laugh at me, roll your eyes, or get annoyed. The most basic tasks in life were patiently taught to you by Dad and I. We have been very competent, capable people in our lives, and it is bewildering to us to not have our fingers and mind work with the dexterity we once had. Hang with us, please. Try to see it from our eyes.
Give me time to remember. I will be your loving, praying Mother every moment I breathe, and I will carry you right to Jesus when I leave you. So, though it may take me longer than it once did to get it out, I bet if you'll wait for it, I'll have something worth saying.
When my tired and shrinking body can't move like it used to, smile at me, and give me your hand to hold or your shoulder to lean on, just like I did for you when you learned to walk, or experienced your hurts.
Most of all...don't let sadness overwhelm you and keep you from me. Inside the wrinkled old face, I will still be there. Look at my eyes. You will see me there, laughing and dancing, and being me. And remind yourself, we have to say "goodbye" in order to have a great reunion.
As I am writing this, our earthly goodbye seems as though it may be a long time away, and I truly hope so. Your incredible Dad is still cracking us up with his booming stereo speakers and his love of music that makes the floor move. His personal favorite right now is an Eagles' song that says, "There's a hole in the world tonight, there's a cloud of fear and sorrow. There's a hole in the world tonight. Don't let there be a hole in the world tomorrow." Any time that one of us leaves this earth, there will be an unfathomable hole in our world. But, when we know Jesus, we have heaven. Together. Forever. Make sure the highest priority in your life today and tomorrow is knowing Jesus and passing him on to your children and your own grandchildren. We don't want any holes in that world tomorrow.
Love you so much. I cherish and thank God for the privilege of sharing life and eternity with you.
Mom
And to my Father, James L. Mason--what a man. I can't wait to kiss you today, and to remind myself of the truth that, because of Jesus, when we say "goodbye", we will soon say "hello."
3 comments:
Has me in tears. Not only is your family beautiful your writing is beautiful. Thank you for sharing this. Love you.
Brenda thanks so much for sharing this. Trying to type this through tears. I am at this same stage of life with my parents. Some days it does get frustrating cause it shouldn't be this way. Mom & Dad were always on top of everything. I love being there and helping them daily. Some people think I brag about what I do for them, but I don't have anything to brag about. I love them and wouldn't have it any other way. I enjoy every minute with them. It is the little things that I do that makes me humble. Pray for me Brenda. Love your comments & posts and your blog!! God is so good!
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