Suffering to Soul Making

Today is the 28^th ; it’s almost 2:11. One month ago I looked down at my watch; it was a milestone I never wanted to mark. I look at my watch today and cry. They’re just minutes and it’s just a date, but it marks much more than that.

Now, it’s one month later. I’ve had moments of bolstered resolve to live the life I’m meant to live and I’ve had valley low days where I just wish the ache would go away. In that time we came dangerously close to losing Jon’s Dad and I’ve cursed God for this life that just seems relentlessly hard right now.

Life never goes the way we plan.

I stole the title, for this post, from Dad. Apparently I wrote this a day or two after Dad's funeral. I remember it now that I read it, but I honestly don't remember writing it. For sure it was cathartic, I was trying to process the week….

February 2, 2020

We saw Dad on Monday. I didn’t necessarily plan to visit, in fact I was feeling a little worn down that day. However, the girls had the day off from school and it was one of those rare times in mid-winter when all three of them were healthy and they hadn’t seen Dad in a while. We went to have lunch with Dad. He smiled and the girls giggled and he laughed. That cheeky grin, which was quintessential Dad, appeared and I looked right in his eyes and said, “It’s so good to see you smile, Dad.” We wheeled him back out to the common area, I parked him by his friend Al, told him I loved him and kissed him goodbye.

That was the last time.

The whole week felt gloomy and I felt tired. Every day I thought to myself that I needed to start looking at the summer calendar and activities the girls would be in and for some reason every time I tried, I thought to myself it can wait for another time, I didn’t feel like planning anything.

On Thursday, I mustered up the courage to watch the girls’ first year videos and hone in on the part where Dad baptized each of the girls. I couldn’t watch the videos this past summer like we do every year on their birthday because it was too hard. But, something in me just needed to hear and see my Dad. I watched those videos and I cried.

On Friday, I woke up feeling exhausted. In fact, after dropping the girls off to school I came home and went back to bed. I had intended to spend the day doing a few things for myself. God had different plans in mind and yet I ended up doing the most important thing I could ever do for myself and for my Dad in this moment in time. Be with my Dad during his final stage of life here on earth.

I have witnessed all of my grandparents near death. That may sound morbid and yet from a young age, my parents taught us that death is a part of life and while it is scary, there is also no fear in death. I was fortunate to have all four of my grandparents in my life until my first Grandpa died when I was 23 years old. My last grandparent passed away only 2 years ago. At any rate, I was not unaware of what happens to the body during the end stages of life.

When it is your parent, it’s a totally different ball of wax. I will spare the details because those last moments were private moments with Dad and my family. But I will tell you that I am amazed at what the human body can do. I have never felt more terrified or helpless in my entire life. Not until getting home late every night after sitting for hours did I realize that I had not taken a normal breath. There are moments I wish I could erase from my memory and yet, there are moments I am forever grateful to have had.

Not long ago I shared from a sermon my Dad wrote for a Longest Night service; the one where he talked about caring for and losing his parents to Alzheimer's/Dementia/Parkinson's:

“To know what it means for your heart to be an empty landscape is to know what it means to journey through the valley of suffering to the vale of soul-making. You cannot hear Isaiah 43 without knowing exactly what he is talking about... You cannot be the same person you were before. We would never wish the experience on anyone, nor would we want to do it again. But we wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Not long after this journey began, I stumbled upon Isaiah 43:2-7. Since then, I have passed through the waters and rivers, sometimes waves crashing in on all sides. I have walked through the fire and felt the heat of flames closing in around me. I have cycled through all the stages of grief about ten times in the past seven days. I have cursed God more times than I can count. The past seven days were cloudy and overcast. The outside landscape has matched the internal landscape of my soul. I know what Dad meant when he wrote about knowing what it means for your heart to be an empty landscape. I absolutely do not wish this experience on anyone and I pray that I won’t have to go through an experience like that again. Yet, one day I will be grateful that as his daughter and with my family, we were able to be at his side as he left this world. 

Dad is right. I cannot be the same person I was before. Caring for my Dad as he left this world has changed me in profound ways that I just can’t name yet. Even though I remain in the valley of suffering I believe what Dad writes about the vale of soul-making and I know that someday, I will come to understand what that means for me as I move on from this journey.