And We Begin Again....

It's hard to know where to begin but I know that I have to write.  I guess the best place to begin is where I left off.  On November 14 I published the second part of a two-part blog post on "Faith Isn't Faith Until It's Tested."  Six days later my Dad passed away very suddenly...unexpectedly...without warning...here one minute and gone the next.  Some of my readers might be wondering if I thought my faith had been tested before that time but now I'm really going to have my faith tested.  If God could see fit to call my Dad home to heaven so suddenly, does my faith in Him stand up to this test?  My answer?  This life-altering event didn't test my faith at all.  It was already secure, rock solid, unwavering.  In the ten days since my Dad left this earth I haven't once become angry with God, questioned his sovereignty, or even asked myself why.  The shock of his death was very difficult and painful but in all things I give thanks.

We celebrated Thanksgiving two days after his death, even as we were still reeling from the shock of accepting that he was gone.  Yet we still gave thanks.  We gave thanks that he lived for 81 years.  His mind was still sharp, he was still independent in every way, he didn't suffer or linger on this earth...it was simply his time and God called him home.  In our minds, the alternative to how my Dad died would have been so much worse.  Our hearts go out to friends and loved ones who support their family members through years of illness and disease, watching them fade away slowly.  Even in the midst of our grief we felt blessed.  And, no, my faith never wavered.  God's mercies are new every morning and we have felt His mercy each and every day as we have come to terms with the reality that my Dad is no longer here.

My Dad loved to laugh and tell jokes and stories.  He loved to kid around.  We have been able to "find the funny" that I've blogged about before in the little things.  He would have appreciated that.  A couple days after his death my Mom told me Dad's latest blonde joke.  He loved blonde jokes.  Allison, one of our close friends and a member at his church, visited with us and was telling us the joke he told at church just two days before he died.  We found several things to laugh at while we were preparing our hearts to say our final goodbyes.  Mom and I were typing his obituary on Thanksgiving Day and when we were finished I shouted out, "Dad, we wrote your obituary on Thanksgiving Day and that is NOT cool!!"  The next day, on my Mom's birthday, was the day we had to go and view his body for the first time.  It was just myself; Lindy; Mom; my brother, Rob, and my sister-in-law, Lisa.  I was dreading it but once I saw him and realized he looked nothing like himself it made it a little easier.  We were able to say, "That's not Dad.  He's already in heaven."  As we were standing there chatting I leaned over and said to him, "Dad, we wrote your obituary on Thanksgiving.  Now we had to come look at your body on Mom's birthday.  This is really NOT cool!!"  We turned it into a light moment.  I shared one of my famous stories about back when I was a "real hospice nurse" and I learned how long it takes for rigor mortis to set in.  (My Heartland friends will appreciate that because they've all heard that story).  My brother shared something that was a TMI and not fit for sharing on my blog or anywhere else.  We found a way to laugh.

We have been overwhelmed and humbled by the outpouring of support from friends and family both near and far.  We understand that people die every day--it's the circle of life--but his death has been the most significant that our little family has experienced.  I gave updates on Facebook on a near daily basis for the past several days.  Since a lot of my blog readers are also my Facebook friends I will try not to be repetitive, but this outpouring of love and concern is such a big part of what has transpired.

I mentioned on Facebook that my mother had no idea that his visitation would be so well-attended.  She in no way expected there to be an actual "line" to pay their respects.  We were in a large chapel that was about 80 feet from front to back.  I could see that the line went out the door but I heard that the line went around the corner and almost to the lobby.  There was a line for two hours.  I was up in the front by the casket and speaking to each person after they passed by my brother and before they got to my Mom.  I found that I did a lot of apologizing to people for the long line and a lot of consoling people, some who couldn't speak as they were so overcome by their shock and their love for my Dad.  I tried to tell as many people as I could how special they were to my Dad and how much he loved them.  Later on, I told Lindy that I felt I did more consoling of others than they did of me.  I didn't feel bad about this.  It was just an observation.  I was touched by how many people were going to deeply miss his presence in their lives.  Lindy said that you just can't take the "pastor's wife" out of me; and I guess you also can't take the hospice nurse out of me who is compassionate to others during their time of loss.

Well, I felt the need to write but now I feel the need to close for now.  In the days to come I'll be posting some other things.  I want to write about his funeral, how meaningful it was.  I want to explain why I had a smile on my face rather than tears during his burial service.  I plan to post what I wrote and spoke at his funeral.  I might post the entire video of his funeral, but this would be of interest to only a select few friends and family who had hoped to attend but had been unable.  I want to write about the "Goodbye Tour" that my Mom and I went on the day after his funeral.  I want to let you know how our family is doing.  Just know for now that we are doing well.  Sure, we are sad, but the joy of the Lord is our strength.  My Mom mentioned the other day that she, my brother and I had gotten through this whole experience without one disagreement or one cross word to one another.  Of course.  We would expect nothing less.  We loved my Dad and we love each other.  What do we have to disagree about?  We agree, we love, and we begin again....