I’ve thought and thought about writing a blog on this dying process. From reading the daily notes in my journal, my husband recommended I wait. Wait until emotions die down and I have a full retrospective view. But while it’s fresh, while we are still in the throws, I want to post.
This constant vigil of watching my dad wither away, the waiting and wondering is gnawing. Forgive me if I’m too blunt. I feel raw. There is nothing pretty about dying. It’s ugly and degrading. The only beauty I can find in the whole thing is in the care given and the grace God offers our family moment by moment.
Before you think we are somehow special, know we’ve all struggled -not only to learn what to do, but to do it at all…again and again with a good attitude. Just for the record, my husband has proven the most patient. Probably because he has suffered so much; he understands it. It’s just frustrating to me that there is not something someone can do to help or hurry it along. There seems to be little point in the lingering and little comfort possible.
Most of what we do now is general body-maintenance. I’m thankful in that it’s happening here and not somewhere else. I’m thankful my mom is by his side. Even if we are sometimes awkward or clumsy, I know they both will be loved right up until the end. My peace rests in that and knowing someday we will all be together in Jesus, for eternity.
Oh, the joy of knowing Christ as LORD!