The last time I saw my dad alive was on a Monday morning. I stopped by his hospital room on my way back to the office. He asked me to clean his partial (dentures), and then we talked for a few minutes. He said that the hospital was having trouble with his insurance, so before I left, I met with the billing person and gave them the correct filing information for his claims. Then I came back up the mountain to my job.
The day before his death, my dad was having a rough go of it. He was thrashing around in the bed, as if he was fighting the inevitable. He received a brief visit from M--l and a friend. They were laughing and joking, but he was unresponsive to their lightheartedness. M--l was all bubbly and talking about how he would be fine soon and get out of there. She was totally oblivious to his condition as he lay there before her. He didn't respond, and they left.
While it's hard to lose someone close, I will never forget the beautiful experience that Lois relayed to me later about my dad's final moments. He was doing some more thrashing, but then calmed down. Near the end he pulled his oxygen mask off and appeared to breathe normally. Lois said that color came back into his face and his eyes were clear, as if he had been completely healed. Incredibly, he appeared to look ten years younger! A nurse came into the room to check on him, but didn't put his mask back on. She signaled silently to Lois that the end was probably near and wanted to know if they should do anything more for him. Lois shook her head no.
He began looking around the room. My aunt, who was also in the room, told Lois that he might be looking for her. They were standing on each side of his bed. He laid back a little, and began to stare in Lois's direction. My aunt thought that he was looking at Lois, but Lois said that he was fixated on something or someone over her shoulder. There was no one else in the room. And then he was gone, eyes open. Lois closed his eyes. The staff, who had monitors at their station, did not come in for a few minutes, apparently to give Lois and my aunt a few peaceful moments with my dad.
He had died on a Friday, just like my mom. This time I decided to have the funeral on Monday, unlike my mom's, which was on Sunday. The funeral home arranged for a military funeral at my request. I went into the same visiting room as my mom's, where my dad's body was laid out. We received friends and family in the same adjoining room. Most of our house church group drove down and surprised us at the receiving.
On Monday afternoon we had the service in my dad's home church. It was raining, and I was asked if they should move the military portion of the service inside the church, without the 21-gun salute, of course! I said that I wanted the event at the graveside and prayed that the rain would subside.
As we were led into the church, M--l stepped forward from the foyer and asked if she could sit with me. I was numb and replied that it was okay if my family agreed. They didn't. My daughters cut her off in line and pushed me forward. My musical daughter played, with trembling hands, and sang a hymn. The pastor did well with the message, but my heart was not ready to hear his reference to my dad's "beloved M--l."
After the service was over, the funeral staff were prepared with several big umbrellas to escort us to the grave site, next to the church. The rain stopped, completely. The service went well, including the military volley. Then we proceeded to the fellowship hall, where church families had prepared a wonderful meal for us. The sky started sprinkling. Thank you, Lord.
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