Dying

Yesterday was the first time I cried watching my dad die. It was brief. My crying. It was real. I wondered what he was dreaming if anything as he lay there gasping for air. Nothing most likely. It was just two weeks ago I held him up in my arms to help him walk. He asked me, "what's wrong with me son?" I knew but I just said, "Dad, I don't know, come on stand up straight now."




I wanted to yell at him, come on soldier snap out of it. Not very compassionate of me. I keep telling myself this is part of life. The unfortunate part. The part that nobody likes. I have dealt with it at this intimate level now for 7 or 8 years. Watching people die. Watching the life float away. Watching death empty their eyes. Always intimately disconnected. Now I am intimately reconnected. I hope I can go back to my intimate disconnection. Where I can give compassion while doing that which I must. I became a Nurse for one big reason. So I could pray with the dead and the dying. I have not done much of that lately. The last few years the dead and the dying have been. We have one chance, a few moments to make a difference in this life and there is one reason that alone is worthy and that is to honor and glorify the God of Abraham, Issac and Jacob. I never feel like I do enough, but surely someone out there will come along and tell me I am. Please don't. I want to feel guilty. It makes me do more. I don't want to watch my dad die. But I have to. Makes me wonder who's going to watch me die one day. I hope my son never has to watch me die. I feel guilty. I see my dad in my mind graven image. Mom holding his hand. Guilty for not being there right now, every minute, every breath. I'm sorry dad. I don't want to see you die anymore. I'm on my way. May God be worshiped and glorified. He is worthy of all my praise.