22 Purpose Fulfilled

Day 22 - February 10

Sunday... a day of rest.

The morning before, I called Brett in Virginia Beach to tell him of father’s condition. Father and Brett were close friends, father having assisted him in his pursuit of an Army chaplaincy career. He responded, “I’m getting in my car and driving up there to help. When I get there you tell me whatever you need me to do and I’ll do it.” The twelve hour drive turned into fifteen. Brett endured a “Planes, Trains and Automobiles”-type experience when his car broke down, he made his way to an airport, rented a car, and then drove the final hours in a snow blizzard, arriving around 1:00 a.m. We put him on duty for the night with Harold. Indeed, the two strong men worked together carrying and caring for father through his wakeful night.

Bobby drove Melinda to the airport at 4:30 a.m. Father met Bobby several years back when he could no longer drive long distances. Father served as a guest speaker on Sundays throughout New York, Pennsylvania and New Jersey, and Bobby volunteered to drive him whenever possible. Father told me, “Cher, Bobby is a good driver. I can relax with him. He's a great help to me.” When I finally met him, I realized Bobby is all that and so much more. He anticipates how he can be most helpful, we always laugh out loud and feel so much better in his presence, and somehow he is always there when needed most.

I walk down the hall from my night’s rest and into the sun-drenched apartment. Brett has filled the kitchen table and the fridge with breakfast and lunch goodies and is sitting at father’s bedside. The hospital bed faces a window overlooking the glistening snow fields. Brett comments how amazing and appropriate that the view outside father’s window includes the church in the distance on the left, the Bible School father has served for so many years of his life on the right, and at the top of a hill, flags symbolizing father’s service to the nations.

I convert the leftover potato soup into a Polish breakfast borscht for father, by adding vinegar, chopped pieces of Polish sausage and hard-boiled eggs. He sits up facing the spectacularly sunny view as I help him eat the borscht.

The first part of the day father smiles when friends arrive. He wakes from time to time and seeing Bobby or Brett at his bedside, smiles, and speaks their name. He squeezes Marie’s hand. When a Polish friend calls, father listens and mouths, “I love you,” into the phone. After his borscht he wants to sit on the side of the bed. I hold him there as he slips his arm around my waist.

No more conversations--he has spoken all his words for this life time, and words a-plenty they were! Good words, lasting words, loving words.

Brett, Bobby, Harold and Steven take care of business--meals, greeting visitors, running errands. Father sleeps restlessly. We take turns sitting with him.

I receive a call from Chicago--pipes have burst in the condo above ours and water is rapidly leaking into our unit. Though I think it futile, I try to waken father. “Dad, Harold has to leave for the airport. He is going back to Chicago,” I speak into his ear. He immediately rises up as if he wants to stand to hug Harold.

“What do I do?” Harold asks. I suggest he sit and hold him on the side of the bed as I had earlier. They sit huddled together, Harold overcome with emotion. Then, holding him up, Harold prays a simple prayer for God to please take Chester home, quietly and peacefully. He hugs father, and gently lays him back down.

Steven drives Harold to the airport. I sit at father's side while Bobby and Brett talk with cousins Nancy and Floyd in the living room. Bobby walks back to join me. Bobby’s grandfather, the same age as father, died exactly one month before--to the day. Bobby recently told me the story about his whole family being with his grandfather for so many days and nights in the hospital. When he died though, Bobby was home sleeping, he missed being there with him.

I walk out to the door to say good-bye to the relatives. After they leave, Bobby calls my name. “I don’t know what happened, Cheryl. He took two breathes a little louder than usual. I was waiting for him to take the next breath and… I don’t know what happened.”

I look at father’s still face, not laboring to breathe, “Bobby, he’s passed on. Look, he’s at peace.” I am only happy for father in that moment.

I do not yet realize I will never hear the phone ring again in the early evening and know it is father calling to ask about my day, calling to ask about each of his grandchildren. I do not yet realize I will ache to plant his garden with him in May. I do not yet realize no one on earth will feel my loss the exact same way, and a solitary mourning is coming.

“Bobby, you may have missed being with your Grandfather when he died, but you were there for my father. Thank you.”

Before I know it, father’s friends gather, saying they felt compelled to come over. Bobby calls the hospice nurse. She gives him instructions. Brett hugs me and says he is heading back to Virginia Beach.

He was here when we needed him--I had a good night’s sleep, Harold had help, and the day proceeded smoothly--and now he's gone.

Today I knew angels, and father met God.