I first learned the diagnosis and prognosis on Tuesday afternoon. My father told me he was in advanced stage stomach cancer. No treatments. I was in shock. Dad’s voice was very weak and the strain in his voice acted like an alarm in my heart. I was not going to wait until the 22nd to travel as had been my plan, and began plans to leave the very next day. I thought long and hard about what I needed to say, what he might need to hear, and how I might be of help to him. To say that a torrent of regrets and fears roiled about inside of me is an understatement. “Nothing to do but pray,” I told myself as I packed. “Each step will be guided,” an inner voice spoke to me as I boarded the plane. I knew I had made the right decision to ask my husband to come along. I needed his strength for what I had to face.
When I first walked in the door, in familiar voice “Is that Gretchen?” came from within the bedroom. I crawled up on dad’s bed to wrap my arms around him, and maybe even more truthfully, to have him wrap his arms around me. We covered the most important news of the last several days and solidified the plan that Dad and Nita intended him to stay at home, comfortable and surrounded by those he loved. I asked him, “Do you remember when we used to take those family trips up to the mountains?” “Yes,” he answered with a little knowing grin. Remember how we had to do a lot of the packing together, just you and me?” He shook his head as we shared that knowing look. “It wasn’t much fun, was it? The packing part I mean.” I paused as he took his time to recall those trips of years ago. “But then when we got to the mountains, it was all worth it, wasn’t it?” “Yes. Those were some of the best memories of our family’s life. I wanted to take you on
those trips to share with you the beauty I had encountered there. There is nothing like it. It was a good thing to do.” Expressing gratitude for those shared moments on the mountains, tears filled my eyes. I could nearly see the peaks in front of us as we reminisced. Never before had the memories felt so priceless. As I had planned to say, I told dad, “Well, dad, I am here to help you pack for your journey”. I paused, “It isn’t going to be fun,” then waited for the words to rest in his ears. “But I am here, dad, to help you. And the view from the mountain top is going to make it all worth it.” After talking a bit about vantage points from the mountain peak, I added, “You will not travel this journey alone, dad. God will guide you. I will walk with you as far as I can. You don’t have to know exactly where you are going … just listen for the piano playing. He said, “No, I am serious.” I said, “I am too. God has a funny way of getting your attention.” “Don’t worry dad, the path will be clear.” We had a long conversation and later added, “Scripture says that Jesus promises to come within our lifetime.” “No one really knows what that means. But what I think that means, dad, is that you have Jesus meeting you to help you.” He asked me to repeat the verse and nodded his head. I told him, “You will see all those who have gone before you … and since there is no time in heaven, you aren’t going to be waiting around for us all to show up. I think we will all be there with you … even those generations you haven’t even yet met.” We have several conversations after that … and lots of prayers. I asked him to think about the most beautiful place he had ever seen. He answered, “Bryce National Park and Zion National Park.” We talked some about his trip which is in a separate entry … and I encouraged him to spend time thinking about that view … that he should try to recall those scenes and times when the journey became difficult.” He said that sounded like a good thing to do.It was Saturday morning when I entered the room to see dad sleeping. He was moving his arms with a sweeping motion. I watched as he moved his head as if listening to someone. Dad had been up off and on most of the night. He had been uncomfortable, but would not admit to any pain. His had expressed a wish to make it through the night. In the night he kept talking about things he had yet to accomplish, “I need to get things right. There is still a lot to do.” The day before, he articulated some fears that he was not yet prepared and wondered if he should have spent more time studying … if his lack of knowledge was going to be a barrier to knowing where he was going or how it was he was going to get where he needed to go. I had reassured him that he was not alone on this journey, and that God was preparing and had prepared him fully. He talked about getting a call earlier and had asked the friend if he knew how to get to heaven. He said, “I don’t think he had taken me seriously or just did not know what to say. I really wanted him to tell me. I was serious.” Dad had said it was a confusing time for him, because just days before he was so miserable, and now that all the children had come, he was feeling better. “It’s a strange thing. I don’t think I understand it.” And now in the early morning, it looked as though he had turned a corner on his journey.
Dad woke up to see me there and I said, “You slept! You made it!” He looked at me with such gentle clear eyes, scanning mine. “It is beautiful. Everything is right,” he said. I waited. “Everything is right. The path before me is straight and clear.” He ran his hands over his eyes as he said, “It’s just an amazing thing.”
There was a long pause and he said, “Everything is soft and gentle this morning.” “Yes” I said. “It is.” He touched my face. I asked him if I could read my devotions from the morning and he said a long drawn out “yes”, nodding his head. The devotion was from the November 14th entry in Faith Alone, devotion entries from Martin Luther’s writings. Dad watched me carefully and listened. It was all about Christ’s victory accomplished on our behalf. The text came from John 16:33. “I’ve told you this so that my peace will be with you. In the world you’ll have trouble. But cheer up. I have overcome the world.” Part way through, when the words talked about “battles” being fought, that Christ accomplished everything … “we don’t need to add anything to it”, he closed his eyes. His breathing slowed way down. When I read, Christ says, “I have already won. Accept my victory. Sing about it and glorify it. Take comfort in it,” his breathing stopped for a moment. I was about to panic, but prayed and continued. God will help us with also to hold on to Christ’s victory during out troubles and when we’re dying, I read.
Dad slipped into another reverie for a few minutes. I waited. When he opened his eyes he said, “It’s amazing what I see. The vastness of it.” He paused. “History. History back through time.” He described scenes as snapshots of history going backwards, as though he were describing what he was seeing … the 30s, the immigration, even back through some time that involved people foraging for food. “You know I have always loved history, studying it. Now I see it.” A long pause followed. “I look back”, he turned his head as though looking. “So much confusion. So much conflict. It’s hard to describe. I see so clearly, back through history … and forward … it is all laid out. The path is straight and clear” he gestured with his arms as though looking out over a vast landscape beyond description. “Everything is right.” There is such peace in his face. I talk to him about the journey he is on. I said, “Maybe it is like going from Bryce National Park into Zion National Park (something he had described for me earlier). I said, “You have looked out from the mountain top. You know you can see things there you cannot see unless you are at the mountain top.” He said, “Yes. It is like that, but so much more.”
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