But a breath

Have you ever looked at the world. The people moving. Going through their normal routines. The grocery store and Starbucks, the local bakery and a run in to the thrift shop, driving to work, listening to the same ol’ songs. Have you ever really looked?

The window in the hallway of the hospital overlooked a busy shopping center. Horns honking, music playing, people bustling around. I stared at them.

For them, life was the same.
But for me, it was different.

“You’ve put up such a hard fight Mark. I can’t even tell you how proud I am of you. But at this point we have to be smart. The radiation is no longer working. At some point we need to decide what’s more important, the quantity or the quality.”

Dr. Barstus said this so matter of factly. Like doctors often do.

I can’t imagine being in their shoes. To tell a man he can’t fight any longer. To tell a wife she’s becoming a widow. To tell a son and daughter their daddy is dying. No wonder they can be so cold.

I didn’t want him to see me cry, so I walked out and stood looking out that window. Praying for God to stop time. Make them STOP. Make it all STOP. I realized in that moment that if time couldn’t stop, then that meant every precious second that ticked by was time I was losing with him.

It’s at that point when you realize that His words ring true…

But each man’s life is but a breath.

A breath. And he was almost done breathing. 

The next few weeks were spent at the home I grew up. My dad watched me grow from daddy’s lil girl to a parent myself. We spent a lot of time crying, and laughing, and visiting with old family and friends. Most of them being able to leave and go on to their normal routines, the grocery store and Starbucks. But a few minutes with them was refreshing… it was a small glimpse of memories long forgotten. Time gone by.

Thanks to some of the most amazing a selfless friends I was blessed beyond imagine. I got to spend a lot of time at that home. They watched my kids, cleaned my house, cooked me dinner. My husband orchestrated it all so I could be where I needed to be. By his bedside.

I won’t tell you that it was pretty. I wish it was, like a movie or novel when you get to say everything you needed to say, and all the words come out so poetically. It wasn’t like that at all. It was mostly worrying and waiting.
TICK TOCK TICK TOCK. 
The sound of the clock becomes almost deafening.

But in those weeks came some of the best memories. And a gift that supersedes all… My dad accepted Christ. (I’ll share a little more on that later). Even in tragedy God bestows miracles. It’s hard to see in those moments, but I know it to be true.

“Usually someone in this condition can go 7-10 days. I’ve seen some as long as 14, but not in the poor health Mark is.” The hospice charge nurse said to us. So I shouldn’t have been surprised on Day 15 to get the call that dad had passed. That was my dad. A jokester of sorts. He always had to prove you wrong. Always have the last laugh. Even at the end of his days here on Earth, he wanted to let us know who was in control.

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I took this picture of my dad for a Father’s Day present. Him in all his glory. 

Love you dad and miss you more than words can say. 

Can’t wait to see you one day. 

I also posted the beautiful slideshow my sister in love made to celebrate his life here

You can visit her website here