I contributed to my DVD horde today by purchasing some Gilmore Girls (I'm not afraid to admit that I like this show) and the two volumes of Warner Bros. Holiday DVD Collection. My, that's a lot of DVDs in my collection. Anyway, I watched the first disc in Volume 1 of the collction, Boys Town (and on the flip side, Men of Boys Town. What a great movie or two. Both of these spoke to something in my heart, but more of that later.
I started watching A Christmas Carol from 1938 with Reginald Owen as Scrooge. And I got to thinking about our life in America today, what our expectations are about things, and all that kind of thing. In particular, about Christmas. I could go on about how commercialized Christmas has become and how we might just as well call it X-Mas for all we don't think about Christ and His birth. (And yes, I know the "x" really does stand for Christ, but in today's world, it's not understood or generally meant as a substitute for Christ). And to be honest, I've played a bit into this commercialism this year, but I do it out of love rather than obligation. ($200 isn't too much to spend on my mother, but don't let her read that! LOL.)
What is Christmas for beside a celebration of the birth of our Savior? I think spending time with family is important. In the past, I've always looked forward to Christmas. This year, though, with the death of my father, I've been dreading these holidays. When I think about it, that he's gone, it truly brings me to tears. And my poor mother, all alone now. She and my father had made plans, well, not so much plans as enjoying being with each other, and they were looking forward to retirement.
Again, I know I'm not the first person to lose a parent, and I'm blessed that he was around for as long as he was. And still, it hurts more than I can tell. As a friend who has passed this way told me, this is not something you can practice for or really even prepare for. You can expect it, but that's it. I know he's out of his suffering, and still it hurts. I can only trust that God will see us all through.
Showing posts with label father. Show all posts
Showing posts with label father. Show all posts
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Gone
It's been a while since I last posted.
My father passed away at 4:30 a.m. on May 6, 2008. I went home May 2 (after watching Iron Man) not so much to say goodbye as to let him know I was there and be a support for my mother. And to be there with him. I often downplay my role in anything, like this wasn't about me. But then I realized, this was about all three of us: my mom, my dad, and me. We're a family, and this happened to all us, not just him or her or them.
And I haven't known completely how to grieve; I've mostly been just numb. For my father's sake, we're glad he's not suffering any longer. (Those last few days, when the medical staff were administering morphine for pain management, we discovered the morphine was 40% effective at best, as his veins were collapsing or infection was blocking the central line.) We had hoped, of course, that he would recover from the brain cancer, but we also knew it was an uphill battle. And we're confident he's in heaven now, glorifying Jesus.
On Memorial Day, I hadn't gone to sleep until 5:30 a.m. from the night before, and I had a dream that my cat (Clark) was killed in an explosion. It was framed as an angry woman dressed all in red planting explosives in a house as revenge against the home owner. Clark ran away from the house but returned the next morning. I had to leave Clark at the house to go take care of some business, and then the house exploded (I was a couple of miles away but heard the explosion). Someone told me the house exploded; I asked about the homeowner and was told he wasn't even around. Then I asked about Clark and was told he didn't make it.
In my dream, I began weeping and wailing for what seemed like hours. Loudly. Very loudly. I woke up weeping and wailing, and I immediately looked for Clark (he was at the foot of the bed, breathing). Then, I realized the dream wasn't about Clark at all but about my father (just in case you didn't pick up on that bit). And I wept for another 30 minutes or so until I just ran out of tears. God assured me that I would have plenty more times to cry for him, and that it's all good. And I have cried quite a few times since then.
My mom and I miss him terribly.
My father passed away at 4:30 a.m. on May 6, 2008. I went home May 2 (after watching Iron Man) not so much to say goodbye as to let him know I was there and be a support for my mother. And to be there with him. I often downplay my role in anything, like this wasn't about me. But then I realized, this was about all three of us: my mom, my dad, and me. We're a family, and this happened to all us, not just him or her or them.
And I haven't known completely how to grieve; I've mostly been just numb. For my father's sake, we're glad he's not suffering any longer. (Those last few days, when the medical staff were administering morphine for pain management, we discovered the morphine was 40% effective at best, as his veins were collapsing or infection was blocking the central line.) We had hoped, of course, that he would recover from the brain cancer, but we also knew it was an uphill battle. And we're confident he's in heaven now, glorifying Jesus.
On Memorial Day, I hadn't gone to sleep until 5:30 a.m. from the night before, and I had a dream that my cat (Clark) was killed in an explosion. It was framed as an angry woman dressed all in red planting explosives in a house as revenge against the home owner. Clark ran away from the house but returned the next morning. I had to leave Clark at the house to go take care of some business, and then the house exploded (I was a couple of miles away but heard the explosion). Someone told me the house exploded; I asked about the homeowner and was told he wasn't even around. Then I asked about Clark and was told he didn't make it.
In my dream, I began weeping and wailing for what seemed like hours. Loudly. Very loudly. I woke up weeping and wailing, and I immediately looked for Clark (he was at the foot of the bed, breathing). Then, I realized the dream wasn't about Clark at all but about my father (just in case you didn't pick up on that bit). And I wept for another 30 minutes or so until I just ran out of tears. God assured me that I would have plenty more times to cry for him, and that it's all good. And I have cried quite a few times since then.
My mom and I miss him terribly.
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