I mentioned yesterday that my father is bedridden and that things aren’t looking good. I’ve lost count of how many times in the last four years we’ve gathered as a family, thinking he was at the end.
Each time he’s bounced back, like some unseen force keeps pulling him back for a few more rounds.
Mood music:
When I visited him last Sunday, he was too tired to talk much. He just wanted to sleep. I’ve seen him that way many times, but this time I got the sense that it’s getting harder for him to perk up. He’s said many times that he doesn’t want to live like this and be a burden to others.
But he keeps hanging on.
He wants to make sure his affairs are in order and that he leaves his family with the tools to survive, specifically, financial tools. Part of me feels like he should be allowed to leave, to be free of his broken body once and for all. Part of me respects him for being such a survivor, even when life doesn’t seem worth surviving.
I know that how this ends will be up to God. We can hope for things all we like, but God makes the final call.
It’s hard as hell for us mortals to sit around and accept that. We want to do something, to make some kind of plan and see it through, whether it’s family wanting to know the full path ahead or my father wanting to maintain some control, to run the timetable and tie up loose ends.
Although we know how little control we have, we continue to cling to our hopes and impulses. It’s an uncomfortable place to be. It will sort itself out, because it always does. I’m just praying for the strength to do what God wants of me.
If I figure out how to do that, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, any prayers for my father are appreciated.
