In This Waiting Time

Well, this is Hannah again. Here’s a blog I didn’t think I would write. Dad is still with us! Dad got another prognosis that he would pass away in 2 weeks and on Tuesday he will outlive the third prediction of his demise. The swelling in his legs has caused blisters that now constantly leak intravascular fluid. This so-called ‘weeping edema’ actually has relieved a bit of pressure on his body since the fluid his kidney can’t process now has a place to go - down his leg and into puddles on the floor.

When Dad realized his leg would drip constantly he asked, “So when do I die?” Just this morning 4-year-old Nathaniel asked, “When does Grandpa go to Heaven?” His nurse said in 12 years of working in hospice she has only had one other patient who can still walk with this advanced disease. She said, “Your dad is an oddity!” Somehow Dad is not yet bedbound and can still get around with his walker. However, the nurse is encouraging him to use his wheelchair so he doesn’t slip in the fluid. 

My mother-in-law Melissa graciously came down to help us 2 weeks ago. After a few days she decided she could not in good conscience leave us with so much going on that she canceled a big trip and pushed back knee surgery so she could keep helping us. My father-in-law Andrew followed her down and he has taken over cooking so now Dad gets delicious meals of pot roast, chicken pot pie, fried chicken tenders, and much more! Much tastier meals than I was throwing together! I am so incredibly thankful for my in-laws!

Dad has struggled with his increasing limitations and at times pushed back at our efforts to help since he does not want to be a burden and wants his independence. After a rather tense exchange the other day when I insisted on staying and helping and Dad insisted on doing it himself, I read out loud to him another prayer from Every Moment Holy, Volume II. Please continue to pray for Dad and for us. 

A Liturgy of Intercession for One Slowly Losing Function

O Great Giver of Life, 

I would never have wished to see
One I love reduced to such a shell
Of their former life, suspended in
A long languishing, unable to fend or
To tend well their own increasing needs
Enfeebled, dismayed, in steady retreat
From what was once their life

How much frustration must they be
Enduring now, O God, daily confronted
with increasing weakness, limits, and
dependence? Therefore give me empathy,
Insight, and patience to respond with mercy
and kindness to any grief, confusion, or fear
They might inadvertently express as obstinance,
Belligerence, or anger…

I deeply desire that whatever time remains
Might hold for them some profit, some meaning,
Some taste of joy in life. I wish I could
Offer them such gifts. But most days it seems
There’s nothing I can give, save my willingness
To wait, and watch, and serve, and pray, 
  and wait, 
  and wait, 
  and wait -
as one camped with them on a
station platform, watching for a train
that could arrive today, or yet
some months or years ahead. 

O Christ, sometimes there’s little we can do.
Except to learn to turn out hearts to you.
You are building in us what will outlast death
itself. Be at work in such ways now, O God,
in this dear one whose daily engagements with
life are steadily eroding. For we cannot cure
their emotional pain, or make it easy to endure,
or somehow make it right. But you are kind and
good, O God, and even when we do not understand
the mystery of your ways, yet we can learn
to trust that you are also here, and that you
sympathize and wait with us. 

So let us not be afraid to love,
And to love well, this one we are slowly losing.
Let us learn to trust - and let them also learn
to trust, O Lord - that your better purposes are
being accomplished, even in this waiting time.