Who Cares What Nansi Thinks?

What's in it for me???

My Dad died on November 13, 1989. His death was a most magical experience. He was pretty young, 65 years old. I got a call on Sunday afternoon saying he'd had a massive heart attack and was going to have open heart surgery. My dad's pastor told me to get there as fast as I could because he was not expected to live.

At that time I was pretty involved in the "faith movement" of Christianity. I chided the pastor for not having the faith to believe my dad would be healed. Still we raced through the night from Pennsylvania to Florida.

We came to a cross road at 8:00am. We needed to find out if Dad had made it through the night. If he'd lived, it was on to Orlando Regional Medical Center. If he hadn't made it, we would head to Ormond Beach (Daytona) to stay with relatives and plan the funeral. He'd lived.

We reached the hospital at around 9 am. Dad's doctor was openly astounded that he'd lived. She fully expected to be coming in to sign a death certificate, but there he was, attached to every machine and I.V. bag you could think of--alive. She tried to communicate the hopelessness of the situation, but we stubbornly held on to our faith.

During that day, the waiting room was filled with Dad's friends and family. We are a musical family. My cousins and my sisters and I had all been Sweet Adeline's (the female version of Barber Shop Singers). So we sang all day in four part harmony. Amazing Grace, It Is Well With My Soul, How Great Thou Art, all the good ones!

As evening fell, Dad began to seriously decline. He was already on a respirator and heart pump. Now his kidneys were failing. The end was definitely near. Funny. I've felt death in the nursing home several times in the past year. It's a chaotic and fearful feeling. That was not the case with my dad.

The nurses had latched onto my husband and me. My husband was a critical care RN and spoke their language. He served as a liaison between the medicos and my family. In that last hour the nurses advised us that Dad was slipping again. They could code him, but it wouldn't prolong his life much longer and it's very painful.

All eyes were on ME. I felt we should just let Dad go, and my family concurred. The nurse said, "You know, he doesn't have to die alone. You can be with him." I JUMPED at the chance!!! I bolted into the room to be near my dad in his last minutes.

One by one my family joined me. Mom wouldn't come in. Dad wouldn't die without her.

I finally said to Mom, "Look, he's not going to go until you see him." She was terrified and distant. But she went in.

I said, "Daddy? Mom's here. She's going to come live with Don and me and help me raise Sandi. I need her, you can go now." Mom held his hand. And we watched the line go flat.

More than an electronic flat-line took place. Here's what I sensed: I sensed the presence of God and angels. As Dad's spirit slipped into the next life, I could feel more than just his exit. I believe the angels took him "home." What was left was the most magnificent peace I've ever known. "Peace that passes all understanding."

I wasn't sad. None of us were. There was a sense of elation. Later at the funeral, one of the five ministers who'd flown in for the occasion, quoted Jeremiah "Blessed in the eyes of the Lord is the death of a saint." (Note: I felt this sensation two more times in my life, and I think I understand it better now. When my daughter was born, I felt that mixture of peace and elation. It was even more intense when my son was born. It didn't occur to me at the time, but I think my Dad found his way to the births of his last two grandchildren.)

The nurses had heard us singing hymns all day and placed a call to the chaplain. When he came to see the family, we didn't let him get a word in edgewise. We told him of the many pastors, missionaries, and teachers who had sat under Dad's teaching and had decided to dedicate their very lives to God's service. We told him of the many times Dad had given to different church causes. We were positive that we knew where Dad had gone. The chaplain said, "I came to comfort a grieving family, but I leave instead inspired." Can you think of a higher compliment?

Being able to witness and experience my dad's passing filled me with a resolve to take care of my Mom in his stead. Looking back, I think I was "called" to care for my mom. This is why I worry so for my siblings. They didn't get the call that I got, yet I know they feel like they've let me down in some way. Not so. I'm living out my calling.

So what's in it for me? Do we do anything without a pay off? Here's what I know, when I bury my mother, I will do so with the absolute knowledge that I've done well by her. I've given her the best I can give. I'm confident that her last days are as good as can be. She's not alone. She's not unloved or forgotten.