I need to tell you about the last day before I tell it too many times and it begins to morph.
The kids and I just returned from a delicious cool Florida partly sunny day at Tree Tops Park. We picked up the little Thompson kids and mom and were met by Miss Irene who brought a huge bunch of cold cuts etc. from the grocery store. We played and hiked and goofed off. I took lots of pictures of trees and kids.
I wrote you about Dad's fall on Saturday. I learned in the car this afternoon from Peter that as I left for Home Depot (just before Dad's fall) Michael had called. Peter overheard the conversation and said that he had not heard Grandpa enjoy such a lucid conversation in a long time. I am glad to learn of his last conversation with Mike.
When he fell he was at his bathroom sink wanting to comb his hair. His hand can't even reach to his head to do this task. As Dad wants to do what he wants to do Peter left him a few moments to put some clothes away. Then Dad fell straight backward and landed his head on the corner of the portable feeding table base, cutting it on the metal corner. Kilby heard and called out for Cal who came running to help Peter.
Cal tried to stand Dad up the way they always worked it before. But since the fall he has never been able to put his feet on the ground. As soon as his legs would be straightened out, his feet would cross and it was nearly impossible to get them apart. Finally Cal had to pick him up around the chest and lift his long body off the floor and carry him to the bed. They called me on the cell phone to tell me to bring home butterfly closures. When I arrived I found Dad on his tummy, his face squashed in a puddle of moisture on the sheet under him, Cal standing by his side with an ice pack on top of a gauze patch, applying gentle pressure, to keep the blood from flowing and the goose egg from growing. When we pulled the ice pack and gauze away, the cut was still slowly bleeding and we didn't think we could apply the bandages yet.
I cleaned up some of the streaks of blood from his hair and face. He was alert and, I suppose, miserable; occasionally trying to get at his cut with his hand. Peter was assisting. We finally decided to call hospice nurse to see if they could send some sort of help. We were informed that once a patient falls, the hospice nurse must come out to assess the situation. That was a relief--just having someone else to help. Perhaps she would be able to help me change his pants, too. Now that he was in bed to stay for awhile, but with a head injury, I didn't know how I was going to manage.
I took over the ice pack holding to release Cal to work on the exam he was supposed to be writing for a class he is taking at the seminary, due on Monday. We also had a painter in the house, supposedly completing a painting job he was supposed to have finished a week ago. He ended up leaving the job undone without saying goodbye. Things were a little confused.
We continued watching the videotape of Mom's memorial service with old movies appended while we waited over an hour for the nurse to arrive. I had given Dad a sedative shortly after I had arrived home, along with two tylenol. He was mostly quiet and cooperative. He glanced over at the video from time to time.
When Kim, the emergency-care hospice nurse arrived she quickly cleaned and dressed and closed the wound, agreeing with our decision not to transport Dad to the emergency room. She changed him and helped me get him comfortable after assessing his injuries. She was pretty sure he had not broken anything though he was complaining bitterly of pain in his right thigh. She decided he should have continuous care for at least 24 hours, but offered an in-home x-ray to see if he'd broken anything. She spoke with Michael and he suggested we wait 24 hours and then see what was going on. She ordered him an Rx of tylenol with codeine for pain.
Kim was in the dining room, writing up her reports, and I went up to watch over Dad, relieving Peter of the duty. Dad was trying to get out of bed. So I helped him to help himself. He was not getting very far, but I wasn't stopping him. Kim came up and helped move him to his chair. He was not able to walk and we had to carry him between ourselves. I already wrote you about this and his momentary passing out. Perhaps it was pain.
He stayed in his chair all evening. I took him a supper tray of a turkey/cheese/rice casserole we'd had for dinner. He ate a little, mostly played with his food, shifting it around in different piles on his plate like a toddler who doesn't want to eat. Sometimes falling asleep with his fork in his hand and on the plate. When the first continuous care nurse, Portia Grant, came at 8 p.m. he was still working on it. She tried to feed him a little. Then she tried to transfer him to the bed herself and had to call me back (we were finishing devotions). We worked at it together, but while she was setting him up for changing him in bed, we discovered his mouth was full of food. We cleared it out and eventually he figured out our intent and helped by spitting the rest out into a basin.
I sat with Dad and Portia until about 10:30 when Cal came to invite me to a private viewing of "Shall We Dance" (Japanese movie with English subtitles made in 1996) in our room. We went to bed after midnight. I couldn't sleep. I lay there struggling with thoughts.
One of those that came to me quite suddenly and clearly, and has since been corroborated by things the nurses have said, was that Dad might have fallen because he was dying. Through the evening I had figured that he might now die because of the fall. Perhaps he had a small stroke standing there at the sink. That would explain why he could no longer stand. And the internal bleeding that we later discovered might have been his body breaking down before he even fell. These are God's secrets and we are content with that.
By 2:30 a.m. I felt compelled to visit Dad. Portia looked as if she had just nodded off. But it was clear she'd been busy with him. She reported that she thought he was declining. He was breathing harder and harder, more and more liquidy. His lungs were clear. I wondered if it were the phlegm he constantly has; his weakness keeping him from getting it out. Perhaps he also was coming down with the cold we'd had this past week.
I read Psalm 23. Then Psalm 27. Portia quoted the first verse along with me. I learned that she and her 6 siblings were raised by Bible-believing parents from Jamaica. Verse 12 says "Give me not up to the will of my adversaries; for false witnesses have risen against me, and they breathe out violence." When I finished this wonderful Psalm I suggested to Dad who was walking through the valley of the shadow of death (and rememeber, Dad, it is only the SHADOW of death!) that perhaps his way was lined with adversaries who were standing ready to accuse him of all his sin. So I read to him the glorious chapter of Romans 8. "There is now therefore no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus....Nothing...not death...can separate us from the Love of God."
I read to him Psalm 25. (Please read it.) Verse 20ff: Oh, guard my soul, and deliver me! Let me not be put to shame, for I take refuge in you. May integrity and uprightness preserve me, for I wait for you. Redeem Israel, O God, out of all his troubles. " I told Portia that my father had been known as a man of integrity. "But, Portia, not all his integrity could bring him before our Holy God. Because of his sin." Portia assented. I reminded Dad and Portia that Dad would stand before God in Christ's righteousness and that was his only hope. (And what a Hope!)
After 45 minutes I left to make a cup of tea for myself. I returned to our dark bedroom where Cal was fast asleep and sat in the rocker and sipped the tea and made a case to God out of His character of mercy that He should take Dad home quickly. Not demanding. Not expecting. Just wanting. And submitted to His will.
I climbed back in bed but could not sleep. I played with a star that was slowly moving out of sight between the newly hung blinds in our room. (For those of you who don't know, we began a renovation of the Master suite two weeks ago. Our bed is now in the alcove where Cal's desk used to be and it is SO pleasant there to see the sky and the trees from our bed!) Every so often I would shift quietly in bed. I was sore with tension and cold (we've had deliciously cool weather) and couldn't get comfortable. Eventually I must have slept because though I had those kind of dreams where you think you're still awake, when I finally got up at dawn I realized the dream I'd just come out of was incredibly silly. I had lain awake figuring I would not try to go to church. And Cal agreed when he learned how little I'd slept.
But I seemed energized. So I moved in a direction to go to Sunday school and church with the family. As soon as I'd finished dressing, the nurse knocked on my door. She needed help turning Dad to change him. She told me that she thought he was declining rapidly. Told me about his vomiting dark coffee colored brown, which was a sign of internal bleeding and probably not the chocolate milkshake I supposed. She also showed me that his stomach seemed hard, another sign. Dad was already breathing harder.
Now I didn't know what to do. Stay home or go? I'd wait and see how things developed. I helped the kids get ready for church. Kilby looked awful and told me she would like to stay home from Sunday school for feeling so poorly. Okay. We'd wait and see about going to church later in the second car. She and I stayed home.
Some of us were down in the kitchen and dining room, getting ready for Sunday dinner when the second nurse arrived. Janet Schneider was "ancient" (as Susan mouthed to me when she saw her) and thin, but a more competent, knowledgeable, gentle nurse I have never met. Of course we didn't know Dad was really dying, but she was certainly hand-picked by God for caring for Dad at the end. She began taking notes in a little notebook from what Portia and I told her. As Portia left, I invited her to our Bible study on Friday nights and she was delighted. If she is not on call that night, she hopes to attend. It was clear to me that the Lord moved her as she witnessed our faith. Janet quietly set about to clean Dad's head wound.
Susan was coming out of her bedroom, dressed in Marilee's old navy strawberry skirt and red sweaters and carrying her music, I saw her catch a glimpse of Grandpa laboring in bed. She was visibly upset. I asked her if she would like to say goodbye to him. I didn't know he was going to die, but if there was the possibility, I didn't want her to walk away from him and never talk to him again. Tears sprung to her eyes and she had a short battle with herself about doing it. I could see she wanted to flee, but knew she should go to him. She did, giving him a kiss on his still-handsome forehead. She came out in tears. That prompted me to send AJ and Peter in as well.
When the last of them had walked out the door for Sunday school, I saw Kilby had taken a perch at his bedside and was reading her poem. I went to sit across from her and listen. Janet asked if we'd like her to leave, and we invited her to stay. Both Kilby and I were crying, trying to regain composure. It occurred to me to run for my camera for
a photo of this beautiful girl doing this last act of kindness. (I think of the chess game she played with him when he first came to visit us here. I have a wonderful photo of it somewhere.) Then Kilby and I sang to him duets of It Is Well with My Soul, Not What My Hands Have Done, To You, Lord, I Fly, and Abide with Me. God granted us as much composure as we needed to make our way through these wonderful lyrics. I sang them boldly proclaiming the gospel to the demons and the hospice nurse alike. Kilby left to fix her makeup. As I began to read John 14 to Dad, he squeezed my hand. Then Psalm 91. I asked Dad if he wanted anything. Did he want some water? No. Did he want some ice chips? No. What do you want, Dad? You.
After a nice conversation with Janet about homeschooling--she was impressed with the kids and asked all sorts of questions about our lives--we left for church. Kilby drove. She's a very good driver. It was nice to relax in the car. I told her about the movie Cal and I had watched.
She dropped me off at the door and parked the car. We entered as they were singing Praise to the Lord, The Almighty. During the congregational prayer, Pastor Addison Soltau (wheaton class of 49?) prayed for Daddy and us. With two cars, Cal and I drove home separately from the kids, talking about changes ahead, wondering how Dad was doing. The day was like today, cool, breezy, lots of clouds scudding across a blue and sunny sky. The kind of day you live in Florida for.
As we climbed the stairs we could hear a noisy death rattle breathing accompanied by Dad's constant moans. I entered the room and saw Janet beginning to change him by herself, her back brace in place to aide her. She reported that he had been crying out earlier "Please, God, please, God, please God..." I added my hands to Dad's back to hold him up for her. Since I was close to his ear I said clearly: I love you, Dad. That is when he said, clearly enough for me to understand, and certainly demonstrating lucidity: "Keep outta this". It was a blessing from God and Dad to me at the end. It has instantly bloomed into a large and gracious benediction to me, retold with laughter now a dozen times. Actually, I was thankful for the release from the room. The death rattle was horrible to behold and I was too weak to endure it. I had whispered to Janet "I can't stay here and hear this. But I'll be happy to be with him at the end if you'll tell me." She told me she thought it could be any time. I left anyway to write you all. And as I was composing the send off sentence that he might be dying soon, she came to tell me that he had just died. I rewrote the sentence later but at that moment followed her back to his room to see Dad's body without his soul in it. I squeezed his hand. I don't remember, maybe I kissed his forehead. Then I began to cry, deep sobs firstly of grief, then of relief, then of joy. They sounded all the same to the nurse, I'm sure, but I knew the difference. She came over and hugged me. I asked her to get Cal because I could not leave. Cal came. We stayed another couple minutes at his side. I called Michael. Then I called Dave who promised to call the rest of you. Then began the detail work. Dad's body was removed an hour and a half later. The nurse had cleaned him up and put a fresh shirt on him--the Florida shirt I bought him a couple years ago.
Figuring that Dad would have wanted it, we proceeded to have our usual weekly feast, celebrating the rest that God had at the beginning after creation, signifying the rest that we shall have when we have followed Dad. We had a very nice chardonnay to accompany a perfectly roasted-on-the-grill pork loin with rosemary. We had a couple hours of great fun laughing and telling dear Grandpa stories (like the time he came down for devotions with shaving cream on half his face, insisting on staying by answering Cal's question that it would take him two hours to finish shaving. Man! Was that ever a long time ago) until it was time to go back to evening church where we heard a wonderful sermon on humbling ourselves, submitting to God, drawing near to Him, and His drawing near to us.
We called several of you when we got home. We went to bed. It is odd to think of him not here. It is wonderful to think of him with the Lord. We will take the next few weeks as they come, trusting the Lord to continue His wonderful guidance.
