My feeling of grief

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, and I thought as a child. But when I became an adult, I grew far beyond my childhood, and now I have put away the childish ways.

- 1 Corinthians 13, 11

This verse runs through my mind, along with thoughts running as swift as the White River here in Indiana, during a flood.

My father, lying in a darkened nursing home room, was close to death. But as he reached for my hand and looked at me intently, he was fully aware that his daughter was at his side.  He told me I love you and I said the same. I answered as confidently as I could despite the tears in my eyes and the quiver in my voice. I knew he was almost ready to begin his journey home to God. But I'm not ready and don't want to deal with this by myself.  The next day a nurse from hospice came to sign my dad up for the program. I asked how long do you think he has? She answered days maybe a couple of weeks. That day he never opened his eyes or spoke a word. I busied myself downloading pictures of him to make a video. For his funeral showing. I went home after sitting with dad for the last 8 hours. I was tired. I awoke to a ringing phone that Monday morning I dreaded answering it, feeling immediately awake. The nurse told me dad had passed away in his sleep peacefully.  Oh God I cried running down the stairs to tell my sister. It had been a long, agonizing 17 months watching my father go from a stroke, the   ICU, dialysis, dementia trying to take his mind, and having to learning to walk again. He'd improve all around only to worsen again to finally needing more and more care as his heart continued to decline and finally just gave out. I was trying to do my best but never feeling adequate to the task.  With my father’s death, memories of the months of exhaustion, fear, self-doubt, second-guessing-and, yes, complaining, "When will all this end, when will I get some help?"- Those thoughts instantly vanished. I had experienced the death of loved ones before, but never did it hurt like this. I was almost 50 years old, but I felt helpless. The death of my father has affected my ability to sleep.  But mixed in with that is also a sense of relief along with the grief. I will see a place we went together or hear a song and the tears come. I am usually alone when this happens. But I try to keep it all together. We may have lived enough years to be an adult but we will always be a child in relation to our parents. Even if we find ourselves "parenting our parents" before their death. With all the memories I am finding it is the father of my youth and childhood that was buried.  His last hospitalization he flat lined and stopped breathing, a nurse told me I should start preparing for his death. it is virtually impossible to prepare ourselves emotionally for the loss. When it is our parent it sounds kind of cliche to say he had a long life and was suffering surely it is a blessing to know he is with Jesus now. But that is what I have to believe. I would like to be a child again and hug my daddy one more time.