Dad Refusing Food

A few days ago, my dad prayed for salvation again. We were listening to Derek Prince, and he suddenly blurted, “I’m on the verge!” He said he was on the verge of salvation. I reminded him that he had already prayed for salvation, but he said he had had reservations, so we did it again.

Now he is not eating.

It’s hard to get straight talk from care providers. I have never had a provider give me anything resembling sufficient warning of a loved one’s impending death. It seems like they never say, “Your relative only has days to live,” no matter how obvious it is. You have to figure it out yourself. My common sense tells me that if he’s not eating, he can’t survive more than a few days.

My feeling, which may be wrong, is that his spirit kept him going because he needed to make a good solid agreement with God. Now that he has done that, it may be that his spirit has decided it’s okay for him to leave.

I will not have him force-fed. Death is normal. Shoving food down a dying person’s throat is not. It’s an act of desperation and denial. If he will not eat, and there is no physical cause which can be treated without unnatural efforts, I intend to control myself and let him go. I don’t know how I’ll stand it, but I’m sure it will be less painful than taking futile actions in a state of panic.

While I was working on getting his DNR in place, the people at the ALF told me what resuscitation was like. They manhandle the patients, pumping their chests and trying to revive them. If it takes half an hour for an ambulance to arrive, that’s how long it goes on. Then they go to the hospital, where they are connected to machines whether or not they’re truly alive. The staffers had been through it before, and they wanted no part of it. Once they had described it to me, I agreed.

I don’t know what more God could have done to give us a graceful and peaceful run-up. He reconciled us to each other, with no lingering reservations. He reconciled my dad to him. He prepared my dad’s estate and showed me my errors. He helped me get the documents in order to assure that my dad would not be tormented by care providers. One of the hard things about being a Christian is figuring out exactly how much God is willing to do for you. This experience has shown me that I have underestimated him.

My old friend Mike had a bad experience this week. He learned he had MRSA in his left big toe, and the next day, it was amputated. Now he’s on IV antibiotics. He has been observing my dad’s progress. He told me how much it moved him. His mother died suddenly, in a car wreck. When his dad died, many things were not resolved. I can understand how my dad’s story would affect him. Anyway, he told me he had been planning to fly down to help me. He was going to go with me on the drive to Kentucky. That’s real friendship. It may not come to pass, but it shows how things are working to make this passage go smoothly.

I’m going to call and look into cremation today. I suppose I should call the funeral home in Kentucky. I don’t want to get caught flat-footed.

I wish my dad had gotten to know God 60 years ago. So much has been wasted. I wish we could have attended church together and prayed together for years. I wish my family had lived in an atmosphere of love and safety instead of darkness and torment. Nonetheless, God has done astounding things with the poor materials we gave him. As the Bible says, the end of a thing is better than the beginning.

When I think of my dad, all I see is the frail, gentle, loving man I know now. It’s hard to picture him as he used to be. I’m grateful for that. I want to remember the wonderful dad I have now. The weakness of his image doesn’t bother me because I see his new heart.

Maybe he’ll get better. Maybe he’ll start eating and live another five years. I’m going to prepare anyway.

I’m going to miss him like crazy. I already do. But our parting will go gently, and my regrets will be overshadowed by my awe and gratitude for the way God has helped us.