The Way we Die Needs to Change

I suppose it will seem strange that I’m blogging again on a day like this, but I have to report on what’s happening.

I have been very down since my dad died. It hasn’t been 8 hours yet. I have been thinking over and over about how much I love him and how I wish I had done a better job for him. I wish I could spend a few more minutes talking to him and hearing him talk to me.

People have been calling me all day. I have also heard from them on Facebook. I put an announcement on my dad’s page, and his relatives have responded. Oddly, my mother’s family has not. I don’t know what to make of that. I wonder if they have believed some crazy lie my sister told them about me.

I may not have his funeral in Kentucky. My friends are very supportive and enthusiastic, and almost all of them are in Florida. If my relatives don’t show any interest, I’ll have a gathering here at the house, and then I’ll have my dad buried in Kentucky. My family has had a lot of funerals, and we did them all pretty much the same way, so I had assumed I would follow the pattern, but there is no point in it if my relatives aren’t on board.

I have received emails. I have received blog comments. I am grateful for all of it, and I thank everyone who took the time to say something.

I heard from my friend Mike, the hospice executive, and my friend Freddly, a former CNA who is now a nurse in some kind of management position. They know a good deal about death. Mike is getting a faith-based hospice running, and Freddly has seen many people die. Mike has been keeping up with our story, and tonight I told Freddly about it.

Mike told me some shocking things. He said he was amazed by my dad’s story. He said it was inspiring. He said he had required employees to read my blog. Imagine how surprised I was.

He feels things have gone exceptionally well. He gives me more credit than I deserve; God has stepped in over and over. Nonetheless, Mike tells me people usually die without peace, and their families aren’t much help.

Freddly told me she had only seen two people die the way my dad did, in peace. Two. She has probably seen hundreds of deaths. She said relatives don’t come to people’s bedsides. Families tear at each other. Dying people are in fear while they die; they fight it.

It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that half of the people who die in America have bad deaths, but it was surprising to hear Freddly say she had only known of two people who hadn’t. What has happened to this country? I realize she works in the Miami area, where witchcraft is mainstream and people are hard and shallow, but the statistics should be better.

I haven’t written about my dad’s passing, so I’ll do it now.

This morning, he turned down food and water, but he could speak. I thought I had a few days left to be with him. I started calling around, making preparations for his death. I thought I’d go see him in the early afternoon, and things would be fine. We’d spend some time together, and maybe in a few days or a week, he would leave me.

At around 12:30, if memory serves, someone from the hospice called. She told me that, based on her experience, things were not going well. She said I needed to get over there.

I grabbed my mom’s old Bible, and I went to the ALF. I still thought he would survive the day. When I arrived, he was breathing heavily, and he couldn’t speak. He was on oxygen. He had the death rattle. He looked terrible. I can’t explain it, but it was as though I could see his bones through the skin of his hands and arms.

I sat down with him, and I made sure his oxygen apparatus was situated in his nose correctly. He was touching it, and it seemed to be farther from his nostrils than it should have been, so I fixed that. I sat with him and prayed, and his color improved. He began to look like a human being again. That’s the best way to describe it.

I got my Bluetooth speaker out and played Christian music on it. I told my dad everything I thought he needed to hear. I told him he was the best father a man could ask for, and I meant it. Whatever he was in the past, he became an ideal father over the last few weeks. I told him he owed me nothing. I told him there were no problems between us. I told him I loved him, and that I would not leave him. I said, “If you want to go, you can go. If you want to stay, you can stay.” I said that if he left, he would be with Jesus, and if he stayed, he would be with me.

I told him he had nothing to worry about, and that God was ready to receive him. I reminded him that my mother was waiting. I said I would be with him soon. I can’t remember all the things I said, but I poured out all I had.

I meant everything I said.

I remembered that he liked Derek Prince, so I looked for a video on Youtube. I played the audio from a sermon about thanks and praise. After I chose it, I realized how appropriate it was. He was probably about to enter God’s throne room. I had help choosing that video.

He relaxed. His breath grew less labored. His coloring looked nearly normal.

I remembered something. When I had played Derek Prince for him on other days, he had relaxed and sunk into it to the point where I was afraid he was dying. I asked myself if I was hastening his death by playing the video. He might just let go and sail off with the angels. I felt it was right, however, so I let it play.

I kept my hand on his arm almost the whole time. I rubbed his shoulder. I made sure he had contact. I didn’t know what he could perceive, and I felt he would be aware of my touch even if he couldn’t turn to look at me.

I spoke God’s opposition to any spirits that might be making things difficult.

He stopped making the rattle, and his breath grew extremely calm. He drifted off just as he had during other videos I had played. I couldn’t tell whether he was improving or getting worse. He had color. His hands were warm. He wasn’t agitated any more.

A time came when he was barely moving. I wasn’t sure if he was asleep or dying. Lately, he has slept silently, with almost no movement. He used to snore, but he stopped.

Eventually, I realized I couldn’t see any motion at all. His eyes were open. His mouth was open. I nudged him to see if I could get a reaction. I shook his arm a little. Nothing.

I went to the lady who ran the ALF and asked her to send someone to check him, and she confirmed that he was gone.

He was able to hear me when I arrived. I believe he heard every helpful thing I said. I believe he left this world knowing there was nothing whatsoever between us any more, apart from love.

This is the story I told Mike and Freddly.

Mike is so upset by the way most people die, he wants me to talk to his chaplains. I’m not sure what to do. His hospice isn’t confined to one faith. The brutal truth is that I can only help Christians, and by that I mean Bible-believing Christians who accept the work of the Holy Spirit.

As wonderful as it was to see my dad go peacefully, and as much as I would like to see other people have that experience, a pleasant departure from this world is not a satisfactory goal for me. It’s a temporary blessing, and it’s a by-product. I was always working to get my dad into God’s arms for eternity. The help he got at the end was just the tip of an infinite iceberg. It was a foretaste.

I can’t help Muslims or Jews. I can’t help Mormons. That’s just how it is. I am not here to promote “faith,” as though every religion were equally good. There is only one way to God. People who reject Jesus go to hell. I can’t sit at someone’s bedside and try to make them feel better while the demons wait to take them.

I didn’t make my dad feel better. The Holy Spirit did. I can’t make him show up at the bedside of someone who rejects Jesus. To try would be whoredom on my part.

One of the worst problems Americans have is our pathological determination to force each other to approve of every religion. It’s good not to offend people, but Satan has taken us beyond that, to the point where we tell each other all religions lead to God. It’s not true. Jesus was not tolerant at all. He said, “No man comes to the Father but by me.”

My dad is in heaven right now, with my mother. That’s what matters. God helped with the transition because we were on the right track and we submitted, not because he wants to make life on earth perfect and stress-free for everyone.

Listening to Mike and Freddly made me feel great. It cut the legs out from under my grief. I feel much better than I did earlier. I had been wondering how I would endure the night, but now I can rest.

I feel great because now I see how blessed my dad and I are. Very few people get what we did.

I wonder if I can help anyone else. I almost feel like volunteering to adopt ALF residents and help them prepare. I don’t think that will happen, but I wish I could do something. This world is full of poor seniors everyone wants to forget, and they need help. ALF’s are warehouses we use to get people out of our sight and out of our way. They should be processing centers for Jesus, where the hopeless, lonely, and forgotten fall into God’s arms.

Tomorrow I’ll visit for the last time, as far as I know. I’m going to donate a bunch of things my dad doesn’t need any more. After that, there will be an abrupt end to my practice of going every day. I’ll miss it. It was a burden in some ways, and I need to be free to travel and do things, but I almost always felt great when I walked in and caught sight of my dad. I knew he would be elated as soon as he realized I was there, and we would get to talk and pray. I will also miss a few of the other residents.

I suppose most of the residents I met will be gone in a few months. The turnover is very fast.

Freddly has problem parents, so while I was talking to her, I told her some things I had learned. Maybe she’ll stick with it and get what I got. She says she plans to call and talk regularly.

I can sleep now, so I believe I’ll go do that. God has blessed my dad and me beyond anything I could have imagined. God is faithful, and he is ready to give us more good things than we can guess. Keep pursuing him, and you will find relief you never knew was possible.