This is day four of my wait in the hospital with dad one year ago before his death. Waiting was the operative word. Waiting, contemplating, remembering.
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Dad as a new father
8/29/10, 5:30pm
Hello Friends,
Today was a “hurry up and wait day.” I spent the whole day at the hospital. It is Sunday and the elders at my church graciously told me to stay with my dad. So I had a little mini worship time at the bedside as dad predominantly slept. The report from Denise is that the whole church prayed earnestly for dad and me with many tears. What a church Body! Reminiscent of the compassion of Jesus in so many ways.
Dad was in more or less a holding pattern today. It did not seem the he declined significantly. But what I noticed most was his silence. He could make out very few words today. He understood me often times, I could tell it in his eyes. But words let alone sentences were just not there.
He had periods today when the pain did get intense. I could tell because he would grip his fist and often times raise his right arm from the bed. I’m thinking that his abdomen is beginning to send some pretty strong signals as the intestine continues to degrade. The proper medical term is “ischemic.” It means loss of blood flow. Part of his intestine is growing ischemic. And ultimately it could rupture, unless other vital organs shut down first.
I hope this is not gross to speak like this. I have tremendous compassion for my father, and I have shed many tears for him. But I am also realistically facing what is happening inside of his body right now. Infection is growing. And I can hear fluid building in his lungs.
Dad the fisherman in one of his favorite locations in Baja, Mexico
They upped his morphine dose today. He is now on a baseline of 2 ml/hr. In addition, I asked the doctor and got permission to have “the button.” When a wave of pain comes, I have the ability to administer an extra “hit” of morphine as I deem necessary. Again, the doctors have been so outstanding here in understanding what is needed for a person who is facing death.
I had several from church visit me today. This was welcomed. Of course, dad could not speak, but I think he recognized the support it represented to me. I am honest when I say that I could not live without the Body of Christ. I love her through and through – even with all her imperfections.
Here’s another thing – A failing body loses all hopes of vanity. Growing old is not for sissies. For a lot of years now, Dad has had to accept others who touch him, see him, aid him, feed him. Perhaps this has all been preparation for now? Of course, he is covered now, but his Body lies still waiting for death…. and then freedom.
That’s what the Bible claims. In fact, the Biblical metaphor is a “tent” (2 Cor 5:1). A flimsy tent that covers us for a number of decades. But it was never meant for permanent service. In fact, you can imagine how much an REI tent could get weathered after a few decades of service. It would be in tatters! Wind, rain, snow, and constant use – they would all take their toll.
This why the Bible claims that Christ is preparing us spiritually for a new dwelling, a new body. A spiritual body that can never become corrupted like this one. Sorry if some think I have “gone to preaching;” it is kind of in my nature.
I have gone home at night for the last four nights. I intend to do this again tonight, and then return tomorrow to do it all over again. The nurses have my cell number and plan to call me if his condition changes.
It is a very strange feeling waiting for my father to die. How can I even put this into words? He is a man I love and cherish. Yet at the same time, I’m eager for him to be delivered from this body of pain.
With hope for much more,
Brian
Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands (2 Cor 5:1)
Brian Boone 
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