Celebrating my father’s milestone of 90 years is a testimony to God’s faithfulness. When I think back to my mother’s passing and how we thought he would all pass away, I am filled with gratefulness. My most vivid memory is the Monday after my mother’s funeral. I reposted a previous entry to remember.
The main lesson my mother always taught me was: to be grateful for little things and search for praises in the midst of the storms of life. However, I struggled to think this way yesterday.
The call came while I was leaving the grocery store. “We didn’t see your dad at breakfast, so we went looking for him, ” the desk clerk explained. ” We found him on the bathroom floor. The room was in disarray. He was unresponsive, so we called the ambulance who took him to the hospital.” I clutched the phone, in disbelief. “No! This cannot be happening!” I cried. “What hospital?” I sped out of the parking lot and headed to the familiar path on M-6, crying as I drove. “Please, God. Don’t take him”. I couldn’t bear the thought of my dad leaving us, so soon after my mother’s passing. I remembered a friend, describing her parents’ double funeral and how it caused me to burst out in tears. I don’t think I could take it. My mind went back to Sunday. What happened to cause a fall? Was it his low blood sugar? We enjoyed such a wonderful day at my brother’s house. He was quite sad, but I left him at Royal Park on Sunday evening and he seemed better. A myriad of thoughts filled my mind as I frantically drove the familiar highway.
Since the hospital was unfamiliar, my brother met me so I could follow in my faithful van, Salsa. The drive seemed to take forever as we weaved through the Holland streets. Upon arriving, we both found parking spots in the busy lot. Why are so many people at the hospital? I found it depressing to think of people spending time at a hospital on a Monday morning. I wished for a school parking lot instead where children with backpacks exited cars, filled with excitement for a new day.
Words were few as we entered the hospital doors and headed to the emergency room area. At first, the security guard told us that he hadn’t arrived yet, causing us to wonder since I had driven from Cutlerville and Royal Park was nearby. Apparently, there was some mix-up with the volunteer who was supposed to find us and we headed to the room. Flashbacks of the summer when my mother fell entered my mind. The scene, eerily familiar, made me shake my head in disbelief. Would that experience repeat with my father?
My dad, in an agitated state, was unresponsive as we talked and encouraged him. “Hi, Dad!” we expressed as we held his hand and patted his head. Unfortunately, his hearing challenges prevented any type of music therapy. The doctor ordered a series of tests and we waited. Each test came back negative– no stroke, no urinary tract infection, etc, etc. For that, we were grateful and I could feel myself calming down.
However, the most difficult conversation came with the neurologist. “Do you know how he takes his medications?” he inquired. I described how Waterford had been dispensing the meds and then we moved my dad back to Royal Park where he resumed taking them by himself. “My brother fills the 30-day supply box and he takes his meds in the morning and evening”, I explained. But as I looked at his face, I knew what he was thinking and felt myself wither. “You don’t think….”I paused and felt the emotion welling up like a water spout, ready to burst. “We have to ask,” he gently responded. “No! I could never forgive myself”, I barely uttered. ” I have wondered, though.” Suicide prevention training, a session I attended this past spring, included information about elderly people who decided that life is too difficult to bear and head this route. As the day continued, however, this did not seem to be the reason for my dad’s fall.
The day ended with me staying the night with my father, a scene that reminded me of July 10 when we remained at the hospital with my mother, awaiting surgery. It was a crazy and sleepless night because my father was confused and disoriented most of the time. I acted like a mother to him at times. ” GO TO SLEEP!” were my instructions. “What? Isn’t it morning?? ” he would ask, genuinely puzzled. My brother’s 5:30 arrival filled me with relief and I headed back home.
The day began as a struggle, but I ended with it gratefulness since my father did not break a bone. They are still not quite sure the reason for his fall, but he is receiving excellent care. It reminded me of my mother’s comments during challenging situations: Always find something for which you are grateful. It reminded me of teaching friends who encourage others with the phrase: Choose joy. It brought back to mind the black, rectangular box we placed on the table at my mother’s funeral: blessed. As the journey continues, I will remind myself of this word.
Blessed- the word is one I need to remind myself often as I find myself struggling with different emotions as I continue teaching. I struggle with knowing my purpose after being an interim principal. Why was I in that role, God? Why are people still angry with me? Why did I lose an actual friend over this position?
However, I am blessed to have a teaching position, even when people continue to do things I do not understand. I am blessed to have three children who love the Lord and faithfully attend church. I am blessed to live in Indiana, a state close enough to allow a three-hour trip to visit my father and in-laws.
As this journey continues while living in the Hoosier state, I need to remind myself of my mother’s words: Always find something for which you are grateful. On this Mother’s Day, I will repeat her words to myself and thank God for His constant provisions.
A Journey Worth Remembering 