Finish Line

 "Dad is dying"

I was in my tree stand 16 feet above the ground when I received the text from my sister, over 900 miles away. It was not a surprise, but it was a shock. Dad's health had been declining from Parkinson's, and that decline accelerated sharply after a fall that resulted in a hip replacement. With a compounding cascade of issues post-surgery, I began preparing for this inescapable moment. 

I sat in my stand until dark, but I wasn't interested in the hunt anymore. I climbed down, and walked back to the truck. I planned to spend the weekend at the ranch, but now I knew my place was at home.  

We became yet another family unable to sit with a hospitalized loved one due to the Covid pandemic. Brutal isolation was added to our woes. 

I am numb. For now, I need to be strong to help mom navigate decisions as best as I can. There will be time enough to mourn later, privately. 

My logical mind is processing the mortality of my father. The man I saw for the last couple years was a little less like dad each time I saw him. Age and illness stripped his strength and vitality, but never his love. 

The adult me knew this season was coming, but the little boy inside cannot reconcile that dad's time with us is nearing it's end. 

Dad continued to serve in ministry into his early 80s. He was the epitome of a servant leader, a high mark that I can only hope to aspire to. 

Hospice has entered the picture. Modern medicine, amazing as it is, can do no more for dad other than provide comfort. And so we await the inevitable.  

I spent a third of my life under his roof, and two thirds more beneath his gentle shadow - a shadow I cannot outrun, so I choose to embrace it.

He taught me how to be a man by example more than by words. How to lead, how to serve, how to love.

Dad was not a perfect man, but he was close enough for me. 

Post Script:

I wrote the above entry just after I heard that dad was dying,  two weeks ago. I drove back to Tennessee to be with family, and was able to see dad in hospice a couple days before he was promoted to heaven. I was thankful we had that final time to talk. He was not responsive, but I think he heard me. 

I told him that I would take care of the family now in his place. That it was OK for him to step into eternity. There was nothing between us but love. 

Dad  fought the good fight, he finished his race, he kept the faith; and he finished well.  

 Is is well with my soul.