Dad's Last Four Years

For much of Dad's final four years, I was his roommate and primary caregiver. Recently, I was talking with a friend and we were reminiscing about our late parents, and as he was speaking, it dawned on me that Dad did not spend one night in a hospital or long-term care facility during those years. Not even one night! In fact, his last overnight stay in a hospital was for a minor heart condition about 15-17 years ago.

Dad had several doctors, primary care (basic care and routine bloodwork), urologist (treatment for a moving kidney stone), neurologist (testing and medications), podiatrist (toe nail trimming), even a surgeon's consultation (for an opinion on a troublesome hernia). He used the local hospital for some tests, x-rays, and a renal stone crush procedure, but he never required hospitalization. Think about how remarkable that is for someone in his mid-80s and facing the natural end of his life.

What can I conclude? Dad was very blessed! And my sister, brother, and I were too!

Tropical Storms & Dad

We're getting ready for another tropical system (Hurricane Michael) to sweep across south GA. I bought some water and a few supplies yesterday to prepare. But I also had a flashback to September of last year. A tropical system came through the area with 60+ mph winds and heavy rain, which downed trees and caused extensive area-wide power outages.

Dad had become a bit of a roamer, but on that day, I didn't have to worry about him slipping away. The wind and rain kept him confined, but we eventually lost power during the worst of it. As soon as it let up, we drove the van around town to give us a break from being house-bound. That's when I realized that we would be without power for awhile, after seeing the damage the storm had caused. It was only  two days and two nights, not long at all compared to other storm events, but Dad and I really depended on lights and TV. For the last year of his life, Dad didn't care much for TV or sports or the Braves. He couldn't hear it anymore, but between magazines and TV, he could be content and mentally occupied by it in the evenings before bedtime. So for two nights, we sat side by side, with no TV, no AC, no internet for me, and with only flashlights, not enough light to read by. So what did we do? We rediscovered the art of conversation. Amazing huh? Go figure!

Night time was never easy. I often had trouble sleeping, listening for Dad, in case he needed me, but those nights were most difficult because of the darkness of the house. We made it fine. When the power came on two days later, I was grateful, and he was too. He knew things were returning to normal, and I was relieved.

Hurricane Michael, I guess I'm ready to face you too. And I would be OK if Dad were here to keep me company, but honestly, I'm happier that he's home.

Dad's Birthday

Today would have been Dad's 87th birthday. It seems strange not being able to tell him "happy birthday", or sing it to him. No family dinner is planned tonight. We don't get to see him smile while opening birthday cards or gifts. That's what makes today strange, but not sad. Why?

He's no longer trapped by illness, and because of God's grace, he's never been happier or more alive. It is well! He is well!

Feelings Don't Care About Facts

If you ever go down the blessed path of becoming a primary or significant caregiver for a loved one, be ready for harsh, even accusatory, feelings that ebb and flow after that season of life ends. By that I mean, no matter how much you love, you serve, or you sacrifice, unsteady feelings will rise up at various times to accuse you of giving up on your loved one, of doing nothing to help him at the end, of just letting go and letting him go, of being selfish, etc. They are feelings. They are not rooted in facts. But they are powerful. Feelings don't care about facts, so it's an important part of the healing and grieving process to recognize it and be honest about it.

For me, these unnerving feelings started the week after Dad passed away. They come and go, are mostly infrequent, but something unexpectedly triggered them again recently. By God's grace, I'm not paralyzed by them. I'm not shocked by them. And I assume they may rise up to taunt me for months, even years, to come.

And yet, Dad was a blessing. My time with him was precious and rewarding. Our family was blessed. There are thousands of little events, episodes, and decisions that I could obsessively replay in my mind, nitpick, and make different choices. I refuse to do that. I have to refuse that. Of the big picture and the choices we made to care for Dad at home all the way to the end, I wouldn't change a thing!

Dad: My Little Boy :)

Dad's dementia had the effect of producing an innocence, a greater willingness to trust, and a dependence on us to care for him and guide his days. In practical terms, he became my boy, just like a son, during this journey. As a dependent child, he could be peevish and want his way like any kid does. He could demand, pout, walk-out, even give the silent treatment. While individual moments were frustrating, and honestly, a few of them were tense, I look back now and think without a doubt, that it was all so cute and sweet. Fortunately, Dad was mild-mannered for the most part in his wants and whines.

Perspective always helps when we get to pause, look back, think things through more deliberately, and filter issues, events, and people through a divine perspective, God's Word and God's Kingdom.

The Future Was Off-Limits

Huh, you ask? Yes, it's true. As a caregiver immersed in my ministry to Dad and responsibility for his well-being, I could not think about the future. I was never allowed to go there. I could not plan for it. I could not think much about relationships; indeed I had no choice but to allow many friendships to go dormant. I met a godly woman who could have been "the one", but that was not to be, nor could it be, because it was inconsistent with the season of life that the Lord appointed for me. I could not think about future ministry, pastoral or missionary opportunities. Goal-setting was impossible. Vision-casting was impossible. I can't help but laugh at the folly of all the books that have been written on leadership, vision, goals, etc blah etc. Those may be interesting when you're 26 and free to let your mind roam, but not when you're middle-aged and struggling every day to care for a loved one.

"I die every day" (I Cor 15:31): Dying to self is never portrayed in Scripture as optional for a Christ-follower. It is the reality of the new birth; no one can come to Christ unless he is willing to see his old life crucified with Christ and begin to live new in obedience to Him.

"Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus." (Phil 3:13-14)  Could I plan for the future? I often thought, "I have no earthly future." It didn't exist for me. There was no future, just today. Could I agonize over regrets? about yesterday? No! It was over and done. I couldn't give place to that kind of paralyzing remorse. Today was at hand. Could I worry about tomorrow? What? I saw no tomorrows. The present day was completely full and enough on its own.

Could I pastor a church? Not possible. Could I plan a mission opportunity? Not possible. Could I lead a discipleship group or ministry? Not possible. Even the everyday things of this world like personal healthcare, financial planning, reading books, whatever......nope nope nope and nope! I learned to live one day at a time. That's all I could do. That's all that was allowed. What a great lesson from the Lord! And I'm still living that way now. Some may think I can't move on. Some may think I'm depressed and stuck. Some may think I don't know what to do now that Dad moved on up and went home. Some may think I'm not considering the future (oh to the contrary, I think much, often, and highly about our Lord's glorious return).  Some may think I'm not a planner or a vision-caster. Whatever!

Today is sufficient. I live for the Lord this day. I must seize whatever He appoints for me today. I must trust Him to show me what's next. I must be faithful to the last thing He revealed to me in the meanwhile. So, yall can go ahead with your leadership goals, vision-splaining, dreaming dreams, yada yada yada, but I've come too far to turn back now. I hope you know I'm not belittling anyone else of how the Lord may be leading you in your journey, but don't impose that on me. None of that stuff matters to me now.

As far as I'm concerned, the future is still off-limits. Oh, I know what it will be, Rev 21-22 makes that clear, but I refuse to miss today. I'm not giving up on what the Lord has for me today. I must die to myself today, live joyfully in Christ today, and if He allows this body to rise from sleepy slumber tomorrow, then I will gladly repeat it all for His glory. Or even better, if He says "come up here, son", you betcha Lord, I'm ready and eager to meet you.

Maranatha!

Without Experiencing The Caregiver Role, It's Hard To Understand The Struggle

I didn't understand either. I have known individuals who are/were caregivers; some serving longer than I did. I have pastored fellow church members who were caregivers. I admired them, prayed for the Lord to help those families, but I couldn't truly understand or empathize. Until, that is, the Lord arranged a season of it for me.

The lack of understanding was most notable to me through the multiple requests I received to pastor local community churches while I was fully immersed in my pastoral/caregiving ministry to Dad. Some of the lack of understanding is raw spiritual immaturity. Dad was not just a full-time job, although he was a round-the-clock responsibility. The Lord gave Dad to me for a season of ministry, a season that lasted 4 years. We were essentially a church of three, the Lord, Dad, and me. I was more than a caregiver, responsible for Dad's physical and medical needs. I embraced a pastoral responsibility for him, to shepherd him in the ways of the Lord as best I could given the disruptions caused by his illness.

My hands were full. My heart was heavy. My mind was often racing with all kinds of concerns, but I absolutely could not think too much about the future, nor could I accommodate many distractions from the "main thing" the Lord had appointed for me. That's why the pastoral requests became frustrating. Some of those asking me about my availability didn't or couldn't understand my situation no matter how I explained it. One even felt emboldened to question my ministry choice (to pastor a flock of 2). At a prime age for ministry and still possessing physical vitality, some church folks have different ideas about the best course my life should take at this point.

Those asking me to consider serving as their pastor didn't know me. They know "me" from 15-20 years ago, or something about my ministry reputation from back then. Except, I'm not that guy.....at all. I've grown in grace alot, and changed alot. And that's not just from my years with Dad, but also my years in church planting and church revitalization.

If you get to know the updated version of Greg, you may not like him very much in a pastoral role, but you probably better get to know him a little bit before you ask him to pastor your flock. You may be asking for trouble, and you will probably get it.  :)

Even With Few Words, Dad & I Could Still Communicate

In Dad's last year, "yes", "no", "ok", or "alright" were his primary words. Sentences were still possible, but very rare. Sometimes, Dad spoke gibberish words and phrases. Sometimes, "yes" meant "no". Sometimes, "no" meant "yes". When he strung a few words together, that was a special treat and blessing. I smiled and rejoiced every time.

I have no doubt that the Lord untied his tongue and freed him to bless me with a few beautiful words just when I needed the blessing. When he was tired of sitting around the house, he would say "let's go." Often, I would grab the keys and say "ok". I didn't matter where we went. A drive to the farm or to town to run an errand usually met the need of the hour. He could be honest when asked something and simply say "I don't know". When asked if his coffee was good, he could say "it sure is". When asked how he was feeling, he would usually say "I feel OK", and for the most part, because of his overall good physical health, that was true too. When told "I love you, Dad", he would always reply "I love you too." My goodness, I needed to hear those words and never got tired of them. And yes, I miss hearing those words.

Even when he spoke gibberish, I told him I understood. Somehow I did. God be praised!

Father's Day, 2018

It's Dad's Day, but my Dad's not here. After 51+ years, it's a strange feeling, not sadness or emptiness or merely reminiscent of years past; it's just different.

And yet, I am reminded of that fifth of the "10 commandments", "Honor your father and mother...." (Ex 20:12) which was also re-affirmed by our Lord (Matt 15:4). For those of you who still have one or both of your parents in this world, I pray that your honor is not limited to one day, but is a lifetime of blessing your parents, and thanking God for the gift they are.

Happy Father's Day!

Hospice Care

Access to hospice care has significantly changed and improved in our community since Mama's cancer illness 23 years ago. Back then, the closest hospice agency was 90 miles away in Macon or Savannah, but an office in Macon took her case and helped us by contracting some in-home services with local nursing agencies, and hospice staff visited our home by commuting from either Macon or Dublin. They were dedicated and effective. Mama spent her final two months at home in peaceful dignity where she wanted to be.

By late 2017, our family realized Dad needed hospice help too, but now, our community has multiple agencies, including an in-patient facility for families who need or prefer that level of care. As Dad became less functional and needed more oversight and help for everything, I began to have doubts that he could stay and finish his life at home, but that changed when he developed a problem hernia. After trips to the ER, and consultations with his primary care doctor and a surgeon, Dad was not a candidate for surgery, and in-home hospice care would help us meet his needs and keep him comfortable.

Dad's doctor made the referral to Solace Hospice. And immediately, they contacted us and began the process to admit Dad into their care. We received in-home visits from the administrator, RN, case worker, and chaplain. Hospice met Dad's and our needs. The RN began on a twice weekly schedule, but when Dad suddenly declined and began his sleep week, the RN attended to him once or twice daily and was on-call and willing to visit for whatever we needed. When Dad left us, Dad's nurse arrived within 30 minutes after my late-evening call to help us take the next step to arrange funeral services.

All of this allowed Dad to finish at home, where he wanted to be, and to finish well and with dignity. Some families may prefer or need the in-patient facility to best serve their needs, and that is fine. But at-home care is possible too.

For me, hospice care was a breath of fresh air. We averted the nursing home, and I know Dad wanted that more than anything. But we did need professional help for Dad's bathing, medical check-ups, and managing his hernia/pain situation. When we needed a wheel chair, a bed, medicine, or basic supplies, all of it was provided immediately.

Whatever your family situation, hospice is not a death sentence. It enhances end-of-life care and promotes the dignity of human life. I encourage you to take advantage of the potential benefits to your loved one and your family.