Two Years Later

I remember the day fairly vividly.

It was a Sunday morning. I woke up to a call from my mom asking if I could come up to help move my dad so she could change his bed sheets and she wanted me to hold him in place while she administered some medicine. I had spent the entire previous day up at the house I grew up in because I could sense that there was probably less time left than we hoped there'd be. The plan was to go help my mom, eat some food with her, and then come back down the hill to grab Nicole and head to church. Those plans came to a screeching halt though about 30 minutes after I got there. I was sitting on my dad's favorite chair when my mom and I noticed him starting to make a sort of gargling sound as he was breathing. It was a new sound, but we weren't overly concerned about it. His hospice nurse walked in a few minutes later to check on him. Her and my mom discussed what my mom thought were signs that he had a kidney infection (or bladder) based on the urine in the bag (he had been on a catheter because he could no longer get up to use the restroom). The hospice nurse gently told my mom that it wasn't a sign of infection but rather that it was a sign that his body had begun to shut down and that he would probably be gone within a few hours.

Talk about being sucker punched.

We knew that my dad's time was short. The doctor's gave us a generic time line (which only a week or two prior had made me think it would be around August when he would be dying), but I felt unprepared. I guess nothing prepares you for losing someone you love...

I'm not going to lie. I started panicking a bit. The nurse ordered some medicine (I think it was morphine) from the Kaiser pharmacy so that my dad could be as comfortable as possible over his last few hours. I volunteered to drive down to get it. My head was racing. I was in a hurry because I didn't want to not be there when he died. I made a few calls to my brothers and Nicole as I raced to Kaiser to get the medicine. I hit nearly all of the lights red which was upsetting. Then the pharmacy was behind schedule when I got there, so I had to wait roughly twenty minutes for the medicine. Finally, I got the medicine and drove back to my parent's house. The whole time my mind was racing.

After I got back up there to my parent's house Nicole was waiting and I heard that my brother's were on their way over. Shortly after my brother Nate and his family came over and my brother Aaron came over. We settled in for one of the longest days of our lives. Friends and family sprinkled in throughout the day. It was hard to see my cousins crying so much (they loved my dad). There were no great speeches or great thoughts coming from any of us. My mom asked everyone to leave except our immediate family so that we could be alone with our dad at the end.

Around 5 p.m. we noticed his breathing getting really shallow and knew that the time was short, so we gathered around his bedside. I've never sobbed so hard in my life. I was holding his left hand while my brother Aaron was across from me on his other side. It was at around 5:15 p.m. on Sunday, May 2, 2010 that my father, Robert Edwin Freeman, drew his last breath and entered into the presence of his Lord Jesus. I cried so hard the tears stopped coming even though the feeling inside of grief had not subsided.

After about twenty minutes I pulled myself together enough to call and let the Pastors at our church know that my dad had died. Pastor Chuck, whom had discipled both my dad and me,  expressed his condolences over the phone (and that he was surprised by how quick it came). About an hour later, our main Pastor (Pastor Brian) came up to the house to offer his condolences and to pray for us as a family.

About 8 o'clock the people came from the morgue (Akes Family Funeral) to pick up my dad's body. It was hard to process all of the emotions as I watched them methodically wrap up my dad's body and carry him out to their van. The hospice nurse had come at the same time they were there to collect all of the unused medication. Just like that the house felt cold and empty. It seemed like most of the medicine in the cabinet was taken by the hospice nurse, and there definitely was a big void in the room with an empty bed. It was hard to say goodbye to my mom and brothers that night.

As Nicole and I drove home I felt numb.

Two years later I am still a bit numb.

Most of the heavy grief has passed on with time, but there is still some sadness on my part. I miss having my dad around.

My biggest comfort and hope from this whole experience has been that my dad believed in Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior (Romans 10:8-9, Ephesians 2:8-9, Titus 3:5, Romans 3:23-25). One morning, it will be my last morning. Like my dad, I (and the rest of humanity) will have a day of death. I hope that the "dash" that is left on headstones will be a "dash" well lived. A "dash" worthy of the Lord who purchased my salvation in His life's blood.

Two years later....time flies.

James 4:13-15
Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, and spend a year there and engage in business and make a profit.” Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away. Instead, you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and also do this or that.”