Saturday, April 12, 2008

Not Sure What to Say, But I'll Try...

Normally words flow freely from my head and heart, but today, they've failed me. Sometimes I struggle with the words to use or how to phrase an idea, but that is not the case. I simply don't know what to say because I don't know what is going on. What we thought was a reaction to medication is looking more like something else...we just don't know what that something else is. The edema is spreading and the urine output is nonexistent. His billy-rubin levels are high, and his breathing is heavy due to the build up of fluid in his body. I desperately want to hope that he'll get better, but I'm not so sure. I'm not sure at all.

It's easy to take care of someone when they are getting better, recovering, but the last couple of days have been the most difficult. Sherry and I are thankful for the good days we've had; they were full of laughs. But when the laughter ceases, the difficulty begins.

I stayed at dad's house last night, in his bed to be exact, and all around me were pieces of him. It was so weird to think that he wouldn't use these things again. The idea of death still doesn't make a lick of sense to me. I get the whole fall of man and temporal body, but it just doesn't compute. How can someone be there one day and not the next?

Mike Carraway is a friend of my dad's and at lunch the other day he told me that he was certain of my dad's eternity. A few months ago, he had a conversation with dad about Jesus and all things Heavenly, and he walked away from that conversation with confidence that dad believed in his heart that Jesus Christ lived, died, and defeated death for his salvation. Of course I wish that I could have had that conversation and certainty, but I'm hopeful that God answered my prayer through Mike, my prayer for peace (not only for my dad, but also for myself). The truth is that you can never really know where someone else stands, except when we arrive there ourselves. When I approach the pearly gates, assuming they exist, I expect to see my dad there waiting for me. Not sure what heaven is like, but I believe we our still ourselves, just not in these broken bodies. We have to be; we have to recognize the people who have touched our lives, who've made us who was are in this world. Imagine a world without chaos, without the complications of sin, disease, and misfortune...I know I can't. Those concepts evade me, but I trust that it's there and it will be perfect, peaceful, and exciting.

I know I need to put something on Dad's blog, but I really don't know what to say. The people that read his blog are connected to him, care about him, and inspired by him. They are survivers, caretakers, and fellow warriors. How do you tell them that he is losing the battle they all hope to win? Dad writes to them in the positive, glass half full approach, and right now, nothing I have to say is positive. But I could be wrong too. I don't think I am, but I could be. So what if I get them all worked up, just to find that I was wrong? I guess then I would have some good news to write, huh? Maybe I'll find the words a little later today, but for now, it took everything I had to just write this.

4 comments:

Candace Smartt said...

Hi Hillary. I came to your blog through Kara Sutton's blog.
I was just going to pop on and pop off...and then I started reading and then I was hooked. The things you were saying took me back to my own struggle with MY dad's illness. I sympathize with your pain and confusion and heartache and frustration. I think I will be bold enough to say that this time...the fighting, the waiting, the up and down...the not knowing which way life will turn or when it will turn is the hardest part of it all.
My dad had pulmonary fibosis (lethal disease that causes your lungs to harden) and was waiting on a lung transplant (his only hope to live). He contracted pneumonia in the hospital (waiting for his tranplant) and his lungs were too weak to fight it. We lost him 14 days later (after a LONG illness and many ups and downs) That was Jan. 31st, 2005. Your blog remonded me of what it feels like and my heart goes out to you and your family....being sperated from my husband and family was one of the hardest parts. I admire the catelog of communication you have (and your dad has) through this time. I believe in Christ (and I found out my dad did too before he died) and I will be praying for you. I know words probably seem useless right now, but know that God connects strangers in strange ways and I will be lifting you and your dad up to HIm and praying for HIS peace and comfort for you.
My dad was 60. I lost my mother unexpectedly 3 months after my dad died. I have 1 sister. I am 30 years old. I thought life would end, but God has other plans.
God Bless You.
Candace Smartt

Tré & Heidi said...

Howdy Hillary, Just wanted to let you know that we think about ya'll daily. If there is anything that we could do for ya'll, we're only about an hour or so away. Just give us a call. Til we meet again, stay strong.

Kim said...

Hillary, I lost my dad to esophogeal cancer in Jul05 and then my husband found out he had kidney cancer in Nov05. I lost him this past August. It's through my husband's disease that I found your Dad's blog. His blog is so very selfless. He has brought a lot of comfort to people around the world during a difficult time in his life. He is someone to be very proud of. I keep reading it because it was wonderful to hear a positive story and your Dad told it so well. I know exactly how you feel about blogging for him because you don't feel you have anything positive to say. I still feel that way when I hear of other people's journeys with cancer. I can only tell you that family is the only reason I was able to get through my journey. Hang on tight to them. And while you have him, hand on really tight to your Dad. Keep talking to him and loving him because he hears you. God bless you and your family.

Manuel Lopez said...

Hillary, I just read your post on your dad's blog and I came here to see what you had written. Dave is a true inspiration to all who know him, and all who read his writing. His humorous way of looking at The Beast has helped so many deal with their cancer. I know that God has a reason for taking David back. I just wish it didn't hurt so much. Please give him another kiss on the forhead and send him some 'manly love', as he would call it, from me.
God bless you and your family.