my head hurts


My head hurts. It hurts like I need to cry, and it’s probably because I need to cry. I know why I need to cry, I just don’t want to, not right now. Not right this minute. Maybe in another minute or two.
Just not now.
My dad is dying. Ugh I hate typing that. We are all dying from the moment we are born. Even with that, the dying, the part where you hear from the doctor that there just isn’t anything else that can be done, when they say all we can do is wait. That part is really sad. To hear that even the doctor had a hard time saying goodbye, that breaks my heart. It also makes me shine inside because it reminds me of how important my dad’s life has been. Even in his dying he’s made an impact.
I’m not burying him just yet but I do know that his days of impact are almost over. It’s hard to have an impact when you’re asleep. It’s hard to have an impact when, in your waking hours, you’re simply too tired to put your lips together to speak.
Now I’m crying. Thanks.
I watched him at the table, I saw his eyes as he looked at mom. He wanted badly to answer her questions, but he could not. His brain, his mouth, his breath would not let him. He shook his head and tears came into his eyes. He couldn’t say it but I could see it. I could see he wanted to talk to her until she couldn’t stand another word. He wanted to answer all her questions and ask some of his own. He dropped tears into his already soggy cereal, shoulders hunched and resigned. Too tired to speak. Too tired to think.
“who wants to live like that?”
I’m not sure, I’m not sure anyone WANTS to live like that. I think he’s ready, or almost ready, to go. I know I want to be there when he goes. I want him to look around and for his last vision, his last memory, to be of all of us, all his kids and grandkids, there with him. Surrounded by love as he enters the ultimate love of Father God. I want it to be a nearly seamless transition. I want him to close his eyes to us and open his eyes to glory. What a glory that will be!
I can’t be selfish and wish him anymore time here because time equals misery in these last days. I’m not wishing him away. I’m simply letting go. I see myself with a balloon, it’s got a long long string. I’m holding the very end and the balloon is flying way up high. So high I can hardly see it. I can’t hear the sound of it blowing in the wind. All I can feel with my senses, to know it’s still there, is the gentle tug on my hand. Gently it tugs, wanting to be free. I don’t want to, but I should. I don’t want to, but I will.
But I don’t want to. I don’t want to let go.
oh, my head. It aches so.


11 responses »

  1. I’m praying for you, Paige, and all of your family. I’m crying now with you. Reading this reminded me so much of my Granddaddy’s passing. He raised me. Well, he and my grandmother raised me. So, his passing felt much like that of a parent. He had ALS and it was a gradual passing. So, I won’t sit here and say I know exactly how you feel for everyone experiences life, emotions, heartache, and joy differently. But, I can and do empathize with you and you are in my thoughts and prayers. ❤

    • Thanks Dawn. Pray for others in the family to 1) want to be there and 2) be willing to let go. Again. I’m not burying him, I’m just wanting to set him free. How glorious our eternity in heaven is for us, the heirs of Christ’s kingdom!

      • Paige,
        This touched me on so many levels. We, meaning me and my sisters were right there where you are now, just 30 years ago. I wasn’t privileged to be there when Daddy crossed over. When I got the call, I was so devasted….for about 5 minutes…and then I was so happy for him, to be in the arms of his Saviour, to no longer be in pain. I wore a white dress, printed with small red roses to his funeral because I was rejoicing for him and not in mourning and I wanted to shout it to the world. You can know that the impact your Dad has will go on long after he is no longer walking on this earth! He has a great legacy in Jesus and it will continue to spread in the coming days and years to come. You are all proof of that, as are all the spiritual children he has helped to foster. There will be pain in missing him, but there will be greater Joy in knowing he is with the Father and the anticipation of the reunion to come!

  2. Pingback: some nights are so crazy « the market is my muse

  3. I have never met you, I just found your blog through the Weigand’s link up, but I want you to know that I am praying for you. I can’t imagine what you are feeling right now, but God knows. He knows.

    • Thanks Jade. Pray for the lost siblings. They need your lifting up far more than I. I know dad is going but I know I’m going to see him again. They don’t have that same comfort.

  4. This brought back to the front of my heart so many thoughts and feeling from the day my Dad died… The end of pain and fear for him, the beginning of living in a world without him in it… Your writing is so immediate and provocative. I can tell you that the love lives on, just as strong, going both ways. I feel and know it now, rather than desparately hoping for it before. But there are days when my arms ache to hold him and be held just once more… My heart goes out to you.

      • It really is that… For me, it was somehow supremely important that my husband, who hasn’t owned a suit in his life, should still be recognizable to my Dad. I didn’t want to have him in a “funeral suit” – I was worried my Dad wouldn’t know him. So nice slacks, blazer and sports coat and a jazzy tie — all in earth tones. Weirdly, this has become a favorite outfit that he likes to wear and I like to see him in. It brings back warm memories of being with my Dad — nothing of the funeral. Then, afterwards, I think I watched babylon 5 dvds round the clock for about 6 days and nights before i could sleep. I promise you — I truly do feel him with me, and remember things he taught me that I never even noticed at the time. It is not a “nice something to say” — it is really true. But all of the trappings of arranging the funeral, the clothes shopping — all of that feels really bizarre.
        He loves you – you love him. That lasts forever.

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