Annabelle and Bob Baldwin. AKA Mumma and Dad. The ones who need some prayers.How can it be that I took this photo only a month ago?
Thursday, October 18, 2007
The Baldwins
Annabelle and Bob Baldwin. AKA Mumma and Dad. The ones who need some prayers.How can it be that I took this photo only a month ago?
Me, God and the computer. And Dad.
Well, there's always a good reason not to post. For a while it seemed too public to post about my life and my pretty public job. Still does I guess. But right now the major thing in my life is not my job. It's my dad.
Today perhaps I'm blogging as an alternative to worship. We've started a weekday worship at the house, but I have a lot of trouble getting there. I think this is in part because worship in general continues to be hard since the move. (Though this is improving somewhat lately. Thanks God!)
I'm hoping that writing will be a way that I can get closer to God at this time when life is so layered: difficult and beautiful and precious. So here's a half hour of me, God and the computer.
I write pretty much for myself, so background info seems unnecessary. But in case I ever write something anyone else might care to read, I suppose I should give the background.
Dad's got brain cancer. Today he's in the end game. It's taken nearly ten years to get here from the pre-game. It's been gradual, with some major bumps along the way. It's always affected his speech: his ability to find the right words. That is hindering almost everything he tries to utter right now, but from time to time he does remarkably well considering. Now its affecting other things too-- he can't feel his legs (so he can't really walk), his tremors make it hard (not impossible) to use his hands. Sometimes he's angry or mistrustful or both. I hear that's tumor related, but I don't get that. (Also, it seems to be happening less, thankfully. )
The last time I was there he really thought he was going to die one day. Sunday night I think. He'd had a good time with Liz discussing his memoirs. All three of his daughters had been by that day. He's in good shape emotionally and spiritually and is ready to leave his damn body. But despite everything, he's still pretty strong in a lot of ways, so he hangs in there.
It's so hard to see him trapped by that: Unable to move around. Unable to find words to communicate what's important to him. Dependent on others for help bathing and going to the bathroom--in bed. Sometimes so tired that everything is frustrating. Damnit.
So I've entered the place where I'm ready to see him go. I haven't had a magical end-of-life conversation with him. I suppose I've had several. Not big gushy heart-to-hearts, but small moments of sharing grace. Each of us letting go of our frustration and simply loving and receiving love. (But that's a post worthy unto itself.)
So strange to be willing to see my father go. On one level it seems I "should" feel more attached. (Another post might be attachment, non-attachment and dying). But I feel pretty ready. Not prepared for the pain to follow his death, but somehow I'm graced to feel easy with his passing any time the Lord comes to deliver him from this human struggle.
I thought there was another thread to pick up, but I've lost it. Perhaps another day. But ending with a focus on that grace that I've been granted is a good way to start this day.
Upate in the afternoon:
Liz called to say that Dad is really moving into the last stage, and has requested visitors only to say good byes. And this raises two questions-- the "have I said good bye-- no really?" which I kind of answered this morning, but not in a final kind of way. (waffle, waffle...) And the second-- am I a visitor in my parents' home? Two hard questions for the next 48 hours.
Prayers please!
Today perhaps I'm blogging as an alternative to worship. We've started a weekday worship at the house, but I have a lot of trouble getting there. I think this is in part because worship in general continues to be hard since the move. (Though this is improving somewhat lately. Thanks God!)
I'm hoping that writing will be a way that I can get closer to God at this time when life is so layered: difficult and beautiful and precious. So here's a half hour of me, God and the computer.
I write pretty much for myself, so background info seems unnecessary. But in case I ever write something anyone else might care to read, I suppose I should give the background.
Dad's got brain cancer. Today he's in the end game. It's taken nearly ten years to get here from the pre-game. It's been gradual, with some major bumps along the way. It's always affected his speech: his ability to find the right words. That is hindering almost everything he tries to utter right now, but from time to time he does remarkably well considering. Now its affecting other things too-- he can't feel his legs (so he can't really walk), his tremors make it hard (not impossible) to use his hands. Sometimes he's angry or mistrustful or both. I hear that's tumor related, but I don't get that. (Also, it seems to be happening less, thankfully. )
The last time I was there he really thought he was going to die one day. Sunday night I think. He'd had a good time with Liz discussing his memoirs. All three of his daughters had been by that day. He's in good shape emotionally and spiritually and is ready to leave his damn body. But despite everything, he's still pretty strong in a lot of ways, so he hangs in there.
It's so hard to see him trapped by that: Unable to move around. Unable to find words to communicate what's important to him. Dependent on others for help bathing and going to the bathroom--in bed. Sometimes so tired that everything is frustrating. Damnit.
So I've entered the place where I'm ready to see him go. I haven't had a magical end-of-life conversation with him. I suppose I've had several. Not big gushy heart-to-hearts, but small moments of sharing grace. Each of us letting go of our frustration and simply loving and receiving love. (But that's a post worthy unto itself.)
So strange to be willing to see my father go. On one level it seems I "should" feel more attached. (Another post might be attachment, non-attachment and dying). But I feel pretty ready. Not prepared for the pain to follow his death, but somehow I'm graced to feel easy with his passing any time the Lord comes to deliver him from this human struggle.
I thought there was another thread to pick up, but I've lost it. Perhaps another day. But ending with a focus on that grace that I've been granted is a good way to start this day.
Upate in the afternoon:
Liz called to say that Dad is really moving into the last stage, and has requested visitors only to say good byes. And this raises two questions-- the "have I said good bye-- no really?" which I kind of answered this morning, but not in a final kind of way. (waffle, waffle...) And the second-- am I a visitor in my parents' home? Two hard questions for the next 48 hours.
Prayers please!
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