Deep Calls Out to Deep

Have you ever felt the actual presence of angels?  I have.  My dad’s last full day and looking back a little before it, it seemed they were close, whispers of wings. I didn’t know my dad was going to die that weekend, but I knew things were changing.  He had been bedbound for two years. Dialysis had been started those two years ago because we found out his kidneys were failing. Back then he was on a walker but ambulatory.  He got a port put in on a Friday and exactly two weeks later he had heart attack and got a septic infection at dialysis. That kicked off what we called a tour of Houston’s finest and not so finest places to stay.  First hospital, second hospital, Long Term Acute Care facility, loosely titled “skilled” nursing facility (I don’t think I’m allowed in there to this day because I’m far more protective than assertive), then a Physical and Occupational Rehab place, and finally home four months after it all began.  

When he came home, he had gone through a leg amputation and six finger amputations.  He had previously had a toe amputated.  My jovial dad told me, Baby girl I’m going to Heaven on the installment plan.  He loved to say things are hopeless, but they’re never serious. He took it all better than most people could.  I, however was incredibly intimidated that he was coming home.  I wanted him home more than anything, we had been certain we would lose him. But he now needed to be fed, changed, bathed, gotten out of bed with a pulley lift.  I felt like I was taking finals for I class that no one had let me attend.  But my husband and I learned.  I think changing someone’s sheets without them getting out of bed should be an Olympic sport.  I was good at it.  My husband asked if I would start doing it for him when he wanted to stay in bed and I wanted to wash the sheets.  

We learned.  For two years, we pulled this off and rented a special van we could get him in and take him to church occasionally.  And our beautiful friends in our church family would sometimes come and sit with him so Barry and I could both leave at the same time.  And believe it or not, we had a wonderful time.  It wasn’t all perfect, in fact it was hard.  Once I took Dad by myself to a church event.  Barry had to help me get him up and I drove the special van.  When we came home, our friend Justin followed me in case I had trouble resituating Dad.  And thank God he did because when I was cranking up the pulley lift, I accidentally hit the emergency release button.  I didn’t know I hit it, I thought it broke and Dad was going down.  I could have never gotten him off the floor if he’d actually hit the floor.  Justin simply grabbed the harness mechanism and held Dad in the air with sheer strength and told me to hit the button.  I often think of that and think what a picture of God’s grace.  When we don’t even know why we’re falling, He just reaches out and catches us.

So many stories, so many miracles.  That last week, though, I could tell something was changing.  Dad seemed foggy (he had had full capacity of his incredibly sharp mind this whole time, it had been his body that failed.)  And he slept so much.  But all his vitals were good.  I thought maybe he was going to get to a coma type of place or maybe just a less cognitive place.  There was a calmness around our apartment mixed with sadness. On a Sunday, it was so appropriate that it was Sunday as my theater loving Dad adored the song Tell Me on a Sunday, I sent out a mass text that day.  I sent it to our many friends.  I said I think things are changing.  You certainly don’t have to do anything; you’ve all done so much for us.  But if you want to see him while he knows what’s going on, you might not want to wait to visit him.  Within two hours our apartment was filled with friends and guitars and beautiful voices as people gathered around his bed.  A full-on song circle with Dad in and out of sleep but when he’d wake, he would smile so big and look off at the corner of the ceiling and smile even bigger.  More than one person commented I wish we could see what he sees. And I wish we could have because the most beautiful, peaceful, serene look came over his face.  

That night he hit his panic button, he had this because our bedroom was upstairs and I sleep hard.  I ran downstairs and he told me that there had been a soldier in his room.  I said, a soldier, what did he want?  He said he wanted to get me up.  I said, what did you say?  He said I told him, that you’d be mad.  I often wonder if that was an angel and what the Father and an angel thought about Dad turning them down in case, I would be mad.  A little bit later he hit the button again.  I came down and he said Barry wanted to watch a program with him.  I said Dad, it’s 3am, Barry is sleeping.  He said maybe we won’t watch it?  When he hit the button again, I just gave up and stayed by his bed.  Labor Day was the next day so I didn’t have to work.  I stayed with him until 10am then he said I want to sleep and I don’t want you to disturb me.  I said okay.  I thought what a strange thing to say since you woke me up, but I did the last thing that my dad asked me to do. I said I love you, he said I love you too and I left the room. Within half an hour he was gone.

I know angels were there for my dad.  Because even though I know that it was him they were there for, I felt them and when he was gone, I missed them. 

Jane Siberry has a song that says:

But if you could, do you think you would trade it in, all the pain and suffering? Ah but if you did, you’d miss the beauty of the light on this earth and the sweetness of the leaving.  

Calling all angels, calling all angels, walk me through this one, don’t leave me alone.  

Calling all angels, calling all angels, we’re trying, we’re hoping, we’re hurting, we’re loving, we’re crying, and we’re calling cause we’re not sure how this goes.  

I still miss that presence and I still miss him terribly. But I felt and feel the God that I know because…

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted

and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

Psalm 34:18