Saturday, April 7, 2018

My dad died on a beautiful day.


My dad died on a beautiful day. The skies were as clear as crystals with bright winter sun dancing across my hair as I laughed with my friends on the playground. He took his final breath right before dawn, unaware of the day that was to become the most memorable of his daughter's life. 

They say death waits for no man, and that one can never predict when one might die. Live each day to the fullest, they say. But I knew. I knew as I left the house that evening that that was the last time I’d ever see my dad’s living face. After all, his nearly lifeless body had been laying downstairs in a hospital bed for nearly a week, scaring me from leaving my room. My once strong father, turning into ash right before my eyes.

I had plans to stay with a friend. How cruel, you might say, that I left knowing my dad was going to die that next day, but you must understand my motives. My house scared me. I was terrified one day I’d walk downstairs staring at my dad’s unmoving body. I didn’t want to be the one to find him after his spirit had left his body. 

Please do not think me heartless. After all, I sat there grasping my dad’s hand, endlessly sending prayers upwards in hopes that somehow, my dad might pull through. But my mom knew, just as I did, that this was his last night. She begged me to tell him it was okay to let go. I refused. It wasn’t okay. My tears spilt onto his skin, but unlike the movies, they did not wake him. Unable to say anything else, I fled. I would not watch him die. I would not pretend I was okay with that. 


It’s a bit ironic, how such a terrible morning turned into such a beautiful day. How something not okay, can look so very okay on the outside with just a little bit of sunshine. 

March 19th, 2011 was a beautiful day. It was one of the warmest days of the winter, giving the people of Western Washington an early taste of spring time. My friends and I made our way to the schoolyard near their house, still damp from the winter rains. My nose was pink from the cold. Maybe also from crying. I dodged a hand trying to tag me, and laughed as we both clumsily slipped in the grass.

My dad had just passed a few hours before. 

I remember thinking, how terrible is it for me to be laughing right now, after such a horrible thing happened? The guilt gripped my heart and turned it into ice. It would take years for that guilt to thaw into a puddle. 


Years later, I am much older and much wiser. I would change much from that day, yes. Now, I would hold my dad tight and wouldn't let go. I would be there for my mother as his body was taken away. I would cry and celebrate and mourn. My dad was gone, but he was no longer in pain. At age 12, I did not do these things, but who could blame me? I was only a young girl too afraid to look death in the eye.

I believe I needed that beautiful day and giggling friends. God provides blessings in the most outstanding of ways. He knew I needed to feel happiness before going to an empty house. It would take years before I could walk downstairs again without thinking that my dad would still be laying there. His helpless body taking painful breaths of air, never knowing which one might be his last. 

I still hold a puddle of guilt in my hands. The ice has slowly been thawed, yet something inside of me can’t let it wash down the drain. The puddle represents the stories I never asked about my dad’s childhood, the cuddles I wiggled out of when he was in pain, the body I abandoned after death. Yet, slowly, I’ve learned to accept that you can’t hold on to guilt forever. 

Guilt has a tendency to hold on and never let you go. But we are not defined by our past. Christ has called us His and we are loved. Let that guilt melt my friends, let it pass between your fingers and welcome in the freedom that is only possible by letting go and trusting Jesus. His grace is abundant and His joy is ceaseless. 


It was a beautiful day, the day my dad died. March 19th. It was beautiful, because the sun was shining as the birds sung their first song of spring. But it was also beautiful, because my dad was no longer sick. It was a beautiful day, because heaven had gained my dad. God had heard my cry. His answer was bringing him home. I didn’t understand it then, but I think I’m starting to now. And slowly, drops of water fall from my hands as my heart becomes warm again.

Thank you, Lord, for beautiful days. 




Here's just one chapter of my story. What's your story?

Elizabeth



17 comments

  1. I cried, I really did. This is heartbreaking, and yet hopeful at the same time. I understand your motives; although I was much younger, I'm glad I didn't see my dad take his last breath. And I know about the guilt too, the regret, the wish to do things differently.. it's kind of warming to read that someone else understands that, so thank you. I'm not sure what to say, but you are a brave and beautiful soul. xx

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  2. Wow. I’m speechless, this was so beautiful and so full of love and bittersweetness. I love the openeness with which you presented such a tender memory... so powerful!!

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  3. "Guilt has a tendency to hold on and never let you go. But we are not defined by our past. Christ has called us His and we are loved. Let that guilt melt my friends, let it pass between your fingers and welcome in the freedom that is only possible by letting go and trusting Jesus. His grace is abundant and His joy is ceaseless."

    Sweet friend, these words are Christ in you.
    This metamorphosis is the work of Jesus sculpting you- and it is SO SO BEAUTIFUL what He is creating.

    love you always

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  4. I teared up reading this <3. I have never been through this, but I completely understand the only choice you were able to make as a young girl... and the regret thinking of the only choice you wish you had made, looking back as a young woman. This road was and is too much for a girl to walk... but praise the Lord, He will carry the weary in His arms of love. May the Lord bless you as you continue to share your story and to grow and heal <3.

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  5. So very thankful to call you daughter ♡ You and your brothers are carrying on an amazing legacy for your father. He would be so proud to know how well you are all doing. I believe he would love that you were enjoying the beauty of the day while he was laughing as he entered heaven.

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  6. I can relate. The doctor came into the waiting room to tell us that our mother wasn't going to make it. All of my ciblings and family went in to the room to say their good byes and I did not. I didn't see the point in talking to and remembering my mother in such a horrible state. The difference is if I had to do it over again, I don't think I would do it any different. My mother didn't believe in God;but oddly enough, that is the moment when I started to think that there was a God. I was much older than you, but when you lose a parent it always hurts. You told this chapter of your story with respect, detail, emototion, and truth. Thank you for sharing.

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  7. Oh how I love seeing this! Yes! Yes! Yes! I have often talked and described this day the same way, Elizabeth! I have felt guilty describing it as a beautiful day but I felt the same way. It was one of the most beautiful days with you guys and I felt it in my spirit and heart. We knew the hope - the real hope of your dad's eternal healing and freedom.
    What an incredible read! I see a book in your future!

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  8. Elizabeth, Your writing is so beautiful and penetrating. I remember those days with all you kids and often felt at a loss of words to encourage you. God has been by your side and has clearly used your pain for perspective that will help others. I pray you feel full in your heart every day dear lady. Bless you and keep up the writing. Love, Jacqueline Hendrickson

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  9. What a powerful recounting of a day that God continues to use to impact you deeply. You have grown in faith in God through the immense trial and now are encouraging others to respond to God. Blessings to you, Lizzie. 💟

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  10. As I sit here in the hospital with my daughter, your words have given me hope. I so appreciate your painful honesty. It is so hard watching someone you love decline an inch each day. I will try to be brave and not run from the ugliness that death inevitably brings. But if I lose my courage and hide, I know that I will not mourn forrever. Spring will come again.

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  11. Wow, Elizabeth. Thank you for this. This is so raw and beautiful, and so penetrating. I'm so sorry you had to lose your father, but so touched by how you're choosing to respond to it now. Stay beautiful at heart, dear <3

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  12. This is powerful. This is raw. This is beautiful.
    WOW. Thank you for posting this, for being such a light and inspiration. My grandfather died when my dad was twelve and I hear the ache of my father's voice when he describes his own father's death. I hear the ache of thousands - you're not alone.
    Thank you, warrior. This was precious. <3

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  13. Oh Elizabeth this made me cry <3 Thank you for sharing a bit of your story.

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  14. Your story was so touching. I felt so moved and inspired. Keep inspiring people with your story.

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  15. My heart ache, but thaks for this inspiring blog.

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  16. Oh dear, this is so full of emotion. Very touching.Keep inspiring many people.

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  17. there is no way how to describe how much i love this post. <3

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okay so this is how it works : you read my blog, comment and i reply. then you respond and so forth. they make my day and bring a smile - thanks so much <3

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