Faith of My Father

There’s an old hymn called “Faith of our Fathers.”  I’ve never been particularly fond of it and it’s never been a favorite. Today all I could think of was the title of that song.

We spent the day with our dad today. We were worried about both he and Mrs. Betty, his wife.   We worry about her being exhausted from taking care of him, which is one of the reasons we suggested he become a hospice patient – to give her some rest, some relief and some support.  We’re worried about him all the time.

Every time we see Daddy, he seems to get more and more weak. He’s lost a lot of weight, and his arms and legs and shoulders are all skinny – more skinny than  I’ve ever seen them in my entire life. The only thing on him that’s big is his belly, and it’s bigger or smaller, depending on when he last paracentisis was.  (That’s when they drain his belly, as the bile builds up, his belly gets larger and larger.) On Wednesday, they drained 11.5 liters of fluid off his belly. That’s about 23 pounds.  Every time they drain him, he’s weak and tired afterwards and he’s wobbly when he walks. I think it has to do with the weakness and his center of gravity. I imagine a pregnant woman would tell you the same thing – that your balance shifts.

Today, he was in bed when we got there, because he and Mrs. Betty were up almost every hour during the night.  The site where they did his last paracentisis is draining.  Apparently the tiny needle hole where they poked him has not sealed up and the fluid that usually builds up is just oozing out.  Almost all night, almost every hour, Mrs. Betty was having to get him up, change his dressing and change his clothes, because he’d soaked all the way through sometimes.  

When he got up to eat, he prayed over his bowl of “green salad.”(That’s a family joke, sometimes it’s not green. It’s a jello, fruit salad and it’s been pink or orange, but Daddy always calls it green salad, no matter what color it is. He’s color blind, so for  him it’s always green.)

This was his prayer:  “Thank you God for being good.  Please  help those people who are sick and in bad shape, Thank you for loving me.”

I sat there and was ashamed – and I’ll tell you why.  I’m not handling him being sick very well.  I’m not happy about it at all, and my first emotional response to a new situation is usually to get mad.  I have been making a mental list of people who have lived many more years that my daddy who are not nearly as nice and as GOOD as he is.   I’ve also spent lots of time asking “Why him?” His whole life, he’s been a good guy. He’s spent 44 years trying to do exactly what God wanted him to do.  It’s not fair and I hate it. 

But here’s the thing --  I know the answer – the answer is “why  not him” and I get that, I do. I just don’t like it.  But here he sat today, in his 4th or 5th set of pajama pants for the day, with fluid leaking out of his belly, worrying every time he moved just right that it would  soak through the pads and wet his clothes.  The most modest  man in the world had to endure his nurse daughter helping him change his clothes.   He’s been poked and prodded and spent time in the hospital, had to wear water shoes because his regular shoes won’t fit, had to wear suspenders because his belly is so big his pants won’t stay up.  All that and he says “Thank you God for being good. Help those people who are sick and in bad shape.” 

I’m thankful every day for the faith of my father.