roots

Monday June 22:

Fred's daughters (my stepsisters) left his home near Sanders, Idaho in the early morning. He always called his property, "Baton Petit" ("Little Stick" in French).
I drove over to spend the day with my mom & stepdad. Dad was convalescing in his hospital bed. It was such a good weekend, with all his children & stepchildren visiting. But he was tired. He could barely get out of bed, and it took all my strength to help Mom stand him up so he could use the commode & sit at his chair to eat. He was thirsty. The hospice nurse drove up that morning and checked on him. The hospice workers have urged mom to take a 5-day respite care, sending Dad to a good nursing home in Moscow so she can rest. If she applied to Medicaid, then the stay could be extended. I think it's necessary. Dad needs more care than Mom can provide. I can't be here 24/7, and Mom can't lift his body on her own. Although I would like Dad to die in his own home, the way he wanted it, it's not possible. I hope hospice can arrange it soon.

Hospice has been so good. I didn't realize until lately how the hospice idea got started... a really cool story of how one person can make a difference. Dad slept almost all day. The brain cancer has made him bedridden these last two weeks.

Baton Petit,
Tuesday June 23:

Dad slept OK last night, Mom not as well. This morning he felt somewhat better. We knew it was only a matter of time until he passes away, but wanted to help him feel as well as possible. It's so hard to see him suffer. Hospice called and said that Thursday morning he can go to Aspen Care Center in Moscow.

Mom and I fed him--he ate some yogurt and Ensure. He slept most of the day. We talked a little... his mind is hard to reach now. Often he sees hallucinations of the harmless sort... thinking his cigarette is still in his hand, etc. And yet, there were times today when he responded clearly to us. I hugged him and told him I loved him. He hugged back and said "I love you too."

We briefly watched some fishing on TV. His eyes drooped shut after a few minutes. "Brian, we need to go fishing... we'll take your kids fishing."
"Yes, Dad. That's a good idea."
He dozed for a while.

That afternoon, when he was awake with his eyes closed, I asked him if it was OK for me to read the Bible to him, and he said yes.
I leafed through the precious pages, thinking carefully. I had read Psalm 23 to him last week. This time I would choose selections from the book of Romans.

Romans 1:1-7...
Romans 1:16-23...
Romans 1:28-2:5...
Romans 3:9-26...

for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation [wrath-absorber] by his blood, to be received by faith. This was to show God’s righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over former sins.

Romans 5:1-11...
Romans 8:18...

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.

Romans 8:28...

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.

and Revelation 21:1-7.

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away
every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."
And he who was seated on the throne said, "Behold, I am making all things new." Also he said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true." And he said to me, "It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of the water of life without payment. The one who conquers will have this heritage, and I will be his God and he will be my son."

I asked Dad if he wanted to be with God in Heaven forever. He was able to mumble yes. Never one to push my dad, but wanting to guide him toward peace with God, I told him one final time, "Dad, if you want that eternal life, just ask. Jesus, be my Savior."

Silence.

With his eyes still closed, Fred mumbled softly with all his heart:

"Je-sus... be... my... Savior."

I prayed with him and for him, especially that he would have comfort in the pain to come, knowing that he was in God's hands. I hugged him a long time.

It turned out to be my last conversation with him.

Baton Petit,
Wednesday June 24:

Dad slept off and on today, and ate very little. Several friends came by to see Fred one more time before he went to the nursing home in Moscow. He was sleepy but spoke a few words to them. I did some work outside.

I am torn between wanting to be here tomorrow to see Dad off, and being with my own family in Spokane. I feel like I've spent so little time with my wife & kids since school was out... but I know that's kind of selfish. I need to divide my time because my parents need me right now. So it's a balancing act. In the end, I decided to go home tonight instead of tomorrow because I could help Mom change him before I leave, and she would be OK until the ambulance arrived at 8 AM to transport him.

Spokane,
Thursday June 25

Jenno's brother Sam & family arrived last night to stay for a few days, so it was a good thing I came home. Today was spent trying to refocus my brain on home--things to do around the house (washing machine drain is on the blink) etc, etc. We went down to the Spokane Falls and took pictures with the kids on the giant wagon slide.

I talked to Mom today and she said that it went fine. On a sunny, beautiful morning, the volunteer ambulance crew took Dad out of the trailer and carefully loaded him. Mom went along, and saw him safely settled in Room 316 of the nursing home. She said he was comfortable and she was impressed by how nice the place was. After she came home it felt empty, though.

Baton Petit,
Friday June 26

My mom called me in Spokane this morning to say Dad's blood sugar was up to 500 last night, but the nurses were able to lower it later on.

I spent some time with my brother-in-law this morning, then we came back to the house for lunch. Soon afterwards, Mom called with a choked voice and said that the nursing home called and said Dad's lungs were filling up with liquid, and his time was probably near.

I jumped in the car and drove down to Moscow, my thoughts reeling. I had expected this to come, but I thought Dad had a week or two to live yet. I needed to stay calm for Mom. I texted his daughters and my brother. No doubt they were hit hard too.

I arrived at the nursing home where Dad was surrounded by Mom, her friend Maxine, and Fred's other stepson Eddie & his wife. The head of his bed was elevated, he was lying on his left side, and he was breathing through an oxygen mask. His bright blue eyes stared out the window, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe. We sat around him, holding his hands, talking to him and each other. They drained his lungs a few times to help him.

Mom was a mix of loving support for Dad and restlessness. She had to go out a few times for a smoke break. I went with her once so I could see how she was doing. We talked for a few minutes on the soft green lawn outside, the sunlight falling on us like birdsong from a deep blue sky.

As we walked back toward the entrance, Eddie's wife ran out to us, saying, "Quick! He's going!"

We ran as slow as we could past wheelchairs & nursing home residents, rushing into his room. Dad was lying on his back, and a male and female nurse were trying to stabilize him. His lungs were failing, and his body couldn't keep going. Once they made a final attempt to clear his lungs, the nurses moved away and let the family come close to him. It was 6 o'clock.

His heart was still beating, though faintly. We touched his hands and feet with love, hoping he could still feel us. I put my hand on his head, and recited Psalm 23 as he grew still. I closed the eyes of my father, our loved one, knowing as I did so that he opened them in a better place.

As I drove Mom home to the trailer, there was a radiant red sun setting, filling all the hills with flame as we sped north along Highway 95. Our eyes filled with tears. Such beauty amidst such death. Kindness from God, that he sent a sign to mark the end of this man's life.

I stayed the night so mom would not be alone.

Spokane,
Saturday June 27

I stayed with Mom for the morning, leaving early afternoon when she no longer needed me there. I promised to call her daily, and come out again soon. The funeral home took Dad's remains last night to Lewiston. They were very caring and professional. We need to arrange the memorial service, and other things.

I arrived home, exhausted, numb to the grief. Glad to see my family.

Spokane,
Sunday June 28

I got up this morning like a deflated balloon. All the same, there was no time to mope because we were teaching Sunday School this morning. That went pretty well.

What really got through to me was the worship service. I didn't feel like praising God. Not because I was angry at him; all along I trusted God with my Dad's life & death. It was that numbness inside. That sick feeling.

Yet God in His tender mercy reached into me and His Spirit calmed my heart and revived my soul to commune with Him, my Joy and only hope. The songs' solid lyrics lifted me up so I could weep and smile and feel true peace at losing my stepdad. All these songs were singing not just about my salvation; they were singing about what Fred has too. In fact, I'm jealous that all these years I've been talking to him about the truth of the gospel, and in the nick of time he gets it, and arrives in the very presence of God and the angels before I do. How do you like that? :-)

I guess that's the way it's supposed to be... I'm so glad for him now. One day I will see him again.

This is a meditative piece about my stepdad Fred Gindraux. I'm writing from his trailer in rural north Idaho. A thundershower just passed between the two hills in whose little valley we lay. Now the rain only falls from the edges of trees, grass, fences, mailboxes, a few scattered buildings. But mostly green things now made more green by the the rain.

I'm here because my stepdad is slowly dying from brain cancer, and Mom needs some help. It's a strange feeling to care for someone like this. Now I understand the goal of hospice, to help people die with dignity--not by suicide, but to face death with compassion, not embarrassment. So as I watch this man sleep, and talk, and lose human functions day by day, I see a beautiful man: people mourn the collapse of a museum more than they mourn an old shack falling down.

My stepdad is a museum of victories and failures. He is a living soul who has spent 69 years toiling in this world (25,465 days since his birth). That should mean something. Yet redwood trees and Galapagos tortoises are far older before they die; but being human matters. We are made in God's image.

William Paley once compared God to a watchmaker as he saw evidence in human beings that our bodies are too complex and organized to be an accident; we were designed. The watch analogy eventually fails, but it is still a powerful metaphor for human life.

My dad is like a watch. Not a digital watch; an honest-to-goodness pocketwatch that if made transparent, would display many intricate parts all working in concert.

His great-grandfather was a watchmaker in Switzerland. My stepdad inherited a love for machines and a great skill for precision work. In a way, he truly is a time piece. To know him is to both experience sadness and admiration. His life, as for all of us, is running out of time. Clocks do not run in reverse. May we wisely use the time we have been given. Right now, one of my goals is to simply make those remaining days & weeks as comfortable as possible for him, and to support my mom... though I don't always know how.