My Last Week

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.

Time Piece

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.

What I've Been Inspired by Lately

Although I write with a stuffy head cold, I know I need to keep posting.

I've been reading Psalm 103, for one... excellent. I am finally taking serious the idea of memorizing Scripture. I have rested too long on my knowledge of the Bible's content, where to find things, etc. and thought I was doing well enough. But committing things to memory takes faith in God to a deeper priority in my life.

Since I did not grow up in the Christian church, spiritual habits have come hard to me, such as consistent Christ-centered prayer and reading the Holy Bible. So it's easy for me to be lazy and drift. What has changed for me is that I realize that all this stuff is not about what I do (i.e. religious activity) but instead my devotional time is about being open to God's transforming touch on my character, making me into someone He wants me to be.

While I stayed home from church, I listened to a fantastic biography sermon by John Piper about Athanasius, a 4th century Christian leader.

This sparked my interest in the ancient desert father Antony, whose biography Athanasius wrote. I didn't really know much about Antony until now. I've always kind of looked down on the ascetics as too world-denying, not caring enough about the world but wanting to retreat from it. However I think I have been too hard on them, and there is much to be admired about Antony's rigorous pursuit of reality and a pure life.

The monastery of Apa Bane in Egypt (Looks like Tatooine, doesn't it?)

My Birthday Dance

For my 36th birthday, I decided to "Space my Face"... see the results here.

Civil War Reinactment

I took A. to the local Civil War battle staged near the Spokane River about 10 miles from my house. The Confederates won this time.

One More Thing

I realized that in my last post I left it a little incomplete, since I never addressed why berating myself isn't worthwhile.

I think that any attempts to beat ourselves up for our real failures will never work. The problem is that no amount of anger at myself will change me or transform the way I live. If only it were so easy! Perhaps small habits can be changed, but major weaknesses require major solutions which berating is ineffective to produce.

One of my weaknesses is keeping track of time. When I was born, I didn't have an internal "body clock"; I think I got a sundial instead, with all the numbers worn off. This has caused me big problems in life, because I am always so optimistic about how long it will take me to do something, and I am either late or I have to postpone what I planned because I ran out of time. This can lead to being late to meetings, not being punctual for responsibilities (or planes/trains/buses), and also disappointing people I love.

Thankfully I am gaining ground: but it's not because I berated myself. I am changing because as I get older I am being shaped by the Spirit of God to be more thoughtful of others, and more aware of the passage of time.

So I think that self-hatred is ironically not tough enough to make me change. Only God's love can convince me that it is possible to become someone different, yet still be me.

That's a good place to be.

Berate

"Iran Demands Respect As NGOs Berate U.N. Racism Conference"
--headline April 24, 2009 www.cnsnews.com

BERATE: to chide, scold, or criticize someone with intent to punish or humble them.

After a long break, I have returned to blogging about our good ol' English language.

Berate is not as ancient as some others on the "be-" list... it appears at the earliest by A.D. 1386, made of two words: be (about) and rate. The latter word has an older lineage, growing out of Old French "reter" (to impute blame) which in turn comes surprisingly from Latin "reputare", (to count over, reflect... as in reputation).

In the Middle Ages, you might rate someone (blame them) for doing a lousy job. We tend to still rate people on the basis of desirable skills. I googled this and was amused (sadly?) to find that Facebook has a widget called "People Rate People" where you can get your friends to vote for you. But in the old days "rate" had none of this popularity feel.

Berating seems in no danger of disappearing from the English language, as even some bloggers are enthusiastic to tongue-lash, lambast, accuse... you get the point. Of course, I don't even have to leave the walls of my house, as I hear my own voice berate my kids for spilling the milk, forgetting to flush the toilet, or dawdle when speed is needed.

I guess this illustrates the problem with berating; it's not wrong to justly correct another person (see this link for the lost art of rebuking) but it's easy to over-do it, to scold out of proportion to the transgression. Impatience, a temporary lack of love, and the desire for control all form a witch's brew of motives that vomit forth our accusations towards others... or ourselves.

Yes, I also belong to the Self-Berating Club. The irony is that our urge to verbally punish others or ourselves fall so short of the mark of our crying need for humility. Didn't Christ himself say,

"Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye." Matthew 7:3-5

Christ says to us to deal with our problems first, and then with an appropriate attitude we can help others see their flaws, when the time is right. Nowhere does this leave room for venting or ranting at people. "Getting it off my chest" may be therapy, but it smacks of pride and a love for pointing out people's errors.

Perhaps this is why the devil is named Satan in the Bible, literally "the Accuser", who desires to make us despair by showing us our failure to live by God's law. He accuses so he might paralyze his prey. He pretends to uphold the law of God because he is an ancient scavenger, and we know we actually are weak and morally crippled. Anyone who is honest with himself knows that he does not always live in sync with his own standards of behaviour.

But what this "Berater" doesn't realize is that what we are powerless to do, Someone else was perfect in my place.

"You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly." Romans 5:6

The real answer to all my (or your) moral failures is not accusing, but accepting. Just as berate comes from the Old French word meaning "to impute blame", we can accept the morally pure life of Christ as a gift to us, his perfect record reckoned to me by faith... to impute blessing, not blame. Here is the power for us to both humbly own up to our faults (no defensiveness!!!) and at the same time feel incredibly loved and significant, because this Son of God came not to accuse the world but to redeem it, one soul at a time.

The sweet irony here is that only God has the absolute right to accuse, condemn, and punish us. Yet He chooses to offer us mercy instead, and the grace of God to transform screwed-up people like me into heroes. And if we benefit from this kindness, will we also impute blessing to others instead of blame?

--An old blame-shifter who still has hope for himself