Matters of the Heart: Part Two

            I sat in class last week with the date Saturday, August 25 etched in my brain. We had all concluded that as we gazed upon my father’s lifeless body, he would never be any more than this, so we decided it best to discontinue care on the above date and see what happens. I struggled all week with emotions that I’ve tried to deny for so many years: rejection, unworthiness, and unloved. This is how I felt in regards to my father, and it burdened my heart that he would never truly love me as his own.

            We sat in class last week reciting a poem, and the words sank in and clawed at my heart. In the poem, the little girl asked her mom, “How do you know if you are going to die?” Her response, “When you can no longer make a fist.” I thought of his lifeless body lying there and how he couldn’t even move his hands, let alone make a fist. In that moment, I knew he was gone. I guess in part, I grieved that day, for I knew the end was near.

            I headed up to Bossier City Friday afternoon after I finished with school. On my way, my mom called and said that my dad was doing much better. He was alert and moving all extremities. I wasn’t sure what this meant, but the only thing that popped in my head was, “Can he make a fist?” I wanted to get there and just see him make a fist. I arrived, and although he was moving around, no, he could not make a fist. We went in later that evening for the p.m. visit, just my mom and me. She stood on one side and me on the other. He looked at her as she spoke and then she told him, “Brandy’s here. Brandy’s here. She’s right over there,” pointing towards me. He turned his head and looked at me as if he didn’t know who I was. But, then, his eyes changed as a flicker of recognition entered his mind. His eyes went wide and he lifted up out of bed and came face to face with me. The anguish in his face told me he was sorry. I’ve never seen him look at me with so much love. In that moment, I knew that he heard what I had said to him the week before, and, now, he was responding to it as best he could.

            We left the hospital and my mom said, “You needed that.” “Yeah, kind of,” I said. “There’s no kind of. You needed that,” she said. She was right; I did need that. I needed it more than anything. Saturday rolled around and he was doing even better. My brother was shocked by what we saw, but at the same time, doubts entered our minds as the results of the EEG still had shown minimal brain activity. When we went in, my brother and nephew went to one side while I went to the other side of the bed. When my brother started talking to him, my father turned over completely facing him as if he was trying to get to him. And, then, as he looked at my brother with a look of remorse, he reached back across the bed to me. In that moment, he knew we were both there for him, and he wanted to be with both of his children.

            A bit later, my pastor and his wife arrived at the hospital and wanted to pray over him. We headed up to ICU and entered his room. My pastor and his wife were on one side of the bed while my mother and I were on the other side of the bed. My pastor told him who he was and that he was here to talk to him about the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Pastor said, “Do you understand what I’m saying to you.” My father’s eyes went wide, he withdrew into the bed, and with a force unlike any I had seen from him, he shook his head up and down in a vigorous motion. My pastor went on to talk to him about salvation and how to receive it. As he did this, it looked like an internal struggle going on inside my father as he tossed his head back and forth, and his body became very agitated. Pastor placed his hand on my father’s head and began to pray. As he did this, my father’s body went limp and the most peaceful look came across his face. I continue to pray that in that moment, he received salvation.

            My pastor stayed and counseled the family for several hours. Around 1 p.m., the doctor finally showed up to talk to us, a doctor that had never seen him before. The doctor decided that after reviewing the chart and the fact that my father was doing so much better that we should wait several more days to take out the tubes. We were shocked. Even the nursing staff was shocked. Don’t get me wrong, we didn’t want him to die, but we had already talked with several nurses and realized that what we were seeing was as good as it was going to get. In all actuality, we should have seen this response the week before, but since he was so heavily medicated due to his wife lying about his alcohol intake, he couldn’t function. If the doctor’s would have known, they could have given him something for withdrawals, and we would have been able to see some responses from him. Although he could move his extremities, he still couldn’t follow commands. He couldn’t squeeze your hand on purpose or move his legs on purpose. Most of it was involuntary. When we asked if he wanted to go home to his wife, he shook his head no, or when asking if he loved us, he shook his head no.

            Because of him looking better, our thoughts were that instead of discontinuing care that maybe we should take the tubes out of his throat since he could breathe good on his own and sign a Do Not Resuscitate and Do Not Intubate order. If he had another heart attack, the chance of him having more brain injury was possible. If he was able to function on his own, then ok, but if not, then let him go. All of his other care would have continued at this point. His wife decided that she wanted to wait several days and see how he was. I had decided that since I had received the closure I needed that I would leave after the next visit. Some looked at me strange and were like, “okay.” I was talking to my uncle about it and all of a sudden he said, “Something’s different. You’re happy. I see it in your face. You should leave. You’ve done what you were supposed to do.” Later that evening I went in to see him, and he looked so peaceful. The look on his face confirmed that I was doing the right thing, and I wanted to remember that image as being my last of him.

            I talked to his wife on Tuesday, and she told me that he was doing so much better, and that he even passed a few tests. He was able to high-five the nurse when she told him to, and when she asked him how many fingers she was holding up, he responded with two fingers. She said he even puckered up as if he wanted to kiss her. They took the tubes out that day, and he was breathing very well on his own. He had difficulty clearing his secretions, so they had to keep suctioning him. His throat was raw and swollen because of the tube being in his throat, so they gave him steroids to minimize the swelling, and he was doing so well. She was so happy that he was doing better and had herself convinced that he would be home in no time. The old adage, “They always get better before they get worse,” kept intruding my thoughts. And, then, the next morning the call came that he had passed. His heart had stopped, and since his wife never signed papers, they tried to resuscitate him but were unsuccessful.

            I look back over the events of the weekend and am thankful for an awesome God and the role He plays in my life. God knew we were gathering and that our hearts still needed mending. I think that was the purpose of the whole weekend. God allowed my father to have the clarity he needed to understand who was there and the ability to respond without words. He gave him the ability to understand how to receive salvation, and the free will to make that choice. In twenty-four hours, I went from feeling so completely overburdened to a person who felt overwhelmed and joyful at the power of God.

            I went back to school on Monday and my professor was concerned about how I would be doing—that is, until she saw me. She later told me that I looked like my old self and that the week before I had looked so run down. I told her, “That’s just it doc, I feel better than my old self.” The burdens we have, spoken or unspoken, take a toll on our hearts and bodies. Even when we decide that the pain of rejection is too much and quit having a relationship with those who matter, it still weighs heavy on us. Sometimes, that can be more damaging than the spoken burdens, because, at least with those, we recognize them. But with the unspoken burdens, they latch on to our hearts and act like a cancer in our body, slowly sucking the life out of us. Forgiveness is the key to the anger that resides within over situations. The devil uses that anger to pit us against one another even if there is no contact. The mention of the person’s name can sometimes tick us off. I know that’s how I felt about my father, and the devil played on that vulnerability and made me feel worthless. But, the devil no longer has power over that. God reigns supreme and has crushed the enemy and made me whole. How many years are wasted over the stubbornness that we mere mortals have? How many relationships are ruined because of those who always think they are right about everything and never budge? Pride is one of the seven deadly sins. Does pride prevent you from forgiving? If so, you are inviting the cancer to eat you alive. After this weekend, I felt like fifty pounds had been lifted off my back, and my heart and body felt younger than I can remember. Peace is a word I can now associate with myself. What kind of peace do you look for, and where do you look for it at? The Bible says that God makes all things new. I’m so thankful that He has shown grace and mercy on me and allowed me the opportunity to make all things new.

Matters of the Heart

            I’ve yearned for my father my whole life. When I was little, he would pop in and out of our lives in an effort to rekindle a romance with my mother rather than be a father to his children. We were always the afterthought. He disappeared for many years, and, when I was 18, I pounded pavements and burned up telephone lines in order to find him. After all those years, finally we saw each other again.

            The relationship was strained at best and nonexistent most other times. Time and time again, I would go visit and call only to have him say, “Come see me” or “Call me sometime.” I thought to myself, isn’t that what I’m doing. In 13 years, I visited and called him every chance I could. Our visits and phone calls usually consisted of an argument, because he always thought he was right about everything, including the fact that he had never been a father. His alcohol, drugs, gambling, work, wives, and stepchildren always took precedent over his own children. But, somehow, it was always me and my brother’s fault that there wasn’t a substantial relationship.

            When I finally got tired of the constant let down and disappointment, I quit calling, and—well, the relationship ended. The reason being, a relationship doesn’t exist with only one person making an effort. I told myself that I was done with him, and, if he died, I wouldn’t care. I guess we never know how we will respond until we get that phone call.

            On Saturday, August 11, I got that phone call. It was difficult to decipher and a lot of prayer and counsel went into the decision making process. I was told that they thought he had a heat related illness and collapsed while driving and CPR had to be initiated. We loaded up the next day and headed to the hospital. Tensions were high as me and my brother and his family walked in. Everyone treated us nicely, but we heard what they said behind our backs.

            After talking with the doctors and locating the man who stopped to help, we finally put together somewhat of a timeline. He was at work that morning, and his boss found him slumped on a bench. When he went to check on him, he was responsive and said that he felt weak, dizzy, and very hot. They laid him down, put fans on him, and gave him some cold water. After a few minutes, they asked if he wanted them to call an ambulance or take him to the hospital. They said he jumped up off the ground, alert and oriented, and said he was fine. He went to his vehicle, cranked it, and turned on the AC to cool off. They came out and checked on him, and he was still fine. A bit later, they checked on him again, and his van was gone. They assumed he went home, or that he went to the hospital. As they stood there discussing the situation, they looked down the road and saw his van two blocks down with an ambulance next to it.

            The patron who stopped was a firefighter. He initially stopped because he thought it was an accident since the van was snugged up to a brick wall. He said it was around 730 and people just drove on by and never stopped. When he looked through the driver’s side, he saw my father slumped over and thought that since he hit the wall that he might have a neck injury. He had to go look for help and found a woman in the nearby subdivision that came and helped him. They couldn’t get him out of the driver’s side because of the wall, and they had a difficult time getting him out of the passenger’s side due to a telephone pole and some other electrical equipment. Once he got him out, he realized he wasn’t breathing and initiated CPR. The fire truck showed up soon after, and they shocked him several times on-scene but were unable to get a pulse back. As they loaded him into the ambulance, he started breathing on his own.

            Because of his body temperature being so high, they had to do cooling measures on him for three days. After all was said and done, they said that he had a heart attack, and the heat exacerbated the situation. His stubbornness led him not to get help, and now he lays in ICU. A man who prided himself on never stopping for anything is unable to move except for the sporadic twitches from his alcohol withdrawal. His vital signs all look good except for his constant reoccurrence of fever; therefore, that section of his brain is functional.

            When I first walked into the room, the daughter in me wanted to see a response from him and what I saw burdened my heart. I saw person after person walk up to him and talk to him and his eyes were open. When my brother approached, it was as if he was trying to look right at him and tears filled his eyes. We found out later that he has a watery eye that cries all the time. When I walked up and talked to him, he closed his eyes and shook his head no. My heart broke even more at this as I realized that not only did he deny me my whole life, but also he still denies me in the end. The devil likes to play on our vulnerabilities. The more I yearned for his recognition, the more I felt denied. After talking with my pastor and his wife and praying on the situation, the medical knowledge that I have told me this was not the case. He has no control over motor skills and the area of his brain that houses his personality is completely damaged. He doesn’t know who anyone is. His EEG results show minimal brain activity and short of a miracle, he will never function again. He will lay in a bed the rest of his life in a vegetative state, or we can make a decision to discontinue care and provide comfort measures until he passes.

            I went to see him at 5am the other morning, the only time that I could be alone with him and say my peace. The daughter in me thought how sad is it to be an alcoholic who lives his life the way he does, and he is now reaping the consequences. It saddened me that he never knew how truly remarkable his kids turned out or the wonderful grandchildren he had. It saddens me that he couldn’t accept the wonderful father and husband my brother had become in spite of it all, because my father was reminded of what he never was and knew that he had no hand in making my brother the man that he is. It saddened me to know that he would never get the chance to know me or walk me down the aisle, because he never thought I was his child. He denied me in the beginning, and he denied me in the end. But, then, regardless of the sadness I felt and the things I said, the Christian woman that I’ve become felt the need to forgive him for it all. I prayed that God would give him the wherewithal to hear my words, and that they may provide comfort. Surprisingly, after I spoke to my pastor about him closing his eyes in my presence, it never happened again. He never looked at me, but he didn’t close his eyes either. After all was said and done, I lay hands on him and prayed for his healing in whichever form it was to come.

            I sometimes look back and wonder about things in life, and how it is that we find ourselves in these situations. I wonder if it would have been better to have never found him, always searching for him, wondering if he was doing the same, or is it easier to have known him briefly and have to live with the fact that no matter what I did, he still rejected me. Forgiving him was easy, but that doesn’t take away the hurt that resides inside my heart over the wasted years long since gone. And, as I sit by the phone waiting for updates, I can only pray that he is healed. I call and talk to the house supervisor, and he hears the inflection in my voice as he tells me, “No change. I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no change.” And, even after it all, my departing words are, “I love you daddy, even still.”