Footprints

I write this from my father's bedside on the night of Holy Thursday. Literally, I am laying on an air mattress on the floor by Dad. This particular day of the Triduum has always reminded me of my father as I wrote a few years ago. This Lent, however, has taken on a whole new meaning when thinking of and seeing my father in the last several days.

One of my favorite Easter memories as a little girl was one year when we were preparing for midnight mass during the Vigil, somehow it was discovered that my dress shoes no longer fit. This was the last thing Mom needed as she ran about cleaning and prepping the house for company who were on the way for a weekend visit. Dad and I snuck over to the mall where he bought me new shoes from Payless Shoe Source where a classmate's mom took care of us. I remember Dad saying he didn't mind the impromptu shopping trip since it was nice to get out of the house amidst the hustle and bustle and noise that comes with a house bursting at the seams with us little kids and excited anticipation of Easter basket hunting the next morning. I remember each year when I would wear my dress shoes and new Easter dress, Dad would always fuss and say how pretty I looked. There is something special about the way a Dad looks at his little girl all dolled up for a special occasion. This is also one of my favorite memories from my wedding day...I had done a First Look with my Dad rather than my soon to be hubby. The way Dad looked at me on that day reminded me of all the years of wearing a new dress for Easter or Christmas. 

Adam, Charlotte, and I have been at my parents' home for the last week and a half helping my mom and supporting Dad after his nine day isolated stay in the hospital (not virus related). 

Waking up one Easter morning in a room at Andrews Air Force Base, I was the last to rise from my sleeping bag on the hotel floor. Next, I heard, "There she is! Good morning, sleepy head!" and saw my Dad grinning at me as my brothers ate their candy and Mom motioned for me to search for my Easter basket that was hidden somewhere in the room. Dad was the first to notice me and that moment has already stood out as an example of the many ways he has always seen me and I am not talking about the time he saw right through my excuse of having the flu after a night of too much fun in college when he surprised me at my work and I was "sick". 

It has been 24 hours since Dad returned home and many things are in the works, such as, installing a ramp, obtaining oxygen, and making Dad as comfortable as possible in the hospital bed that is now set up in Mom's and his room. I told one of my students that folks were coming and going, evaluations were being done, and services were being developed much like the early childhood process we had been unpacking in our class but for end of life care now. 

I can't even begin to count the number of times Dad has helped my brothers and me. He has been known to drive 250 miles one way to drop me off at college then drive back on the same day to get up and go to work early the next day. In a blizzard. Uphill both ways. Yep, that's my dad. 

As much as it saddened and frustrated us all to not be able to see Dad in his hospital room, the fact of the matter is he was there for nine days without us. During that time, that was long enough to pray a novena, I couldn't help but think he is experiencing his own Garden of Gethsemane. Jesus went to the Garden, taking his friends with him, who could not keep their own eyes open ("Could you not keep watch for one hour?") during that time.  While there, Jesus implored of God to take away this cup but ultimately, accepted God's will. Dad being forced to be alone those nine days outside the nurses and doctors who treated him made me ponder the days leading up to Jesus' death all the more.  No one wanted Dad to be in the hospital amidst this pandemic.  While he was away from us, I wondered if this was God's way of getting Dad to himself, to purify him, and prepare him for what's to come next, much like how Jesus retreated to the Garden.

Since Dad was isolated from us the last several days, I wasn't prepared for the marks on his hands and arms from the constant bloodwork that was done during his stay.  He has a huge purple bruise on his upper arm and his wrists were raw and red from the needles and hospital bracelets he wore.  His feet are swollen since his body is keeping in too much fluid.  Tonight, when two of my brothers and I worked together to shift Dad in his bed, at one point, he had his arms spread out holding on to the railings on both sides of the bed in an effort to hoist himself up in the bed - - I was struck by how much he resembled Jesus on the cross in that moment.

Dad is embracing his own cross and fighting so many things right now:  worsening chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), a 90% blocked aorta, an aortic valve that needs replaced, decreased renal function (kidney disease), liver issues, and recently diagnosed Myelodysplastic Syndromes (MDS) which is preleukemia and the inability to form sufficient functioning red and white blood cells and platelets.  He struggles to breathe every second of the day and night even with the aid of oxygen.  As the doctor said today, it's hard to know where one health issue ends and one begins due to all the overlapping issues.  The congestive heart failure requires 
 limiting his fluid intake and tonight, once again, I couldn't help but make the comparison between Dad and Jesus when he begged for water, even just a drop, due to his thirst.  

"Can I have a sip? Just one!" I would plead as a little girl when wanting to have some of Dad's perpetual cup of soda in the cup holder on a trip. "Just a small sip, Sis" he would say using his nickname for me. Everyone knew my sips could turn into half the cup disappearing. Thanks for all the sips, Dad. 

Tonight, he called me by another nickname after I came to his bedside from the other room during a coughing fit. When he saw me there, he motioned for me to come closer and grabbed my hand. "Oh, Meggie Annie. I just wanted to see somebody" he mumbled. This sentiment reminded me of something I told him while video chatting in the hospital. He is not truly alone but ultimately, we each individually do face death alone as it is something we each do face and experience....but how unique it all is. Our entry and departure from the world - - we each have our own purpose and vocation to fulfill. I reflected on that as I prayed over Dad tonight. Only he could walk the path he did which brings me back to the washing of the feet. His feet covered so much ground around the world through serving in Vietnam and elsewhere. His feet carried him through a less than ideal home life. They ran from base to base in countless baseball games and ran after small children as an active father who provided for his family as best he could. They danced their way into Mom's heart at a bar dance club. They drove him to college classes he finished after a long day of work and as a father. They waited patiently on the other side of the birth room where I delivered Charlotte and he heard through the door that he had a new granddaughter to love. Those feet brought him to my ear doctor and audiologist appointments and drove me to my CCD classes as we listened to Ace of Base on T102. They are the feet that filled the shoes mine never could. They are what carried me in the hard times and remind me of his favorite : Footsteps in the Sand. All these things tied into my prayers over Dad tonight as yet again, we lifted his feet up on the pillows to try to keep them elevated. His strength is slipping away and he can no longer stand on his own but he is every bit the larger than life hero he was to me as a little girl. 

You looked at me tonight saying you wanted to see someone--not wanting to be alone. 

There you go again, seeing me. Thank you, Dad. I will never forget seeing you in your own Calvary. 

If you all could keep Dad, Mom, and our family in your prayers, we would be so grateful. He has always encouraged us to look at the bright side and told Mom that was the only  has way to survive when they were dating. One way that has been evident was when my older brother worked with a nurse at the hospital to allow for video chats so we were able to "see" Dad in spite  as of not being allowedto visit... Praise God! The other morning, I spent time in prayer as I looked at the items on Dad's dresser. Little did I know that it would soon be converted into a mini art gallery thanks to the grandchildren.

Charlotte is watching Pappy through the Amazon Echo on the dresser! 

Settling in as roommates for the night. :) I guess it is the least I can do for all the nights I kept Dad up with my crying as a premie. 

 This baseball playing, motorcycle riding, devoted dad and hubby, collector of his only daughter's creations circa 1997, Air Force veteran who loved flying and jumping out of planes, is so deserving of all the prayers he can get! 💕