Friends, friends. Thank you for writing. Thank you for mentioning my family and me to Father. Please don’t stop. I sense your presence in this place. I don’t know. Perhaps there are those who get used to death and the dying process. I should have asked Dad’s hospice nurse that question in retrospect, but I didn’t think of it until now.
Dad was in a mess. He wasn’t all broken up like Mom was after the tumble that destroyed her in November, but he was afflicted with the progression of profound Parkinson’s and associated dementia. His brain was sabotaged by the effects of the Fall, rotted throughout with disease, and compromised by the plaque of his sickness.
Parkinson’s is what killed him, the dementia dictated it was an ugly process. What a wicked disease! Please come quickly, Lord Jesus, but until you do, thank you, thank you for the people you gifted to provide care to us all in such times of ungracious need. My soul! I have rubbed shoulders with angels since Dad moved into the care facility.
Dad turned into death’s tunnel Wednesday morning and died Thursday afternoon at 3:18 PM. I was with him. One of my very close friends, Scott Walker, died late Tuesday night of a heart attack. It has proven to be a long week.
I was somewhat prepared for Dad’s exit. I was totally unprepared for Scott’s, as all who knew him were. We buried Scott today and reached for consolation in each other. It is odd how the untimely robbery of an early death draws us together. Scott is a formidable loss, and coupled with Dad, is proving a taxing time.
I will write more later. Right now, my reserves are low. There will be a memorial service in honor of Dad here in Fort Worth, most likely toward the end of August. My brothers and I will get that figured out soon and let you know.
We will again make the trek to Eastern Oklahoma, just as we did eight months ago, and place Dad’s ashes next to Mom’s. It is fitting, and I promise: I will be in touch soon. Thank you again for your outpouring of love and thoughts.