Thriving Through Grief: See you later, Dad

Tuesday, April 20, was one of the saddest days of my life.

It started out like any other day: wake up, take my two oldest children to school, homeschool my youngest in the morning, and help care for my grandma in the afternoon.

On this particular afternoon, my grandma was taking a nap, so I decided to call the local nursing home and schedule a visit with my dad for the following day. I had been trying to schedule a visit for a week, but COVID restrictions make scheduling visits difficult, and the visitation coordinator and I had been playing phone tag trying to get in touch with one another. A window visit would have sufficed, expect Dad had a courtyard window with no access from the outer perimeter—even courtyard visits had to be scheduled.

The nursing home also functions as a rehabilitation facility, and Dad had been in there since January, healing from his second below-the-knee leg amputation. Such a healing process is difficult, especially for a diabetic, but Dad was doing well. Just four days prior to my call, the family had participated in a phone conference with Dad and his nurses and physical therapists. They told us that therapy was going well and that he had amazing upper body strength. They were hopeful that he would soon be fitted for prosthetics and could come home in a couple of months. Things were looking up.

Dad was excited about our upcoming visit, and so were my children, especially my youngest; she had been talking about it for days. We needed to get this visit scheduled in the books once and for all. I dialed the number.

“How may help you?” the receptionist asked after a friendly greeting.

“I’ve been trying to schedule a visit with my father, and I’d like to come tomorrow at 3:00 PM if that’s okay,” I replied, telling her Dad’s name.

Her tone immediately changed to one of discomfort.

“Actually,” she said with hesitation, “We are going to transport your dad to the hospital, but…” her voice trailed for a moment. “I’m so sorry to tell you like this, but paramedics have been doing CPR on him for about 15 minutes. We’ve been trying to contact your mom…”

“What? You mean he coded?”

“Yes, I’m so sorry.”

Shock. Confusion. Shock.

“Okay, thank you,” I managed through a rush of sudden sobs. I hung up the phone and tried to call my mom. No answer. She had been at work and had been unable to answer the phone. I called my brother who lives less than a mile from the rehabilitation facility. “I just got off the phone with the nursing home. They’re doing CPR on Dad!”

My brother rushed to the facility, but it was too late. Dad was gone.

Instead of visiting Dad at the nursing home on Wednesday, I would be visiting him at the funeral home on Friday.

What happened? What caused him to suddenly stop breathing when everything was going so well? We were told he complained of chest pain shortly before he stopped breathing. Our best guess is a heart attack.

Fast forward 10 days, and here I sit, telling the story I never expected to tell. How is the family doing, you may wonder? We’re sad. Mom is devastated that she didn’t get the phone call in time, not that it would have made a difference. Everything happened so quickly. Once he stopped breathing, paramedics worked on him for over 25 minutes, doing everything they could possibly do.

Our family no doubt needs prayer during this difficult time. Dad left behind many friends and a big family, including eight grandchildren, who loved him dearly. The days ahead won’t be easy.

We miss him tremendously, but our faith provides us with peace, comfort, and hope that he is in a better place and that we will see him again—walking on two legs, no doubt. It is because of this faith that we are able to thrive through the grief.

The words of Christ have never rang truer for me than when I lost my grandpa in 2012 and now my dad in 2021: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted,” and “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.”

My Heavenly Father has my earthly father in His care. See you later, Dad. I’ll be okay.