Untethered

I am wrapping up another year of my life. That isn't something I usually care too much about. In fact, I have a rather disheartening history of bad birthdays. No matter. 

This is the first one I'm facing without any parents left walking this earth.

For whatever reason, I'm finding that increasingly intolerable. By this morning, I'm completely devastated. I can't seem to quit crying. I thought it was horrible after my dad died: unbearable, really, to hear my mom singing "Happy Birthday" all by herself on the other end of the phone. 

This is worse.

As I sit here mulling this over in the silence of my empty house, my mother is a small pile of ashes in the back room of a morgue 450 some-odd miles away. 

Gosh, that's bleak. 

I know.

I know, and I am 100% *not okay*.

So, now what?

We Are Losing Her, Too

 I had intrusive thoughts. I often do, but I had little breakthrough nudges that seemed so stupid.

I sat on my patio watching the garden and mulling over my mom's upcoming summer visit. She hoped to stop by for at least a week in July - maybe August. Her gallbladder was hurting: a lot. Aching *so* badly. It unsettled me: reminded me of my three month saga from hell. 

"Go get it checked out, Mom."

"They said the bloodwork is fine, but it just really hurts so that I can hardly breathe."

And so when I sat on my back patio watching the garden, any time I was alone - really alone, the intrusive thoughts started. What if... what if?

"Is this her year?" I asked God.

He knew what I was asking. 2017 was my dad's year. 

I chided myself for being overly worried. After all, I was likely projecting my own medical trauma worries onto her.

"Please go get scanned, Mom. Don't let your doctor off the hook." I pleaded.

"Yeah... but the blood tests..."

It didn't seem to matter how much I pushed. This went on for about three weeks. Finally, FINALLY, she found someone to listen to: her sister reminded her that their older sister had lethal cancers that began as unexplained pain in her side. Mom *finally* called the doctor. They couldn't get her in Monday, but they would Friday. 

Friday came and the kind NP at the doctor's office got her in for a scan straight away. But they didn't call her with the results: they called my sister. She called the rest of us. Pancreatic cancer, metastatic to a lesion on the liver and spots in her lungs. 

Oh, my gosh. *This* is why the pain left her breathless. Her lungs also had cancer. 

The bomb went off June 28th and the world has never been the same. 

Never, like we are so far in the future. 

It has been just about three weeks since 'the big day', and Mom has already been hospitalized for five days, has had a total of four CT scans (counting the original), one MRI, and one PET scan. 

This is all so surreal, so unfair. 

On the same token, I have friends who just lost their parents within the same set of months. I cringe with guilt, thinking that I cannot/shouldn't say that seven years is 'too close together'. Even so, both parents are dying in their 60's. That seems too young and this all feels too fast. 

I have such a vacillating sense of what I should and should not feel. I am trying to make space for all of it. 

I am rambling again. Losing parents does that to me. I ramble, or I am left speechless. 

Why did those nudges come to me in the garden? Why can I feel things ahead of time if I cannot change them?

"Is this her year?"

Yes. 

It is her year and now we are losing her, too.

Thoughts on "Comfort"

I think one of the least helpful things we Christians can do is to when it comes to the loss of loved ones is to tell each other that the body is 'no longer your loved one' because that person is now in Heaven. Bear with me a second and hear me out, please.

I am a Baptist pastor's daughter. I understand as well as anyone why saying that is *supposed* to be helpful. I really do. I heard this a lot when my dad died and, frankly, I cannot bear it. It is no longer a go-to cliche phrase that I inflict on anyone else. I also believe whole-heartedly that my dad *is* in Heaven and that I *will* see his glorified self someday.

That is beside the point. Why? His physical body had the arms that held me close more times than I can count, the knees I sat on, and the heart I used to listen to thumping. It had the big, strong hands that helped me learn to walk, tossed me into the air for fun, checked for bruises when I fell or wiped away tears when I cried. Every good and kind word was spoken from those lips: countless prayers in the middle of the night - even as an adult who called from miles away, waking him from sleep bc I needed that prayer support.

I found after my dad died that I wanted more than anything for the well-intentioned "that's not him" crowd to just back off and let me grieve! It does not threaten God's eternal nature to grieve the loss of the physical person. It no way negates the existence of what we refer to as Heaven to allow tears to spill over the arms that cradled you as a baby and which *are* now forever missing from this world.

You want to comfort someone, truly? Tell them that it is okay to grieve and then hold space for whatever that looks like. God is not unseated from His throne if we miss the man who nurtured us through life in this world.

Grief is not a declaration of defiance against God's plan. It is not a rejection of the notion that eternal life exists with a chance to get to know one another again in a new way. It is an expression of love, nothing more.

Even knowing that He would raise Lazarus from the dead, the man Jesus Christ took time to express profound sorrow over the loss of His friend.

If you miss your love one - the once real, physical representation of them - I validate that grief, and I will sit with you through it without judgement and without trying to take it away. The only way through it, after all, is through it.

I am sending my love, wherever you are on your journey.

Father's Day

Just for today, I don't want to be comforted.

No platitudes about Heaven where he has gone.

I don't want to be told how happy he is,

Or that he wouldn't want to be missed.

Today, let me grieve the life that was lived.

Let me ache for the man who is gone.

Let me think of how he was - 

Don't make me force a smile instead.

My soul, he was so real!

My daddy was a giant.

His heart, his personality, his laugh was massive.

He had a smile to match.

I miss the hugs from arms like beams;

The thumping of life in his chest.

I miss calling him for his advice,

Because "father knows best".

My dad put time into each of us.

He called me and the girls when he passed by our town,

Just so we could yell out loudly,

"WE LOVE YOU, PAPA!"

Even when he wasn't here, he was close.

You don't get over that in a minute.

Remembering those sweet things

Makes it hurt worse... makes the soul ache.

So let me shed my tears.

Do not begrudge me this grief.

I will always cry about my dad,

And those tears will bring relief.

I have apologized my whole life

For having big feelings in response to things.

But this is how I was created, and

This is what such gigantic love brings.

There was never anyone like my dad.

He was the biggest, the strongest, the best.

There will never be another man like him,

Now he's entered into rest.

Taking this moment is for me and for him...

This moment, this space is for 'us'. 

I am not wallowing right now.

I am grieving, and that *is* allowed.

Today of all days - Father's Day,

It is hard not to be lost in tears.

I was so privileged to be so deeply loved

For my first thirty-five earth-side years.

Goodbye again, my sweet dad.

It isn't right that you are gone.

Yet, somehow I am jealous, too.

That you get to be with pain forever done.

I wish I could hug you a minute in Heaven,

So you didn't have to come back down here.

You got exactly what you wanted,

And I know that you are finally free. 

See? This is what grief does.

It moves in waves all on its own. 

It overwhelms the soul, as if to drown,

But moves through again to acceptance. 

This is why I say don't force it.
I don't want to hear the cliches.
I am a walking, weeping, living cliche.
I wouldn't ask my dad back down to earth.

He did not want to be here,
And he didn't deserve the pain he had.
Just for a minute... a single minute,
I want to go visit my dad.

Blue Christmas

I am trying to figure out what to even say. This year has been brutal. We have faced the loss of seven people. We have faced the moving away of loved ones. To top it all off, we've had some searing bad news this week. We are hurting so badly that there isn't room to breathe. I am trying so hard to hang in there, but if I am 'hanging in there' at all... well, it is by a thread.

Christmas is *my* season. This and Independence Day are my two favorite holidays. Throwing Christmas for my daughter took me through some dark and depressing winters. After depression finally went away, Christmas kept it from returning every year during the dark season. Christmas doubled in joy after my second little was born. It is a big and beautiful season. Simply put, Christmas is how I save myself. 

Not this year. I am "Christmassing" my butt off, to no avail. I have bought presents for everyone. I was even excited about my purchases. I am planning dinner and a day full of joy and relaxation. I pumped out Christmas cookies like a factory this week. 

When I stopped, I stopped hard and face-planted into full-blown depression. I cannot squeeze out any Christmas cheer. I cannot fake smile. I can barely function. This year, all I want for Christmas is the peace of sleeping through it. 

I am trying to refocus. I am trying to see it from my children's excited eyes. I am trying to see it from my own excited eyes from the past. It isn't working. The only thing I feel right now is intense sadness. That, and hollow. I feel so freaking hollow. 

So, anyway, I clearly need some prayer. 2017 feels like the year that stole everyone. I feel ravaged, when I only want to feel grateful. I have always loved Christmas, even before I *needed* Christmas. Now I feel so lost... I just don't know. 

Christmas this year is different. Thanksgiving was so empty and now Christmas looks to be, too. I think I am only writing this to put it out in there in hopes that expressing it will make it go away. I want my dad back... and Pappaw, and Grandma, and my uncle, and all of them. I want reality restored and everyone happy and healthy. That isn't possible. Sometimes, I guess you just have to hurt a thing through. That's one thing I have down pat right now. That is one thing I am capable of. I can hurt. 

One Month

Today marks one month since the day my dad died. I feel the occasion should be marked but I am not entirely sure how. Frankly, this weekend has been really hard on me. Some part of me wants to bury myself deep into covers and pillows and hide away in my bed until it passes. A huge part of me wants to do this, actually.

Death is not unfamiliar to my family. My dad was a pastor, after all. My entire childhood was spent frequenting hospitals, nursing homes, rehabs, and helping set up and take down funeral services. I've been to more gravesites than I can count. I even have an affinity for graveyards. When I would need peace, I know that I can find it amongst tombstones. Somewhere in there, I have lost people who I care about deeply: grandparents, dear friends, family members, even my own children... no, I am no stranger to death. I have been here before.

Given that, I suppose that I should know what to do with all of the ugliness and pain that comes along with death. One would think I'd be some kind of expert at dealing with it by now. The reality is that I will never become accustomed to death. I will never get used to how deep and wrenching each loss is. 

This was different. This was a loss like none ever I have ever been through before. This was my first experience losing a parent. I once had a friend whose child was shaken to death by someone she trusted. She said of her tremendous loss that it feels exactly how you think it will feel, times a million and then some. 

That is the only say I can describe losing my dad. He was living with ALS; we knew that he was headed down this road even when we didn't want to believe it. Death was always a possibility. We are also not a secretive or awkward family. We speak openly about such things as death or the more ugly/painful things in life. You can't have been around it so often and somehow come away with the idea that the topic of death is taboo.

I was wrapped up in my dad's death from the moment he was diagnosed with an MND. I always prayed for a miracle, don't get me wrong. However, when things go wrong, my gut reaction is to *do* something. I couldn't prevent his diagnosis. I couldn't stop ALS but I could do everything possible to make sure that he and mom felt informed and were supported in what was the scariest time in our lives. 

The very few times I got to see him awake and alive, Dad encouraged and thanked me for this participation. It was important to him that someone was walking this ugly part of the road with them. :'( I hate that, to this day. I hate how much he thanked me for being there for him for this ugly underside of living with a terminal illness. :'( 

The day came, much to our intense horror. He was suddenly gone and all that was left were the details of his death. It was a shocking and traumatic week, to say the least. Nine or ten days later, we held his ceremony. The following morning, my mother was packed up and left the state. 

I cannot entirely put words to how incredibly forsaken I felt at that point. You see, that is when we had to stop everything. There was nothing left to do but to feel, process, and remember all that we had been through and lost. 

This last month has been different than any other of my life. At first, I couldn't even look at pictures or videos of my dad without losing my mind. I still have to really spread out videos because they hit me too hard. I don't feel like the last month has been spent living. We are functioning, of course. School had to be resumed, my garden had to be started, my babies still need a mother who is capable of a smile. That has perhaps been the hardest part. Still, I've managed. 

Some things about death I am familiar with, and expected. Other parts have been more horrible than a lot of the other losses in my life. My dad dies over and over again on a loop. He dies all over again every time I have another happy memory of him and have to remember that I don't actually have *him* anymore. He dies when I've gone to sleep and woken up prepared to fight harder against ALS, only to remember we've already lost the battle. You get the idea. 

Anyway, today is one month away from his death and it may as well be a million years. I feel as though I haven't seen him in ages. I would give anything to go back and kiss him goodbye again. I'd give anything for another conversation. These are the same things everyone says about anyone they've loved and lost. 

My feelings are hurt, too. I don't understand how everything could have happened so quickly and so horribly. I honestly thought that the relief of him no longer having to suffer would outweigh the pain of the loss. The reverse has actually been true. The farther we get away from his death, the less relief I am able to summon.

You see, the memories of my dad as *my dad* far outweigh the memories of the sick man he was at the end. At first, my disease-ravaged dad passed away, thank the Lord for being so merciful! However, the farther away we get from his sickly body and the more memories I have, the more I have lost my *daddy*. :'( In this sense, the loss has become more significant the more time passes. 

Last night, my aunt passed through our area on the highway. She was driving by through the middle of the night... this wasn't a situation where I'd ask for a visit. However, the simple act of her passing through brought to mind the many times my dad did the same thing. He worked as an independent courier, delivering packages all over this state and in the surrounding states. 

He would frequently pass our exit on the highway on his way out and back. It never failed that he would call us from his car phone to say that he was about to pass our exit. I would hurriedly put the phone on speaker for the girls and we would shout, "BYE PAPA!!! WE LOVE YOU!!" at the top of our lungs as he passed. Each time, he laughed heartily and said that he loved us, too. He never failed to ask, "Are you Papa's pretty girls?" They always were and they always *will* be. My soul, he will never pass this way again! We will never again get that spontaneous phone call!!! :'( :'( :'( :'( 

I am trying to be okay. I am trying to keep functioning. 

Today I am not. 

Today it has been one month since he died and over a month since I saw his sweet face or talked to him over the phone. Today it is simply too much to bear. God, PLEASE tell Dad how much we miss him!!! :'( :'( :'( :'( :'( 

The New Normal

I would just like to put it out there that 'the new normal' sucks. That is to say, life since my dad died, is so incredibly painful. Don't get me wrong. I knew that it would be. I suppose I just expected that, once the funeral was over and my mother was moved, I would settle into what used to be my 'normal' life plus some pain. I also took heart in the fact that it does ease with time.

The thing is, time is relevant. It certainly wouldn't ease right away... I knew that. I figured that being able to do our daily life things would, itself, be a great comfort. It simply hasn't. So far, time is increasing my pain, not lessening it. Each day, I wake up one day farther away from having a dad. That cuts like a knife. All of the breath in my body escapes me. I either wake up incredibly hurt or somewhat cranky. :( 

Anyway, time *will* eventually help. In the meantime, I am trying to figure out how to cope with the fact that I keep waking up fatherless. My memories feed on Facebook keeps offering up his beautiful face or comments he's made on past posts. That serves to make me feel better and worse, simultaneously. 

Gardening, my life's passion in some ways, hurts like the dickens. Last year was the best year I ever had with my dad. I finally had grown a garden large enough for him to harvest from. The previous two were small but we shared. Last summer, however, my Dad would walk along my garden commenting on the plants, offering advice, and harvesting fresh veggies to take home to my mom. It was the epitome of what life was *supposed* to be like! I had done him proud and I got so much more extra time with him than I ever had before.

Even at the beginning of the year, when life was horrific and painful, he was there. I was in and out of the hospital for months that seemed endless: Dad showed up to be with me and to pray with me. He offered me comfort that my own pastor couldn't. He saw how raw and traumatized I was. 

Yes, 2016 was the year from hell in a lot of ways. Looking back, I recognize that it was also a beautiful gift from God. He loaded me up on love, support, and the presence of my dad. I didn't go into his death lamenting that I saw him only once or twice the year before (as in previous years). I *do* lament that I did not get to see him awake and alive more *this* year. :/ Last year, though... last year will have to hold me until I see him again in Heaven.

God is good, friends. Even when life is too hard, even when there seems no earthly reason to believe it; God is good. The simple truth is that we don't know his plans or his ways. We don't know the big picture. I do know one thing from experience, though. Suffering in our own lives brings us closer to other people. It deepens our compassion and our ability to understand one another on a human level. 

Watching my dad die after suffering for months on end has made me reevaluate my faith in the afterlife. I've come out surer than ever before. I *will* see this beloved man again. I *will* get to embrace him on the other side. He has gone before us and will be there when I arrive. In the meantime, I will continue to cherish his face and his memory. I cannot believe that my dad is just a memory. :'( Even so, I will continue to look forward and to move forward... even though it is excruciating to do so right now.

Twelve Days

Sadly, my dad lost his battle with ALS on March 23rd. He passed not long after midnight. The day still felt like the night before, actually. I had just rested my head on my pillow minutes before the call came in. 

That same night, I spoke to my Mom and she thought that he was running out of time. Even so, she thought perhaps days or weeks. His symptoms could be so iffy. He'd have near-death symptoms and then he'd seem to bounce back. They talk about patients with ALS having a final burst of energy. Dad's lasted for days. A fraction of his voice even came back temporarily! It was a beautiful thing!

After my phone call with my Mom, I laid in my husbands arms and cried that I did not want my dad to die. I gathered a few things and told him I needed to do laundry and pack my go-bag again the next morning. Three hours later, he was gone, just like that. :'( 

I was supposed to see my dad in three days. Instead, we rushed up there and spent time with him before they collected his gift. I say 'gift' because 'body' is too hard yet. My dad gave the ultimate gift... donated himself to medical study, in the hopes that his gift would help further understanding of ALS. 

ALS/Lou Gherig's is a brutal disease. It is ravenous; eating its way through the lives of so many people and families. My dad lived three months tend days to the date from when he was diagnosed. :'( We only knew how seriously bad his health was becoming two or three months before that when we so earnestly sought to see what plagued him. 

I am struggling, I won't lie. I am okay with the fact that my sweet daddy went to Heaven. I can even bear to live without him, when I think of 'him' as the man who was riddled with disease and bed-ridden. I would never wish him back into the hellish reality he was living. It takes my breath away to think of him as his true self.

I cannot bear the fact that this beloved man is now just memories and photos. :'( :'( :'( :'( My cousin made a lovely tribute video for his celebration of life which I both cherish and cannot watch without falling completely apart. Thirty-five years, I have felt his love. Thirty-five years of photos that both stir and break my heart! 

People tell me often that you never get over the death of a loved one. I am sure that this is true. I am not over the loss of my children. I still miss my Gramma Great. My mind cannot always comprehend that my daddy is now in that short list of people who have left us behind. :'( :'( :'( 

It has been twelve days since my dad went to the Lord. Those first seven days were so busy that I hardly had time to think. On day seven, it began to feel as though we had gone through a war zone. Even then, we had to finish getting ready for my dad's service and my mother's move to my sister's house. Day ten was the celebration/memorial service. That was a long, hard day but I was able to (mostly) put the pain in a box and celebrate my dad. 

Day eleven, yesterday, was moving day for my mom. By the end of the day, it was all done... literally. My dad passed, his life ended for real, on paper, and officially with every connection he had in this world. My mom's life was taken down, packed up, loaded up, and shipped off. Once she was gone, the state felt so lonely. It was like losing both parents in different ways. I crashed *hard* the rest of the day.

Today, day twelve, I pick myself back up again. The girls and I resume life in the 'new normal'. We will still cry when the pain strikes, of course, but now we are done with everything Dad's death brought to us. We are done with everything but feeling it and continuing to try to find ways to support my dear mom.

ALS is devastating. Rapid decline ALS forever ended a very special part of my life. More research is needed. More information is needed. More awareness is needed. More support is needed. A couple of years ago, my entire exposure was the ice bucket challenge. Today, I am fatherless because of ALS. I am forever changed.

My Deep Grief, Clarified

Grief is a fickle thing, isn't it? Sometimes, it manifests in great, heaving sobs or wailing. Other times, it is a quiet ache that pervades through one's entire being. Grief comes out in physical aches and pains. It comes in bursts of anger which nobody sees coming. Grief interrupts the sweet memory of a loved one or the one moment of laughter you've had in ages. Grief is a cloud, a whisper, a burden, a shadow, a migraine, a cloak of darkness. Grief is that small wistful thought. It is the unspoken 'if only...' at the end of a sentence. 

My grief comes from a lot of places, as we walk through this painful journey. My dad is dying from ALS and yet, I can almost handle the fact that he will die.

Please do not misunderstand me, I do not want my precious dad to be removed from this earth. I wholly submit myself to whatever future the Lord brings on that front. I do not want my dad to be gone for one second of one day. It is just that there are worse things than death. Oh, but there are things which are much worse than death. 

This is ALS in a nutshell. 

I am grieving the upcoming loss of my beloved father. I am grieving over the pain that my mother is in. I am grieving privately over each sister, knowing full well that she is hurting. I am grieving for my babies and for my nephews and nieces, who have never been hit so hard or so closely with the loss of someone they love. 

I am grieving for our husbands, who are losing a father-in-love who has adored each one like his very own son. I am grieving that they must feel somewhat helpless to comfort us and can only really walk with us through this. I am grieving for all of these things and grieving for myself, as well.

I can handle all of this grief. I can handle every single bit of it. It is survivable because everyone who is hurting may close hearts with everyone else. We are a tightly-night family who will become that much more tightly knit through this experience.

My personal deepest level of grief is for what my dad is going through. Where I can find consolation for every other kind of pain, I have found this grief inconsolable. There is literally nothing that will assuage my Dad's condition but deliverance. It will take the form of a miracle or death. I can handle me hurting. I can handle my family hurting. I can just barely handle my mother hurting. I cannot, *cannot* handle my dad hurting this way! :'( It is this which leaves me shrieking inside my head from the depths of my soul. 

I have seen several diseases up close. This disease is by far the most relentless I have ever witnessed. It doesn't stop with immobilizing and emaciating its victim. It robs the very ability to communicate. How lonely my dad must be inside! How horrible not to be able to express a pain, a thought, a care... even something as basic as an itch! Death must feel like such grace by comparison! :'(

"I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you."
John 14:18

This is where my dad's personal testimony continues to grow and thrive. He continues to find escape in the Word of God. He continues to draw comfort where he should be completely comfortless. His eyes are turned upward to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Faith is perhaps intangible and immeasurable but it *is* real. When there is literally no comfort left to be found in this life, faith sustains. 

I wish this disease would away to the depths of hell. I wish that sickness, suffering, and death were not hallmarks of life. Even so, I hope even more strongly that I can continue to grow in my faith. The Bible promises us strength and grace sufficient for the day. I can only imagine that my sweet dad is getting more strength and grace every single day. 

May I also find that Comforter holding open His arms when life itself leaves me comfortless. May I also push through the pain and continue to praise God. May His goodness continue to always be evident, even on the worst days.                                                                                                                                     

My sisters and I have set up a GoFundMe campaign on behalf of my parents. Please consider sharing the link to it on social media. 

Before You Sleep

Before you sleep,
Hold my hands
Just one more time.

Before you sleep,
Say, "I love you"
With your eyes locked on mine.

Before you sleep,
Promise to me that
We will all be okay.

Before you sleep,
Let's say all of the words
We won't get forever to say.

Before you sleep,
Hold me once more
In your cherished arms.

Before you sleep,
Protect my heart
From this impending harm.

Before you sleep,
Sing once more time,
Just for me.

Before you sleep,
Let us laugh together
And pretend we are carefree.

Before you sleep,
Let's go to Schwan's pond
Just one more time, fishing.

Before you sleep,
Let's do every single thing
That we are wishing.

Before you sleep,
Read again to me
From your worn-out Bible.

Before you sleep,
Preach just one last
Great week-long revival.

Before you sleep,
Let's no longer
Be this soul-weary.

Before you sleep,
May every single day
Hold something cheery.

Before you sleep,
Watch my babies
grow big and tall.

Before you sleep,
Let's pretend that
This isn't real at all.

Before you sleep,
If only my words
Would just keep you living.

Before you sleep,
I'd never, ever stop
My words giving.

Before you sleep,
I don't want your
Life to ever end.

Before you sleep, 

Know that you have
Always been my friend.

Before you sleep,
How deeply we think
The very best things of you.

Before you sleep.
You have been patient,
Kind, gentle, and true.

Before you sleep,
My precious, beloved,
Very own Superman daddy.

Know that you are loved
And will be missed
Oh, so badly.  :'(

Know this...

Before you sleep.

(We have started a Go Fund Me on my dad's behalf. Please consider sharing it.)

The Big Question

Yesterday, I asked our ALS Association rep the question that has been scaring me to pieces off and on this whole time. 

"How is my dad going to die?"

I knew the semantics, mind you. I have been reading over sites about ALS and containing ALS information ever since we learned that he had an MND that was suspected to be ALS.

I know, for instance, that the nerve death happening in his body means that his functions are shutting down, one by one, because messages can no longer pass from his brain to his muscles. We see this affecting his tongue, facial muscles, limbs, etc. This changes how he swallows and speaks, how he moves. This is robbing him of the ability to walk upright. It will rob him the ability to walk at all. Nerve death is stealing his ability to get up and down. It means that he cannot catch himself when he falls. It means a lot of things.

The same nerve death that causes his brain to send signals, which are no longer being received, is happening in his lungs. He struggles to breath when it is rainy or if the humidity is even slightly up. So yes, I know *how* he will die. He will suffocate to death when his nerves can no longer tell his lungs to breathe. :'( :'( :'( 

What I was asking *Joanne is how this will fee. Will he be gasping for air? Will he be writhing or flailing around, keenly aware of taking his dying breaths? Will it be torturous and scary for him? :'( :'( :'( 

Thankfully, she understood exactly what I was asking.

I try to be very professional when I am on the phone but this question made me burst into tears. I was trying to hold them in. She, being so loving and caring, immediately took an even more compassionate tone. She explained to me that ALS patients have very peaceful deaths. When my dad is put on Hospice, they will keep very good care of him. The time will come when it is very clear that he is losing his battle. When that happens, they will make sure that he is medicated for comfort and that he is sleeping.

I know on our end it will be more complicated than that. My mother, at the very least, will still have to witness it happening. :'( :'( :'( On his part, though, my dad should slip off into eternity from a state of calm, in his slumber. This is everything that he has ever prayed for. I thank my God mightily for this!!

We don't know how long he has. Some days, it feels like he may not last the month. Other days, I can be more optimistic about everything. God is still on His throne, after all. There are things doctors cannot explain. Miracles do still happen in the everyday. 

Today I continue to pray for healing. I pray for the Holy Spirit indwelling my dad to move through him and to cause healing/regeneration in the nerves and muscles throughout his body. I pray that mercy will be granted from Heaven. I pray that we will all be spared and that the Lord will be glorified. 

That is the big thing, of course. May God get the glory. In good times or bad, in pain or in pleasure, in joy or in sorrow... may the world know that God is good. <3

We have started a GoFundMe Campaign on my dad's behalf. Please consider sharing it on social media. *Name changed for privacy