My Dad passed away Thursday morning. It had been coming for some time. On November 29, 2020, he fell and broke his right hip while going to get his mail (mail theft at his apartment complex was happening regularly). This required surgery.
The surgery went well, but we learned of a host of other problems he was experiencing that he'd done a pretty solid job of keeping quiet. He had dementia that was more advanced than we realized. At that point, we thought he'd go to recovery and come back to his apartment with a part-time caregiver.
That was not to be. By early December it was clear he wasn't going to be returning to an independent living situation. Bubbles and I cleaned out his apartment in January of 2021 and had the space professionally cleaned so the apartment could be rented out to a new resident.
From there, the decline was pretty steady. There were calls to calm him down as he felt he was being kept prisoner in the assisted living situation he was in. Anti-psychotic medications helped calm this down. He continued to lose his sense of self and memory.
On February 14th, he shifted to hospice care. We learned what a Kennedy terminal ulcer was. I had to look it up, as I'd never heard of it before.
I woke up the morning of March 15th and while showering felt some strong promptings. I do not know how it works for others, but sometimes I know that I will be asked to give a blessing because promptings and sentences start coming into my mind. This happened as I showered and I knew the blessing was for Dad. By this time there really wasn't anyone left to talk to. Dad was just a shell. But evidently he needed one last blessing, what is sometimes referred to in my faith as "Sealing up to die." Maybe I needed to give the blessing.
After work that day I put on a tie and went to go bless my father, knowing it would almost certainly be the last time. I arrived to find him on oxygen, and despite morphine to help, having a bit of trouble breathing (I understand this to be the end of life suffocation reflex), but he was doing it. Still, the breathing told me something clearly: he didn't have a lot of time.
I held his hand and talked with him. I don't believe he could hear, but perhaps his spirit was present. I read him some scriptures.
Then I gave him a blessing, and it was so incredibly comforting I was left amazed at Heavenly Father's mercy. I have only once or twice been inspired to let someone know their sins were forgiven. To be clear, priesthood holders in my faith can not forgive sins, but God can, and He can let someone know in a blessing, but it is not a common thing. The repentance process is important, but Dad could not repent any longer. It was incredibly specific. He was told that all of his sins were forgiven, all transgressions, sins of omission and that any burden he still felt was lifted from him. He would stand clean in the presence of his Lord and Savior, who would welcome him home with an embrace. He was promised that his parents would be waiting for him as well, along with his wife (my Mom). He was told that he had pleased the Lord with his service, and that the difficult life he's lived, due in part to a brain injury suffered while he was a missionary, was accepted by the Lord. All injustices and trials of this life would be made up for in the next. He was encouraged to leave the cares of this life behind and rejoin family on the other side.
It was deeply comforting as well as very painful.When it came time to leave, I let him know I'd see him in a few years. I e-mailed my brothers and let them know that it was very clearly time, and that I didn't expect him to survive the night, though he had surprised us all before and perhaps would do so again.
There were no surprises this time, though. Dad passed away at 4:00 AM on March 16th, 2023. I found out a few hours later. It was time, and it was right, but emotionally one can never be completely ready for the passing of a parent.
Friday morning I was in the shower, considering Dad's life and a painful memory came back to me. Before Dad ended up in assisted living, he sometimes reached out to the Church for help before letting the kids know he would need assistance. Most local members had no idea he was doing that, or that four of his sons were helping when he let us know there was a need. It was a source of pain for each of us that we had not been able to make the last years our parents spent on earth really comfortable ones. My Dad had asked his Ward, or church group for help, and as it was discussed in a meeting called Ward Council, one of the members asked (speaking of me), "Why his good-for-nothing son wasn't taking care of him." It was reported to me by a couple of long-time friends. I was shocked by it at the time, and deeply hurt. In part, the hurt was probably in part because I felt keenly my inability to entirely provide for the needs of my parents in their old age. It was also surprising because having served in many Ward Councils in various callings over the years, I'd never heard anyone speak this way. Needs were discussed with great compassion and a sincere effort to see how best to meet them and help the person being discussed.
I pondered how I could serve in the temple in the future, particularly a part where members participating are to have good feelings toward one another or to withdraw. As I considered this I was reminded of the wonderful quotation, "Holding a grudge is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die." I had fallen into a foolish trap of bitterness that was weighing me down. After all, that ward council member had no way of knowing there were four sons helping my Father with his needs (I was simply the most local) or that we had spent many thousands of dollars trying to help and support him. He had no way of knowing that Dad sometimes chose to ask for help from the Church before appealing to us. So, I prayed for relief from this foolish, self-imposed burden and felt the weight of it lift from me.
My dad's passing has come with a lot of pain but also the lifting of many burdens. I am glad he is at peace and that all he endured in this life is over. 'Till we meet again, Dad.