My Mom called a few minutes ago. The hospice nurses say Dad will probably pass within 24 hours.
“Is he awake? If he is, can I talk to him?”
Dad and I talk all the time. We always have. Pretty much every day, even if it’s only for a couple minutes. Except I’ve been doing all the talking since a stroke last March rendered him speechless.
“Hey, Dad. I love you. Just down here in Snyder doing some writing at the coffee shop while I wait for the girls to finish school. Jack’s doing a wedding in Houston this weekend so he asked me to preach at Buffalo Springs on Sunday.”
Sunday.
Dad will be in heaven by then.
The thought strikes me a bit surreal.
I’ve had friends say, “Won’t see you at church Sunday. We’re going to be in Phoenix.”
I’ve never had anyone say, “Won’t see you at church Sunday. I’ll be in heaven.”
T minus 24 hours and counting.
“Dad, I love you. You’re the best Dad in the world. Time for you to stop worrying and start thinking about heaven. God will take care of everything down here. You just get ready to go.”
He can’t talk. Mom says he’s nodding his head. I’m glad to know that he’s agreeing with me. We’re both stubborn goats sometimes. So I’m happy to know that in what might be our last talk here, we agree. God really will take care of everything.
24 hours.
There’s been many “24 hours” events with my Dad. As a kid, 24 hours until we leave to spend Christmas in Texas. 24 hours until I see what he and Mom bought me for a birthday present.
24 hours till we finished walking beans for the year. And 24 hours till we were in the seats of the old Metropolitan Stadium drinking Cokes and watching the Twins play the Tigers.
24 hours till they dropped me off at college to begin life as an adult. 24 hours until I graduated to begin life in the real world. 24 hours till I got to go home for a visit.
And now 24 hours till Dad’s in heaven.
24 hours until he won’t need a watch anymore.
As to watches, I’m looking at mine. Time to go pick up my kids from school. Spend a fun evening eating pizza and watching a movie with them and my fiance, Brooke. Finishing up my sermon prep, juggling work and responsibilities while getting ready for a week of travel.
The thing about death is that it happens in the middle of life.
Down here, 24 hours roll around every 24 hours.
24 hours.
It’s surprising how much we can get done in 24 hours.
And how far we can go.
Have a good trip, Dad.
I’d tell you to be safe.
But you already are.
“We have God’s hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.” – Hebrews 6:19
Todd A. Thompson – September 21, 2012
