A Sad Conversation

I have managed to do something my daddy was never able to do. I have lived to be an old man. My dad was given only fifty-four years on this earth, a young man, too young to die. He died in 1972.  Sherri and I had been married, just a bit over a year. She was twenty two and I was twenty three. We were about to finish our first year of teaching. My brother was a freshman in college, nineteen years old. I don’t guess there is never a best time or a worse time to lose a parent, but for us it was a terrible time to have to say goodbye to our daddy. Our dad was diagnosed with an aggressive form of leukemia. There was little that could be done for him, and in nine days he was dead.

Sometimes when I am depressed my dad visits my thoughts. This has never been a good visit. It is always the same, a replay of the last conversation I had with him. My mom told me that daddy wanted to talk to me. I went into his room and sat down on his bed. He was sitting in a chair directly across from me. He said, “Son, I know I am going to die.”  These were words a son never wants to hear from his father. He continued by basically handing over to me many responsibilities which I had never dreamed I would own: helping my mother with the grocery store, and supporting her, watching out for my brother, and helping him, finally he gave me information about immediate store business as well as other things later on that I would need to handle.

My response was, “We don’t know for sure you will die.” He said, “It doesn’t look good. What the doctors are going to try is a long shot. It’s never worked before.” The plan was to give him something like chemo which was very powerful. He would have almost unbearable pain from this treatment which was his only hope. Daddy said to me, “We will trust God. He will make the best decision. If he chooses to take me to be with him now, I am ready to go. All we can do is trust him.” That was the last thing I remember my dad saying to me.

I drove home that night to Kentucky from Nashville where my dad was in the hospital. I took care of the business my dad asked me to do. The next day I drove back to the hospital to check on daddy. The treatment had begun in the night, and by the time I got back my dad was semi conscious, convulsing in horrific pain. For the next two and a half days my big, strong dad had declined so much that he was barely recognizable. He wasn’t able to speak or respond in any way. We would go in and hug him and tell him we loved him. He knew we were there, but that was all. Finally, by the grace of our loving God our daddy was taken to his heavenly home on May 2 1972.

I will never forget my dad’s last words to me, “I am ready to go. All we can do is trust him.” I don’t think a young man who is beginning his adult life with a new bride, a first job, and before another year a first time dad, could ask for any better parting words from his dad. I am so thankful for that farewell talk. But in my down times, my sad times, this mental return to that afternoon when I last talked to my dad makes me even sadder. Soon there will be no more dark, sad days for me. I will go to a place where there is nothing but joy and gladness.