My mom told me that daddy wanted to talk to me. I went into his hospital room and sat down on his bed. He was sitting in a chair directly across from me. He said, “Son, it looks like I am going to die.” These were words a son never wants to hear his father say. He had just been diagnosed with leukemia. His doctor told him that little could be done to save him. Daddy continued our conversation by basically handing over to me many responsibilities which I had never dreamed I would own. He asked me to help my mother run our grocery store, and to support her in the things she would need to do after his death. He wanted me to help my brother who was about to finish his first year of college. Finally my daddy gave me a condensed lesson on grocery store management. There were some things he wanted me to do immediately, and there were day to day responsibilities that he wanted me to handle.
I was scared and it was all I could do to not cry. The only thing I could think to say was, “I don’t want you to die.” I knew that the chances for daddy to survive were very slim. The doctor had told us that what he was going to try was a long shot. Daddy said, “I don’t want to die either. but I am not afraid. I am trusting God. He knows what is best. If he chooses to take me now I am ready to go.” About that time his doctor, a nurse and a technician who would begin administering daddy’s treatment entered the room. They asked me to leave. I hugged my dad and told him I loved him. There were tears in his eyes. He said, “I love you too.” I had no idea that that would be the last words I would hear my dad speak.
My dad was in Parkview hospital in Nashville Tennessee. We lived about 55 miles away in southern Kentucky. I drove home that afternoon to begin taking care of the business my dad asked me to do. I sat in his office looking at the things on his desk. No one was in the store. Tears began running down my cheeks, and soon I began to cry. My crying turned into the most desperate prayer I had ever prayed, “Please God, heal my dad!“ Over and over I prayed, “Please God, heal my dad!”
The next afternoonI I drove back to Nashville to check on daddy. He had been on that powerful chemo for twenty four hours. When I walked in his room I saw my mom, brother and aunt standing around my dad’s bed. Daddy was semi conscious, convulsing in horrific pain. For the next several 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, just nine days since he had entered the hospital God took our dad to be with Jesus in heaven. He died on May 20, 1972, less than a month after his fifty fourth birthday.
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 teaching and coaching, and before another year our first child could ask for any better parting words from his dad. It has been 49 years since that last conversation with my dad. I am so thankful for that farewell talk. Now I am 18 years older than my dad was when he died. I know that I am getting closer to the day when I will go to be with Jesus. I don’t think I will be afraid to die. Why should anyone fear knowing that Jesus will be waiting for all who have trusted him in all things.
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