The season is over. Easter, Lent, and Passover have passed. It has been a strange season for me, as I struggle with my father’s terminal illness, and reminisce with friends and loved ones who have also experienced loss this season.
It is strange how we view death. We, as humans consider it to be the end of something. Death symbolizes loss and grief, and we look back on what we have had, or what we have missed during that persons’ time with us.
It is a hard time, but mainly because we are not considering what has passed, but instead where we have failed to meet our own personal expectations in that persons’ life before it passed. We all too often contemplate what else we could have said to them, how else we could have helped them; wishing for another chance to say we love them, or to hug them, and let them know how integral they are to our lives.
As I think back on my own life, I recall the death of my grandparents. My grandmother died when I was in fourth grade, and I remember not being allowed to say goodbye to her, or let her know I love her. I was only a child and my dad didn’t want my last memory of his mom to be one of her with tubes in her, struggling for breath as she fought the pneumonia that eventually took her life.
My grandfather died when I was in eleventh grade. This death I regret the most. Somewhere I learned not to take that last step. It wasn’t that I was afraid of him, or his suffering; I had spent years helping him clean the skin cancer that was consuming him. I was afraid of me… I was afraid of having to let go and say that last goodbye to a man who fed into my life more than any other person I know. To this day, my heart breaks when I think of him, and the relationship that has passed on. Yet, while the tears flow, I am happy that he is seated in heaven with God, and one day I will be able to see him again.
Now, I am facing the death of my dad. Just a few short months ago he finally chose to retire at the age of 78. He was happy and looking forward to moving into his new home with my stepmom, and ready to enjoy the rest of his life. A few weeks after he retired, something was wrong. He was not communicating effectively, and not understanding what people were saying to him. After a few weeks the doctors discovered brain cancer. He has undergone surgery, and is in the middle of chemotherapy and radiation treatments, but it is not working. He has been prayed for by numerous people all over the country, by his church, by his family… and still no improvement.
For a moment, after he was prayed for; we did receive a miracle. For a moment, he was our father again, able to speak love to us, able to identify us and share memories… then he was taken away again. The man that is here today is just a glimpse of who my father was, and each day I pray that God would take him home, and he would find peace that passes all understanding.
As I have contemplated death these past few weeks and how it has effected my life, I recall the one death that has made more impact on me than any other; the death of Christ. Beaten beyond recognition, forced to carry a cross with a body that was exhausted from pain and agony, watching each step with eyes that are stinging from the blood pouring from his forehead… He still, willingly, took each step towards the death that was imminent from the beginning of the world.
Prior to His death, Jesus did some miraculous things. He loved a man, cared for, clothed, fed, and fed into this man that He knew would betray Him in the end. He healed a soldier that came to lead Him to his death. He loved those who cursed Him, cried out for those who yearned for His death, showed compassion to a thief who was crucified next to him, and cared about the other thief who screamed for His death.
In my personal experiences with death, the person I have loved has disappeared in their last hours, unable to share their love, their compassion, their kindness with me one last time. In His death, Jesus showed His love, compassion, and forgiveness through to His last breath as He took on our sin, and His Father turned His back on His only son.
I asked my Sunday school class the other day, what is it that we can ever go through that Jesus hasn’t? He has experienced the betrayal of friends and strangers, has been denied by his closest friends, experienced rejection, felt pain and despair. Jesus has faced it all and provided an example for us how to move forward in mercy and grace.
As a child who has lost the only real parents she knew (my grandparents), and is losing her father, I owe it to my family and friends to share the identity of love that was revealed to me during their lives. My grandmother taught me to serve willingly, work heartily, and to be strong; regardless of your circumstance. My grandfather taught me to be peaceful and seek God in the moments of my life. My dad has taught me to find joy where you can, and to recognize the gifts God has given others.
More important than anything my earthly family has taught me, my spiritual one has taught me to carry on with Jesus’ legacy of love and compassion to a dying world.
More From Dawn
My DH and I were just talking about this very subject. It seems that we’ve buried a lot of our family around Easter. My mother died on Palm Sunday. We buried our infant son on Easter Monday.
This year, my grandmother passed away in February. Again, we face another death.
I never thought about things from the perspective of loving someone enough to carry on. That’s encouraging to me.
Wishing you the best.