Let's start at the end...

I begin this blog at the side of my father's bed. He is sedated with Methadone and on oxygen to help him breath. I do not know if today will be the end but I must speak, even if it is where no one will ever listen, even if it is a message sent to the great unknown but my soul yearns to cry out, to scream of the injustice done to him.

I worry, every moment, I worry. Am I doing the right thing? Am I taking away his voice by keeping him sedated? Yet I see him in pain, or is he just trying to communicate? How can I be sure?

I told him I love him today, he whispered something back, I'd like to believe that it was that he loved me too because he, over the course of my caring for him has not been entirely happy with me. 

I am among friends right now, aren't I? I mean if your reading this your reading a piece of my soul, aren't you. I've taken you into my confidence, or at least you've peaked into a part of me I don't share with anyone, so I guess in a way that makes  us friends, or enemies I suppose but I fear no man nor woman. What I fear is regret, doubt and fear itself.  So, right now my regret, my fear and my biggest doubt is what if I, unwittingly, took away his voice. 

I have spent almost every day since July 8th waiting on my father hand and foot. I do not exaggerate in the slightest, since my father came to live with us I have spent every waking moment caring for him, or thinking of him, or talking about his condition. I don't regret any moment of it. In fact I'm thankful that my relationship has been restored, that after many years of seperation I was allowed to be his daughter again, and many ways his mother. 

Today I sit next to his bed, hopeful I have done my best and that my best was enough.  Hopeful that we, as his children have done everything the way he wanted.  Oh, but the doubts.... They dance in my head, they whisper in my ear and their cold fingers touch my heart.  I try to express my fears and doubts quietly to my family who all say I've done a wonderful thing.  I admit, in a moment of quiet pride that I have, but give the glory and thanks to God for that.  They say that he works in mysterious ways, everything that happens is part of his plan.

I will laugh now, because God is my friend and he knows what a tragic mess my life is, yet he makes it a beautiful tragic mess. He shows me the beauty that my brokenness has brought about.  If my life hadn't been such a mess, my marriage practically over, my job search a joke then I would not have been sleeping at the foot of my father's bed for all this time. Yet my bills have been paid, my children fed and everything my children and I need has been provided for and that has freed me to take care of my Dad.

I will end my sermon now, I did not mean to turn this into a church meeting but I must give glory to God for allowing the gift of a relationship with my father.  I was his princess growing up, then one day I just wasn't. It seems a gift that he could be my king at the end of his days and with a happy heart filled with love I could do my best to make him happy.