On Feb. 20, we visited and placed flowers on my father’s grave. It was three years since he passed away. Jesus and the angels saw that he had shed tears, that he was tired of the pain of cancer. My father’s final days were at home with us, and his final farewell was a blessing.
He got tired of doctors’ visits, exercising, being transported in an ambulance to and from the hospital. Hospice care had taken care of his feeding, bathing and other services he could not do for himself. In those final days, these things my mom and sister did for him. The best love and care, a lot of water and pills and morphine to stop the pain.
We didn’t know that day would be his last. He did not tell us; he just left in peace and quiet. He died at home in his own bed, facing the wall, with his eyes open.
It was heart-wrenching to see him suffer and die. My father would talk to Jesus while we were downstairs. Peaceful birds often sang around his window. Jesus knew what was best for him, and that was to take him home with Him.
When the undertaker people came and picked up his body and carried him to the morgue in an ambulance, his doctors came over to check on him. He was pronounced dead, no heartbeat. We cried all that day. The room was ice cold without him, only his memory left behind. We had to make funeral arrangements, which was very hard to do, but we did.
The angels waited on him to come through the golden gates for a new life, with a halo, a robe and a smile. Beautiful planets and flowers abound there. And beautiful birds were singing “Welcome to Heaven, Henry.” He was so happy not to suffer any more.
Until we meet again in Heaven, I want to say, Dad, rest in peace. Amen.
