My father passed away on 7/16/25. He had always been healthy and robust except for the last 2 years of his life. It was then his health began to decline rapidly. He started eating less and less and losing a lot of weight. Then he started moving less and less. I admit, I got frustrated with him at times because I didn't think he was trying hard enough to help himself. Now, I understand it wasn't his fault. He was sick, more sick than even I realized. Looking back, it was obvious, but at the time, I couldn't see it or maybe I didn't want to. I just thought it was his age or that he was being stubborn. Obviously, I could see his health declining. He was wasting away before my eyes. We did try to help in every way possible, from doctors to supplements, but to no avail. I even went on a three-day prayer fast for him.
On that final day or two, I knew his time was short. I closed the door and talked to him alone. I told him all the things on my heart, all the things I didn't say before because it would be an admission that he was going to die. I don't know if he heard me. By then he was comatose and unresponsive. Maybe it was more for me than it was for him, but I told him everything I wanted to say. I told him he was the best dad I could ever ask for, and that I was proud to be his son. I told him that he can go home now and that I would see him again. I held his hand one last time and gently caressed his head.
I can't remember if he passed that night or the following night. I remember dinner was ready and it was time to eat. I looked over at my wife, and I could see she was starting to cry. I think she knew before I did that he was about to pass. I went to check on him before I went to eat, and I noticed his breathing had changed. It was much more shallow. With tears in my eyes, I told my mother that I think he was about to go. We all huddled around his bed. It was not maybe more than 20 minutes later that I saw my dad take his last breath and die. We all were crying. I heard my mother cry harder than I think I've ever heard her cry before.
Nothing can prepare you for that. It never crossed my mind that one day I would watch my father die and be carried out in a body bag. It was a very surreal experience. Even now, it almost doesn't seem real. My father can't die; it seemed like an impossibility. For 50 years he was a part of my life. Except for a few weeks during all that time, I saw and talked to him every single day. And now, suddenly, he was gone. When he died, it felt like he took a piece of me with him. There's a void in my heart that cannot be filled. I've never been much of a cryer, but sometimes it still hits me. I suppose I will miss him for the rest of my life until the day we are reunited. A part of me wants to join him now. However long I have left on this earth, 30 or 40 years if I'm lucky, feels like an eternity without him in it. But I know in the scheme of things a few decades is just a blip in time. Soon enough, I will be joining him.
The difficult thing I've had to deal with is the way he died. I never thought my dad would die sick and infirm. That's not the way I wanted him to go. I didn't want him to go at all, but I would have preferred if he passed away in good health. I don't know why he died the way he did or why our prayers didn't work. I've known some other good, faithful Christians who were taken from this earth by sickness and disease. I know healing works; I've seen evidence of it. Why it didn't work for them is a mystery. Maybe on the other side it will all make sense. It has made me think a lot about death, maybe more than is healthy.
I take solace in knowing he's not suffering anymore. He's whole again, and I know where he's at; he's happier than he's ever been. Whatever he went through on earth doesn't even compare to the glory he is experiencing now. He wouldn't want to come back now even if you asked him to. And while I don't understand why he died the way he did, the time he was sick was relatively short. He had far more good, healthy years than not. I'm also thankful to have had him in my life for half a century; not everyone gets that, and I know I will see him again. So Dad, it's not goodbye; it's see you later.
