***Note: this entry is a raw, honest account of a tough night for my family. If you are in need of something light and happy, please refer to posts from the more fun categories of my blog. Thanks for understanding my need to document this night.****
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
I can imagine the brass bands playing the familiar tune down the streets of New Orleans on this particular Tuesday night, before Lent.
But I could hear it in my head for different reasons.
I got the call at work. Grandpa was having trouble breathing so the Nursing Home/Rehab Center felt he needed to go to the hospital. He’d been in the facility for less than 2 weeks to recover from a fall.
I assumed it was the effects of yesterday’s indigestion. I was not ready for what I encountered.
“It’s bad, Christa.” Mom stated looking at me through red, swollen eyes. Then she turned to my Dad crying “I can’t do this! I don’t want to do this!” “This” was deciding whether to put her Daddy on life-support. I immediately pleaded with the Lord to not put her in that position. He didn’t. The doctors came in letting us know it was double pneumonia. And in his case it would be fatal.
“Time?” was all I could sqeak out.
The answer was between the next 20 seconds and two days. But closer to the former.
So we stayed by his bed. Mom, Dad, Aunt Della, Uncle Lloyd and me, his only grandchild. The doctors closed the curtains to give us privacy.
He was restless, uncomfortable from the oxygen mask and distended stomach. He tried to talk to us, but it wasn’t clear. What we could understand were the “I love you’s” in response to our “I love you’s” to him. We patted him, kissed him, stroked his head, face, arms and hands. Telling him what we so desperately wanted him to know in these precious last moments.
“I love you, Grandpa”
“You’ve been the best Daddy in the world”
“God is so proud of you, you’ve served Him so well”
“Everyone loves you so much”
“So many people know Jesus because of you”
“So many people are ‘hitched’ because of you”
“Remember when you were going to baptize me in the lake? I asked you if it would be ok with God if I peeked under the water to see if I saw a fish. You said, yeah, you reckon it would be ok with God if I peeked. So, I peeked. And my memory tells me I did see a small fish.” I was seven years old.
He was becoming more still. His eyes were open but occasionally they’d get wider. I knew he couldn’t see us anymore, but he could hear.
“Do you see Jesus, yet? What does His face look like? What’s it like to look into the eyes of your Savior, the one who made you?”
All of this was said and done while simultaneously watching the monitors. The waves on the green monitor were getting smaller and less frequent, the numbers lower and lower. It was a count down with no certain time frame.
He closed his eyes. I couldn’t take in enough of the details. It’s strange the things that randomly run through your brain during these desperate moments. It’s not like ER or Grey’s Anatomy. The ending is slow and undefined. No sudden flatline. No dramatic music. Just a surreal silence. Your brain trying to reconcile the reality of death, but not fully comprehending it even as it’s happening before you. My hand had been over his heart, inspite of not being able to feel the faint beating for several moments. Then his breathing had slowed so, I couldn’t tell if he was breathing at all anymore. The lines on the green screen were pretty flat.
7:43pm
The nurse confirmed it. He’s gone. Mom let out what I can only describe as a soft wail.
It had been less than two hours since the ‘fatal’ word had been given. He did not suffer long.
I belive God. I believe His Word is true. This is where the rubber meets the road. Do I truly believe what I’ve claimed for years? Yes, but why the constant tears, the sharp pain?
I can relate to the father that said to Jesus, “I believe, help my unbelief.”
This life is all we’ve known. It’s all we’ve been seeing, touching, hearing, feeling and living. Eternity hasn’t been experienced yet. God knows this and has sweet mercy on us in our weak state. “He remembers we are dust.” I’m so incredibly thankful for that. Because nothing can truly prepare you for this. It doesn’t matter how long someone has been on this Earth, you’re never ready to let them go.
We can only imagine the sights and sounds he was experiencing at that very moment. What was happening these first minutes in heaven? Had he seen Grandma? Was he catching up with his old preacher buddies? Or was he simply bowing at his Saviour’s feet? A man who had been preaching the Word for 73 faithful years, was most likely doing the latter. I can still hear him quoting the Scriptures on up to the end. He wanted to go home. Not back to Oakdale, Tennessee, but to his “home on high” as he told Mom Sunday night.
Thursday, February 26
Grandpa had lived in Morgan County for more than 70 years. He came from Arkansas to start a church with some of his friends. And he left an amazing legacy. The stories we heard as people came through the receiving line at the funeral home were those of a community tightly-knit from spending your entire life with the same people.
“Brother Fred married us 63 years ago. And he tied knots well because I can’t get rid of my husband.”
“Preacher Copeland drove my school bus and my Mom’s too.”
“Mr. Fred married me – both times.”
“Bro. Fred baptized me.”
“I’ve never heard a bad word about Mr. Copeland. And never heard him say a bad thing about anybody.”
“He never had an enemy in his whole life.”
On and on the stories came. What an honor to be a decendant of such a great man.
Some out of town guests stopped for a snack at a market down the road. The person behind the counter looked at them and said, “You must be here for Preacher Copeland’s funeral. ” They were taken aback by the accurate assessment. We also learned that when the singers got together to practice songs for the service, they spent the first hour crying before they could start practicing. Fred Copeland was a loved and respected man.
He had a great sense of humor an nicknamed everyone. I can still hear him calling out to me when I’d visit him, “Come on in here, Heavy!” (Yes, he called me Heavy.) “How’s my graaaaand youngin’?” He would be wearing his overalls with a thumb tucked in under one of the straps. If you had been introduced to him, he would say “proud to know ya” as he shook your hand. And you would have loved him instantly. Everyone did.
Saturday, February 28th.
We burried Grandpa today during a cold, rainy drizzle. Our family has been overwhelmed at the out pouring of love from friends and family. Sitting with us at the hospital, offering shoulder massages, bringing chess squares, sending love and prayers with Facebook, email and text messages, buying cat food and feeding the cat, driving to East Tennessee, loading flowers & plants in their cars b/c there was no more room in ours.
I just hung up from talking with a precious friend who knows all too well what this week has been like. She understands that sometimes you want to talk about things and sometimes you just don’t feel like talking at all. God is so good with the blessing of friends!
Witnessing a loved one leaving this life is a painful blessing. But life on this earth is not the main event. This is not “all there is.” We have the hope of forever with our Savior and our loved ones.
Grandpa, you are loved and I’ll hug you again, “drectly.”
