Where does our help come from? | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Where does our help come from? | Previous Challenge Entry
By Connie Husby
02/25/06
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Not being able to breathe, my father was rushed to the hospital in April of 2004. I remember him trembling on a gurney in the emergency room, fighting to speak with the plastic oxygen mask spread over his face helping him to breathe easier. Repeatedly he told me how much he loved me and that he was upset my mother didn’t believe he had trouble breathing. I prayed for him immediately, held his hand and asked God to help dad breathe and become more comfortable.

I remember he was very hungry when he was transferred into his private room. I ordered some food for him, but it was difficult for him to eat and I remember lifting the cup of coffee up to his lips and it kept dribbling out of his mouth, because he would gasp for air and needed to put the oxygen back on.

It was a week before Easter, and finally the doctor told us dad would have to have a lung biopsy to see what was really going on. No problem I thought, soon we’ll have some answers. By this time, dad had a heavy duty oxygen mask on that covered his whole face, and couldn’t talk much as he was concentrating on breathing. My mother and four out us seven children waited patiently in the waiting room for what seemed like hours. Finally, I went upstairs to his room in ICU, and he was there. Thank God, it was over, but he was on a vent. We didn’t quite understand that, and questioned the doctor and he claimed he would be off of it by the evening.

The next morning, the doctor told my mother we would have to decide when to pull the plug (so to speak), because they tried several times to take dad off the vent and his vitals dropped. This was the beginning of Easter week. The doctor told mother dad was dying of Fibrosis of the lungs. This was the first we heard the word dying! What the heck happened? I want to talk to my dad again, please dad, open your eyes just once more, please! I didn’t want to leave him that night; mom had decided to wait until after Easter to take him off the vent. The doctor didn’t tell us anything different and told us to go home and get some rest.

I received a phone call from my mom at 3:00 am, saying dad was restless and they said we should come up to the hospital. I flew out the door from home and when I arrived with the others from my family, they said it was too late; dad’s heart gave out on him. I remember slipping my hands under him to feel his body as it was quickly getting cold but his backside still warm from life, as mom’s upper body fell, draped over his and sobbed. All I wanted was to see dad’s big brown eyes once more, but God had different plans and had called him home. This happened on Maundy Thursday of Holy Week, and we waited until the Monday following Easter to have his funeral. Easter was celebrated at a friend’s bed and breakfast for our family, and was somber but joyful knowing our earthly father was celebrating the resurrection in style with JESUS himself.

This was the hardest thing in life I have ever gone through. I miss my dad terribly but know he’s with God and one day I’ll see him again. Death is but a window from life as we know it, to Eternal LIFE as Jesus Christ has promised. I hold onto the promises of Christ.

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