Walking in the Valley A weekly column for those who live and walk in Silicon Valley by Barbara Dahlgren

Father Knows Best Column for the week of June 13-19, 2004

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It’s funny how your parents seem to age all of a sudden. One minute you look at them and they look like your mom or dad. The next minute, some old person is looking at you. That’s how it was with my dad.

When my 84-year-old father’s hip broke we knew it was the beginning of the end. First he went to the hospital to have a rod put in. The pain was excruciating. He was in the beginning of stages of Alzheimer’s so he was very disoriented. We had to explain over and over and over again where he was and what had happened. He looked so frail and frightened. Any quality of life was gone. I felt guilty praying for God to release him from this world and I felt guilty asking God to let him live. But I must admit, although I prayed for God’s will to be done, my heart’s desire was for our heavenly Father to just let him go. But He didn’t.

It was obvious dad could no longer be cared for at home so it was with apprehension that we placed him in a nursing home. After much prayer and discussion we opted for a Veteran’s facility about 30 miles from my parent’s home in the Midwest. It was a clean, loving home. Something many in my dad’s position aren’t fortunate enough to have. It was also close enough for my mom to faithfully visit him for a few hours every day. My brother lived about four hours away and came back almost every other weekend to help her drive. Since I lived in California, it was more difficult for me to get home but I tried to make it every two months or so and stayed in touch via telephone a couple of times a week.

At first dad cried to come home but that was out of the question. His hip healed and he became a little mobile, using a walker and wheelchair. Although he was generally a mild mannered man he could wreak havoc out of frustration. My heart ached each time I saw him and I begged God to be merciful but prayed, “never the less, Lord, thy will be done.” Eventually, dad settled in and started thinking of his little room as home. He didn’t fuss as much when mom left each day.

It gradually became clear to me there might be many reasons why God chose to keep my dad alive, one of them being that I had a lot to learn through this experience.

I learned love from the staff at this care facility. It’s true they got paid for what they did, but no amount of money could give them the sunny dispositions they kept day after day. They tenderly cleaned dad up and changed his soiled linen. The nurses gave him kisses, combed his hair, and made sure he ate.

I learned about going above and beyond. Even when dad was placed in hospice, which everyone knew was the last stop before dying, they made sure he had a new air bed so he wouldn’t get bed sores, new glasses, and new expensive shoes to accommodate his hammer toes. It would have been easy to just say, “Why bother? He’s not going to last much longer anyway.” They didn’t. They wanted only for his comfort and well-being.

I learned appreciation. It touched me how respected the Vets were in the Midwest. Some organization was always bringing him candy, comforters, toiletries, stuffed animals, or you name it. School classes were constantly sending cards and letters of appreciation saying, “Thank you for fighting in the war.” “Thanking you for keeping America safe.”

I learned to take joy in simple things like an ordinary Bingo game. When some Vet in a wheel chair without the use of all his limbs or hearing or sight yelled, “Bingo!” everyone cheered; or at a Craft Fair where Vets proudly displayed what they made. When they won a prize, they loved it when you congratulated them or took their picture.

I learned compassion. There’s something quite moving about one Vet without an arm helping another without his legs. At first the pain of seeing these guys in those conditions was too difficult for me to bear but soon I had camaraderie with them, joking, sharing stories.

I learned selfless service. Many who helped at this VA facility are volunteers. Like Jack who helped the guys bowl with a special apparatus designed to hold the ball so all the men had to do was push. Each time I visited, I saw dad’s little bowling trophy on his nightstand.

I learned to be happy for what I had instead of sad over what I didn’t have. When my dad saw me his face would light up! I was happy he knew I was his daughter even if he couldn’t remember my name. He’d say, “I know you! You’re my daughter!”

I learned even an Alzheimer’s patient can put his trust in God. Each day my dad played the same tape of old gospel songs over and over and over again. He’d sing and sing and sing…Just a closer walk with thee…Oh they tell me of an unclouded day…I’ll fly away, oh glory… We loved to sing together. When we’d sing, “Take it to the Lord in prayer,” he’d look over at me and say, “You know that’s true, don’t you? Don’t ever forget it!”

The list of what I’ve learned through the last days of my father’s life goes on and on. I guess I have more to learn because he is still alive. One big thing God is trying to teach me is that He loves my dad more than I ever could. I know whatever God chooses to do will be for his benefit…and mine. Because our heavenly Father is the only one who knows what’s best!

Be sure to visit this page every week to read the next edition of Walking in the Valley. You can write to the author at bdahlgren@wcgsouthbay.org.