More Glimpses

Glimpses

(written by Harley Castleberry)

“MY GRACE IS SUFFICIENT FOR THEE . . .”
II Corinthians  12:9

We hugged my parents, said our good-bys and stood watching them drive off.

With a lump in my throat and tears trying to cloud my eyes, I turned to my wife Beth, and said, “This is the last time I’ll see Daddy alive.”

This was the conclusion of Christmas Day.  Dinner had been enjoyed by both sets of parents at the home of my in-laws in Slaton, near Lubbock, Texas.  The long drive back to our home in Dallas lay ahead of us and my Dad’s condition made me wish that I could stay.

A routine medical exam several months earlier had detected a small spot in his lower colon and a biopsy proved the tissue to be cancerous.  After a family discussion of available options, my Dad decided to undergo the reportedly routine surgery to remove a few inches of colon.  My mother, brother and sister, who are twins, and I all voiced our agreement with his decision.  He would have had the same unanimous backing regardless of what he had decided.

My Dad had been retired for only about a year and a half and he and my mother were enjoying some well deserved leisure time together.  Grandchildren had become even more fun and the 350 mile drive to Dallas, to see our three sons, Beth and I, was no problem for a couple that were no longer tied to the regimen of the business world.

The surgery went well on my Dad, who had never before had the misfortune of any real health problems.  In due time he was released to go home; however, it was not before the doctor revealed that cancer had been detected in his liver.  Shortly thereafter, chemotherapy was begun.  He didn’t loose his hair and it remained as always, coal black.

As time passed, he no longer weighed 185 pounds, and a persistent case of diarrhea and bladder problems began to take their toll.

By the time we arrived for the Christmas holidays, he had lost a surprising amount of weight and suddenly my Dad was a frail, little, dried-up old man.  His dress shirt collars hung loose around his now thin, drawn neck.

When I first laid eyes on him, I felt my stomach muscles jerk into a knot and my emotions raced, seeking some form of expression or escape.  I forced myself not to show visible shock.

For only the second time in my entire life, I saw snow falling on the South Plains of Texas, on a Christmas Eve.  How fitting!!  This only happens in story books and in the northern states.

About mid-morning, with snow falling, Daddy wanted me to take him to Lubbock, to get a new cutter head for his electric razor.  My varied attempts to keep him at home and out of the weather, while I went for the part, were met with persistent replies of, “I’m going with you.” while he was donning a sweater, coat and his ever present felt dress hat.  Finally, I got the unspoken message - he wanted the two of us to be alone for awhile.

As we cautiously made our way the fifteen miles to Lubbock, the windshield wipers rhythmically removed the big, wet snowflakes and my Dad began to reveal what was on his mind.

“I’m running out of time.” he related in a matter-of-fact manner.

I could feel the heat generated by the surge of my emotions and the sickening knot was back in my stomach.  I gritted my teeth in attempt to relieve some of the tension.

He talked about his Will, and having gotten his business affairs in order.

My conversational responses seemed appropriate but I cannot recall what any of them were.

What was transpiring was an incident that I had dreaded ever since childhood and now, here I was, living it like some bad dream.  This was not the kind of thing I wanted to hear.  I wanted everything to stay the way had always been!

I didn’t want anything to change!

Then, a surprising thought process hit me.  I felt enlightened, somewhat relieved and inwardly very much ashamed.  I looked at my Dad and admitted, “You know, everything that I’ve been thinking is selfish and from my point of view.  I don‘t want anything to change.  What are you thinking?”

“Well, there’s going to be some changes made - that’s for sure.  I’ve lived a good long life and we’ve had a lot of fun together.  If I had it to do over, I don’t know of much that I’d change.”

We were now entering the in-town traffic of Lubbock and due to the need for more cautious driving, conversation took a lighter vein, but I’m not likely to ever forget that brief glimpse into Daddy’s world that was slowly closing in on him.  Evidently his faith in God had proven to be sufficient for his needs.
 

March 23rd

I made my way home from work through the evening Dallas traffic.

As I entered our home, Beth met me at the door.  “I tried to catch you before you left the office.  They called and said your Dad is in a coma in the hospital in Slaton, and not expected to make it through the night.  Your supper is on the table and I’m getting your clothes ready.”

The time that all families dread was close at hand.

“I should be able to get there sometime after mid-night.” I said.

“You’re flying.  I’ve got you a reservation and as soon as you eat I’m taking you to DFW Airport.  Bob will meet you at the Lubbock airport.”

Her logic, and the circumstances over-rode my quirk of not liking to be anywhere without my own transportation.  Left up to me, I would have driven the five and one-half hour trip without a second thought. 

On the flight, my mind did “instant replays” of various past times.  I thought of the phone conversations with my folks since Christmas and my Dad and I always joking about the sayings of a mutual friend.

My brother-in-law, Bob Bivens, met my flight and carried me directly to the hospital in my home town.

Mother and my sister, Kay were there.  Daddy looked about the way he did at Christmas - thin and frail.  A large oxygen bottle near the head of his bed was helping an I.V. supply the means of existence.

Kay and I, with very little persuasion, talked Mother into going down to the waiting room where she could lie down.  It was near 11 p.m.  She was worn out after being on duty twenty four hours a day since Daddy’s surgery.

Kay gave me the details on the doctor’s last visit to the room and we settled into the semi-comfortable chairs for whatever the night might bring.

Occasionally Daddy’s eyes would open about half way.  It seemed that this happened when there was a noise - such as a nurse entering the room or activity in the hall.  Maybe, I thought, if I talked a little louder than normal, I could get through to his consciousness for a second or two - just enough to let him know I was there.

“DADDY.”  I said, standing at the foot of the bed where he could see me.

His eyes opened about half way and he seemed to be looking right at me.

“IT’S HARLEY - I’M HERE.”

Slowly his eyes closed again.  No change in expression.  No movement of hands or fingers.

Instantly and unexpectedly it came out!  I was sobbing and my throat was tight and sore.  Now Kay was crying, and we were together at the foot of his bed, hugging each other.
Had he heard or seen me, or did he just respond to a noise?  I don’t know.  I’ll never know, in this life.

After regaining our composure, Kay and I visited and reminisced as nurses made their periodic checks and changed I.V.’s.  The constant soft “hiss” of the oxygen was noticeable during lulls in our conversation.  Minutes passed into hours and the night slowly surrendered to the glow of dawn through the East windows.

Sometime after the sun has risen above the barren tree limbs, visible through the windows, my brother Billy, arrived.  Our visiting continued as we watched the motionless form lying on the bed and heard the shallow breathing that the oxygen help make possible.

Shortly after noon, one of the routine visits by a nurse was followed-up rather quickly as she returned with the doctor, Stan H. Jaynes.  Blood pressure and pulse were rechecked.

My mind flashed back to a happier time several years before when my Dad and I had assisted Dr. Jaynes in financing his new home through the savings and loan association that my Dad had helped organize and ultimately managed.

This fleeting daydream was interrupted as Dr. Jaynes asked Billy, Kay and I to step out into the hallway.  We were informed that the condition was beginning to worsen and that at best, our Dad had only a few brief hours remaining.

My Mother, mentally and physically weary from several months of constant home nursing duty, chose to remain in the waiting room.  “Keep me posted - I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” she said.

Even with the conditioning of several months, and the questionable prospects of recovery, I still could not visualize this happening.  There’s a cure for all sorts of dreaded diseases.  Why not this one?  NOW!

Within the next few hours something amazing was going to happen in that hospital room where a father and his three children were to spend their last moments together.

Christian faith and beliefs for the past many years began to pay rich, deep, and meaningful benefits.  The little book, Angels by Billy Graham, which my wife had given to me for an anniversary gift only three months before, now made me realize that one of the events described in that book, was about to take place!  It was eminent!  It was going to happen in the very room where we were!

The thought had never entered my mind before, but it now became clear that death was as much of the living process as birth itself. 

Dr. Graham’s book led me through Bible passages that I had never read or heard sermons preached on.  I had been astounded at the number of references to angels that God’s Word contains.  They are His messengers and have a multitude of duties.

Since childhood I had heard stories of people on their deathbeds, seeing angels, or Christ Himself, standing near their beds.  And only three months before I had read where the Bible itself substantiates these angelic duties.  And too many records indicate the presence of Jesus or deceased loved-ones moments before a death, for this matter to be dismissed or even taken lightly.

A reassuring peace filled my being and an unusual feeling of excitement stirred my senses.  If ever we were going to knowingly be in the presence of angels, it was today!

The visits by the doctor became more frequent and soon the deteriorating condition of our Dad was evident to even the untrained.  A noticeable change was beginning to take place in his breathing.  His breaths were becoming more shallow.  The soft spewing sound of the oxygen remained constant.  He lay motionless with his eyes just barely open.

After 68 years of faithful service, his body was beginning to close down the remaining operating functions.  The process was very gradual.

We kept Mother up-to-date as time slowly passed.

It was late afternoon and the breathing had diminished to what could be compared to short sighs.  The oxygen flowed dutifully through the nosepiece.

“This is ridiculous.” I thought.  “This isn’t even humane.”  I wanted to shut off the valve on the oxygen bottle.  “Is that legal?  Can I live with myself if I do?  God gives life and He reclaims it.”

I sat back down.

Shortly thereafter, I became aware that breathing had stopped.  I think Kay and Billy were also keenly aware.  Nothing was happening.  It was over.  And then - - - one little short, in-and-out breath, and then, nothing.  Other than the continuing sound of the oxygen, silence was so thick you could feel it.  Look!  Another shallow in-and-out breath.  How the physical body fights to hang on to life!  It was unbelievable how far apart these ever-so-slight breaths were!

“He having a little trouble getting away.” I said.

Billy nodded his head.

I sensed a very spiritual atmosphere.  I knew that angels, at least, were also in the room; there to serve as escorts.

Were my Dad’s parents also there for a joyful reunion?  I had never know this grandfather, as he had died while my Dad was still in high school.  I just barely remember my Dad’s mother.  I was less than two years old when she passed away.

I couldn’t help but look around the room.  Who was there for this GRAND OCCASION?  Was Jesus Himself there?

Another small, quick breath - - - - - - - - - and silence.  We waited for another.  Moments passed, and no more oxygen was required.  It became evident that our dad had slipped the bonds of the container that had held his spirit.  He was free!

I looked toward the ceiling, hoping to see some indication of a departing spirit or of Heavenly Messengers, but all my earthly eyes could see was a light fixture suspended from a flat ceiling.  But joy filled my soul.  Even though we couldn’t see it, we had been present where a miracle took place!  The peace and presence of the Holy Spirit filled the room.  The empty shell of my Dad’s cancer-ridden body lay on the bed in front of us, but he was not there.

Standing between my brother and sister, I placed my hands on their shoulders and said, “He just embarked on the greatest adventure of his existence.”

In those moments a verse took on a new meaning to me - “Oh death, where is thy sting?  Oh grave, where is thy victory?”

Sure, I miss my Dad - probably always will!  But, looking back on this event sometime later, I realized that through this special experience and God’s marvelous grace, I had been spared from what mankind calls the “Grief Period.”  There was no bitterness, just a Sweet Memory.

FOR THOSE OF US WHO REMAIN, COME QUICKLY LORD JESUS.