Worship

I've cried a lot already today, remembering three weeks plus one day ago when You took him. The fear and the pain. The image forever burned in my mind of "Dad" hooked to countless machines, only continuing to breathe thanks to the massive tube leading down his throat and disfiguring his face. Looking pale and sunken and old and not very much alive. Not knowing if his soul had already departed his body as I sat there numb, waiting for his blood pressure to drop. Mom kept saying "Chrisfer" over and over through her tears. She kept saying "You have to go now. Follow the light, Chrisfer." How do you let someone go? How do you say those words? I'm so sorry I didn't say more. Sorry that when I left the hospital room on Christmas day, the last time he would ever see me (I didn't know!!!), he was confused and exhausted and in and out of sleep and I didn't even give him a hug and a kiss goodbye. I had no idea how important it would be. How much I would regret it and how badly it would hurt. I'm sorry, Daddy. And then, when it was too late to know if he was aware of our presence, I wanted him to hear what we said and feel our touch on his cold skin, but not to know he was dying and suffer the frustration of his broken body not allowing him to respond. I wanted to know that he was comfortable and that he had peace and that he was okay with leaving and that he knew we would go on without him and miss him, but to still hurt for us without hurting. How are  you supposed to make a decision like that? To remove life support. To let go. I couldn't. The family made the decision. Mom made it. I went along with it because I was numb and because I didn't have a choice. I'm not saying it was wrong. Not even thinking that. But it was impossible. Yet Mom did it. Then she had to sit there for four agonizing hours - the worst hours of all of our lives - and tell "Chrisfer" that he had to go follow the light now. I wish I could know what he was thinking. I wanted to know that he could hear us and know our excruciating pain and our immense love for him, but also that he'd already gotten a taste of heaven and of You so he wouldn't hurt too much or have regrets or be afraid. I wanted him to share in the pain we were in because he was part of us. Part of the family. Our team leader. But I wanted him to feel no pain. To be free to go and to be happy. And now I know he feels no pain and the rest of us hurt and cry and survive without him. How can we even hurt fully when part of us isn't there to hurt with us? And all the while we had to know that You arranged it all. Planned it. And though I felt anger I wasn't supposed to be angry at you. Though You've wrenched my heart from my feeble grasp and torn it apart I'm supposed to trust You, the only One capable of healing my broken heart. I'm supposed to be able to know that You are good. And somehow that is supposed to make me feel better. And maybe sometimes it does. The times when I try not to think about Your part in this. When I try to forget that this is Your handiwork, thank you very much. I'm supposed to give my life for You, the very One who hurt me. And the One who gave Your life for me. What a heart-wrenching incomprehensible reality. Culminating in truth. Life. Complexity. And in the end, through my tears and my pain, my confusion and my hurt, I'm left only with a choice - a simple choice that is anything but simple - What will I do with you? The heavy words of my very brave mom and Simon Peter are forced upon me for consideration and acceptance. "Where else would I go? You hold the words of eternal life." And so in my pain I choose to worship the One who caused my pain. And somehow, without the holes in my heart being mended, I am satisfied.