I had to take a quick trip to Sacramento. My father’s health was quickly declining, and he no longer was able to get around without the aid of a wheelchair. Because he no longer was able to feed himself or care for himself, he had recently been moved from an assisted living situation to the full health care wing of the retirement community in which he lived. My brother had called me to let me know it might be a good idea to make the long trip to California for a visit. Some paperwork needed to be processed, and one of us needed to take care of putting his personal affairs in order. As I made the arrangements for the trip home, I was filled with both sadness and anxiety. Never is this sort of thing easy, but the family dynamics, in this case, made the situation much more difficult. This was one of those things that I knew I had to do, but I also knew it would be incredibly difficult. I was quite sure this would be the last time I saw my father, which it was. But more than anything else, it was a trip to say goodbye.
When I got to the retirement home, I first went to the front desk and collected a packet of paperwork that had been left there for me by the Center Administrator. It contained paperwork that needed to be filled out and signed due to the new level of service required for my father’s care. That was the easiest task of the morning’s required events. Next, I was ushered to my father’s former assisted living residence, actually a single bedroom and bath, where one of the amazingly compassionate caregivers had kindly boxed up his belongings after moving him over to the full care wing. As I walked into the room, the first thing I noticed was how clean and organized everything was, but also how empty it felt. It most definitely felt as though no one lived there any longer.
The furniture in the room was familiar, as it belonged to my father and had come from his home prior to moving to the retirement home. My eyes rested on the bed that he and my mother had shared for 37 years before she passed away. Although my mother had been gone 21 years, I unexpectedly was overwhelmed by how much I missed her. The bed was stripped, there were three neatly packed boxes on the bed marked “hospice,”. There was also a couple of boxes on the dresser with a note next to them that said, “Personal items. Daughter will be in to go through”. It all felt surreal, more like a book or a movie about someone else’s life, not the real thing. (I must say Hollywood does an excellent job of capturing the feeling and emotions we experience in times like these.) Knowing other people go through this sort of thing every day somehow didn’t make it feel any better at the moment. As I looked around the room, the nurse told me to take as much time as I needed as she gently closed the door behind her and left me alone in the empty room.
There were only two boxes to go through. One had books in it, and the other had “personal items.” There was nothing of value, at least nothing of monetary value. However, the items in the box were small tokens of one man’s life’s treasures. It was an entire lifetime now reduced to a single brown cardboard box. There were a few pictures, a couple greeting cards, and a box of random keys and key chains with keys to who knows where or what. There was an old cell phone, a couple of big band CDs, and an old, old, old flight logbook of when my dad worked on his pilot’s license many years ago. There also was an unused passport that had been expired only a couple of years, all four of my father’s high school yearbooks, and five bibles. Each item quietly spoke for itself, although some of them provided me with questions that would never be answered.
That got me to thinking. If I had to put all of who I was into one box, what would I choose to put in it? Would what I held most valuable in my life be evident in the few final possessions I left behind, or would I leave behind more questions about my life than answers? I don’t know about you, but I think if all that’s left of me are more questions than answers, perhaps I need to rethink my relationships and my priorities. I want those I love to feel loved, and I want those who have loved me to feel they knew me well. That box was yet another reminder that we need to spend more of our time and effort on things that genuinely make a difference.
“So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.” 1 Corinthians 10:31
When I finished going through what was left of my father’s items and was ready to leave, I found myself hesitant to leave the room. My next stop was to spend a couple of hours with my father, as much time as he could before tiring. As I opened the door to leave the room, my hand spontaneously went to turn off the light, but I stopped. For whatever reason, I couldn’t do it. I left the light on and quietly slipped out the door and down the hallway toward the full care wing.
“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” Colossians 3:15-17
Wishing you joy and peace.
Lorrie