Hospice

It's time.
I've had so long to prepare, yet my heart still lurched with the news.

"Your dad will begin receiving hospice care."

It looks like I'm not going to get the miracle healing in the way I was hoping for.  We are both surprised at my emotion, but my husband reminds me that this IS healing.  Perfect healing, complete healing, heavenly healing.
My heart selfishly longs for Dad to be a part of my life now.  To see my oldest daughter going to prom, to see her off to college in the fall.  "Chicago is so far away; are you sure you want to go there?" I can just imagine hearing him say that.  To see my son in his martial arts uniform, with the ironed-on patch of the American flag flanking the Japanese flag and hear more stories of the army days when Dad was stationed in Japan.  To see my youngest daughter so full of life and energy.  I can guess Dad would comment about how busy she is, how vivacious she is, like he used to say to me, "You have young legs...your ol' Pop-a-lop is wearing out."
It's true.  His body is wearing out.
This talk of Memorial Services and Hospice Care and final arrangements...it's for my co-worker's mother and my first cousin's husband battling colon cancer.  Now we are joining those ranks.  Oh, I want to do this well!  A sweet friend, after losing both of her aging parents within a short time, asked if I would pray that she would grieve well.  That's what I want, too!  To grieve well.  That we would finish well.  That my dad's life and how we, as his family, handle his death would be a testimony of God's goodness, God's faithfulness.
This song was playing on the kitchen radio as I relayed this most recent news to my family.  Thank you, Lord, for this reminder:

Never once did we ever walk alone
Never once did You leave us on our own
You are faithful, God, You are faithful  (Never Once by Matt Redman)