Can’t get Dad off my mind these recent days. Today’s moving day. I’ve decided to have him moved from one nursing facility to another. It’s been explained the new place is better equipped to handle his condition. Dementia, a touch of Alzheimer’s. Mixed in an unknown amount of loneliness and fear.
He moves today. I’m wondering how much he understands.
He’s been at the other place four years. I can’t be with him during the transition. Deep down, I think I’m relieved. I’ll visit tomorrow. He’ll be settled in. Deep down, I feel guilty, helpless. I pray as I try to imagine what it is he feels.
I pray for the Lord to comfort him, to reassure him. Somehow, somewhere in my mind I hear the Lord telling me you comfort him. You reassure him.
“Ah, Lord, I’ve never been good at comforting.”
You’ve never tried much.
“I’ve never learned.”
You’ve never tried much.
True enough, I must admit. Growing up, somehow our family had accepted the fact that we each needed to learn how to comfort ourselves. It’s just how it was. Each of us, Dad, Mom, the three sons, each of us had our own individual methods. Reaching out, opening up, touching were not included in our ways, not good options.
“Will you help me, Lord?”
Mention my name to him. See where it leads.
Sometimes I wonder if Jesus understands that I’d prefer Him to handle it. Sometimes I’d prefer He not put me in the middle of it.
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