Invisible TwentiesA dying father's love for his sonKenn Cobb Just sitting up almost killed him. His blood pressure dropped, he stopped breathing, and he was completely unresponsive. Nurses and therapist were darting in every direction in a wild, yet well choreographed effort to keep dad alive. I stood at the foot of his bed, watching, holding his foot in my hand, and not breathing along with him. ( I was a big help.) I gulped in some air - shortly after he did and we both began to breathe again after a very long 30 seconds or so. He had been unnerving the medical staff with such escapades all week. After this little exercise in panic, he casually opened his eyes, looked at me like nothing had happened, and asked me how I liked the shirt he had given me money to buy at Dillards (one of dad’s favorite department stores). Other people come back from death talking about serenity, warm light, and seeing Jesus. Not my dad. He comes back talking about my wardrobe???!!! Previous to this episode he had been after me to buy a shirt for myself - his treat. He assumed I had that shirt on. He smiled. Even when he couldn’t think, he was thinking of me. Death itself couldn’t turn away his concern for his sons and other people, even the concern for what I wore. "I love it,” I said. “How do you feel?” "It looks good on you,” he said. “Thanks.” “Thanks,” I thought to myself, as his eyes closed for a minute, thanks for the imaginary shirt you didn’t buy me, the most wonderful shirt I never had. Thanks for clothing me in love. Thanks for coming back to life so I could hear your voice again. Thanks for still thinking of me when you were on the brink of dying. Thanks for loving me like that. Thanksgiving was certainly the right vocabulary for my last words to him who had done nothing all his life but give to me. They were trying to take his blood pressure, listening to his heart, trying to get him to be still, but he kept rolling to his right, reaching stiffly, slowly, persistently, for his left hip. His hand didn’t work but he was trying to grab something. “Kenn, are you sure you have enough money?” “Yeah, dad, I have plenty.” “How about underwear, socks?” "Yeah, dad, I’m all set.” “Here, take another twenty just in case.” His hand was not extended toward me. I took the invisible, twenty dollar bill out of his hand. I was a rich man. “Thanks, dad.” “Thank you,” he said, which is what he would always say to me if I took the money he gave without putting up a fight. No fighting back today, even though it was my turn to be the giver. There was no winning the battle to give with him. I surrendered. He would continually, throughout his stay in the hospital, reach for the invisible wallet that wasn’t there and give me twenty’s that weren’t there - from a heart that was all there. He was concerned about me and my two brothers the whole time he was dying, concerned that we weren’t sleeping enough, eating well enough, concerned that we were spending too much time with him, concerned about us being too concerned about him. How can you think of someone else’s well being when you are dying? Wouldn’t your own situation consume your thoughts? How could what I had for lunch matter to him more than his own life? How could he think of my “struggling” to be properly rested, when he was struggling to breathe? The coroner’s report said my dad died of heart problems, but I don’t think there was anything wrong with his heart. I stood in silent awe of him. I loved him more than ever. Then I loved Jesus more than ever. I love Him for giving my dad that never-failing love which I had received from dad all my life. I loved Jesus for taking such good care of dad now as he was dying, that dad wasn’t consumed by care for himself, and was, even in his condition, free to love me. Jesus loved dad when He was dying on the Cross. Now dad was loving me while he was dying. I asked myself “who am I to receive such love?” I knew the answer almost before I was finished asking it. I am a son of a loving father, actually two fathers. That will forever be the heart of who I am. Do you know what is truly amazing? I won’t remember this time of dad’s death as a time when I loved and cared for my dad. I will remember it as a time when dad loved me and cared for me. Can you believe that? I kissed his forehead, and told him, for the last time on earth, that I loved him. Before I walked away, he climbed out of unconsciousness for me one last time. “I love you too, Kenn.” “I know, dad,” I said to myself, “I know.” He left earth for Paradise two days later to rest from a life of loving service to his sons and to so many others. He rests now in the love of his God - forever more, the son of a loving Father. Kenn Cobb |