A piece of my story.

There are around ten days in my entire life that I remember in perfect detail. This post includes three of them. Yes, it'll be a long one, but I've decided to let my faithful readers into my mind and my emotional world. It's not something I do often. I'm not an emotional person, at least not outwardly, so for me this is a big step. Bear with me...

August 13, 2010
Everyone loads up onto the bus. We are leaving Glorieta, and I am on a spiritual high like you wouldn't believe. I'm so on fire for God, and I'm excite to get back to Vegas and get a Sin City revival going. We load up, everyone's chattering away, and laughing at stories and inside jokes from our week away.
A couple of hours into our trip, we pass a native american reservation, and stop to look at the shops and to go to the bathroom or whatever and it's the first time my phone has gotten service in a while. I have a missed call from my dad's girlfriend, and that's weird, so I listen to the voicemail she's left, and she said that my dad has been checked into Summerlin Hospital's ICU, with pneumonia and a host of other crap, and I need to call her ASAP. Okay, panic set in. I was more than 8 hours away, and I'm stuck on a bus with a group of people I've only known for a couple of months, and all I really wanted was to be home with my family. We may be dysfunctional at times, but we seem to pull together at the end of the day. :)
I finally reach Kathleen, and she says that I should come to the hospital as soon as I can, but at that point he was "critical but stable". I get the memo to Damian (our college pastor) at the front of the bus, and he gets on the loud speaker, and tells everyone the situation and we pray. A bus FULL of basically strangers prayed for a man they'd never met. That was staggering to me.
I cried off and on for hours. I kept looking around the bus, and saw people looking at me. I know it was out of care and concern, but I didn't like being watched. I seriously felt like the biggest baby for crying as much as I did. I wasn't crying just because he was in the hospital. Modern medicine is amazing, BUT the reason I was crying was even more amazing. I can't really explain it fully, and not a lot of people even know this happened... But that day, sitting in a bus of new friends, coming back from a vacation spent with Jesus...

I knew my Dad was going to die.

I know that probably sounds morbid, or unbelievable. I would think the same thing if it wasn't me. It's okay. Haha. But I just knew. It felt like... When your foot falls asleep and then it sometimes spreads up your leg... But it was a sense of peace. It just covered me completely, and I can't find any other words to describe it.

Anyway. I began my grieving process that day, and that's why I was crying so much. I just knew.

My dad was in hospitals since August. It's now December. He attempted to do rehab, and it's caused a relapse. The doctors are telling is that he will definitely not recover this time, and it's time to have important conversations, make decisions and arrangements, and say our goodbyes.

Tuesday December 14, 2010, I went to the hospital one last time, and we've decided to take him off everything and let God do His thing. That night is amazing. Ten or so people from the college group came with me (from logos) and sat with me at the hospital for hours. People I wasn't even close with. It blew my mind. Damian asked me at one point if he could have a minute alone with my dad to pray over him and have a chat. He came out like fifteen minutes later and told me that my dad had accepted Jesus. Imagine my surprise. My father, who had never really been to church, was going to Heaven, and I would see him again one day! It was the best Christmas present I've ever gotten!

Friday December 17, 2010 (three days later) I had said my goodbyes on Tuesday night, in the company of my friends, and I had decided (against the opinion of most people) to not be at the hospital for my dad's final moments. I just wanted to remember him in a pleasant way, not as someone lifeless. Ya know? Well, you probably don't. Haha.

So, I went to work. It was actually my last day working at my job I had at the time. I had gotten something new, and I was going to say goodbye to my after school kids that day. At 2:00 I called my mom and told her to tell my dad that I loved him. At 2:11, she called back and told me he was gone. I hung up on her, telling her I'd call back. I had been talking to two parents (also, friends of mine), and when I hung up, I looked up at them, turned, and walked away. I got three steps into the empty hallway, and couldn't go any further. I melted into the wall sobbing like a freak. My two friends had followed me and hugged me tight, and just let me cry.

It wasn't really what I'd expected. Movies portray death to be one way, and it's obviously not like that at all. So, after I pulled myself together, I walked into my boss' office, and told her my
Dad had died. She (and my other coworker in the room) immediately told me to go, that they would find someone to take care of the kids. I told them no. My family would be at the hospital for hours saying goodbye and doing arrangements, and I was NOT going home to an empty house. And I was NOT going to miss out on saying goodbye to these kids that I had invested so fully in. I loved them, and it wouldn't be fair to disappear from their lives without explanation. They wouldn't have understood. So, I stayed.
I don't regret staying. People kept telling me that I'd regret not being there. That I'd feel incomplete.

I don't.

I wrote this blog simply to let some emotion out, and to show a piece of my life to someone who may not have been around then. If I didn't have Jesus and my friends and family, I GUARANTEE, I wouldn't be here today. I wouldn't have the good life I do. I have a LOT of lousy days still, feel free to pray for those, but I'm still surrounded by people who love me. This particular post is in remembrance, and to share part of my story.

Grace be with you.