Running our race
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. –Hebrews 12:1-2a (NIV)
My father turned eighty-six this summer. For his birthday, he got a partial hip replacement. When the doctors say “partial”, they mean the socket portion of his hip joint was salvageable, but the ball at the top of his femur was not. While I am amazed and grateful for the medical expertise that could ease his pain and restore his mobility, I would classify the invasiveness and violence of the procedure as pretty complete.
The last six weeks have been a season of recovery, with some funny moments, some anxious moments, some frustrating moments, and a new understanding of what love looks like. I have two brothers. The three of us each took a two-week turn staying with our Dad through his rehab. Physically, he has done amazingly well, and should be released from in-home aftercare in another week or so.
Mentally and emotionally, the path was more tenuous, a journey where we would make some progress, drop back a bit, regain equilibrium, then start moving forward again. Short-term memory was an issue, as was fear of what the future would hold and uncertainty around the degree of life change all this would result in.
Daddy lives by himself in a two-story house on four wooded acres in central Texas. I say “by himself”. His best friend is a brain-damaged (my non-professional assessment) pug named Beau. Being without Beau and wondering whether he would be able to keep a dog any longer was one of the more distressing things to navigate. I’m happy(?) to report that Beau was able to return home about three weeks after my Dad did, once mobility cleared us of any serious trip hazard.
Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go. –John 21:18 (NIV)
Brain fog, which we were told was normal following the trauma of the surgery and the after-effects of the anesthesia and pain medication, led to many circular conversations. Things that needed to be done around the house were discussed and agreed to, only to raise questions about “What in the Sam Hill are you doing?” once the task was undertaken. Events from fifty years ago were recalled in intricate detail, of course.
On more than one occasion, the regimen of daily pills was interrupted by a full explanation of what each medicine was for, complete with doctor’s notes and printouts of internet research on potential side effects. While such exercises were tedious, my brothers and I had to remember that our father had chosen none of this. However frustrating and scary any of this was to us, it was more so for him. And while we prayed often for an extra measure of grace and compassion, it was a blessing to be able to care for this man who has sacrificed so much to give us the life we have enjoyed.
And the fog has lifted for the most part. While inquiries were made and next options explored, we are all good for the moment. Daddy and Beau patrol the yard for visiting wildlife. We’ve hired out some of the work around the house, we maintain communication with his church friends who keep us apprised of changes they observe, and we check in regularly.
The day will come when we have to do something different, but for now this good and godly man will do his best to finish well, meeting with his guys at the café and enjoying the memories he made in sixty years of marriage to the only girl he ever loved. I could do worse than growing up to be like my Dad.
His master replied, “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!” – Matthew 25:21 (NIV)