In multiple ways, Sunday was both the best and the worst Father's Day I have ever known.  Let me explain the paradox by sharing some of the day.

My father had gone into the hospital a week prior and was diagnosed with pneunomia.  His doctor took advantage of having him there and ran some tests on his heart.  Dad's last tests were done in January, and they found that his heart was only pumping at 25% of capacity.  Not good.  Though that percentage tends to drop with aging, it should not be anywhere near that low.  He has a defective valve on his heart that could have been dealt with surgically, but Dad would have none of it.  Consequently, his heart is having to pump extra hard to circulate his blood, and it is not succeeding.  He suffers from edema (fluid retention) because of this, and his skin is breaking down because of it. 

So the new test results came in, showing his heart to now be pumping at 14% of capacity.  The doctor said his condition was "dire," and if it continued to pump for 6 months it would be a miracle.  Although we knew he had been in congestive heart failure for some time, and obviously, we don't live forever, still the news came like a physical blow.  Harsh reality is just that--harsh.  It is the thing you know but choose not to think about.  Yet, I suppose there is an argument to be made for not thinking about sad realities until you must.

So now we must.  The doctor recommended him for hospice care--further evidence of the reality--and he was accepted.  This enabled us to continue with our plan to move him into an assisted living facility in his hometown.  In situations that only God could have orchestrated, we moved Dad on Saturday into a beautiful two-room apartment that opens onto the courtyard in the facility where he wanted to go.  He was ecstatic. It was so lovely that he began to wonder if he could afford it.  We assured him that his being a veteran of WWII, combined with Medicare, would make it affordable for him.  That made him smile.  My sister, Angie, and I spent the day hanging pictures, bringing in furniture (with help from her husband), and trying to make things seem like home.  While we were busy, Angie's children enjoyed the courtyard and some good books.  I managed to get their picture.  The courtyard really is nice with lots of flowers, walks, benches, and a large pole with the American flag.

I was focused on pictures of Dad and I neglected to take pictures of his apartment. Of course, we still have some pictures to hang.  One of them is too heavy and we will have to get a picture hanger. So I will have to get pictures next time.  But I will share some of him and others who were there.

First a side view of him, wearing his WWII Veteran's cap that I brought him from one of my trips to Washington D.C. years ago.  They did have him on oxygen with a tube under his nose, but he pulled it off.  It hooked around his ears and he said it was annoying.

Next is a close up shot that Angie's daughter took for me.  I am so glad she did.

And we took a few pics of us with him.  The first one is with my daughter, Sarah.  She had visited him in the hospital, but she came for a brief visit to see him in his new "digs."  She had to be back at work by noon on Sunday as basketball camp for this week began at that time.

Next is one with both Sarah and me with Dad.  I am trying very hard to refrain from being one of those people who gush about how awful they look in a picture.  I'll just say I wish there hadn't been a glare on my glasses . . .

And a last one of Angie and me with him.  I must note, however, that Dad is always freezing (another side-effect of his heart not pumping properly). Consequently, he can't bear the temperature to be under 80 degrees F. When you're working, that temperature guarantees sweat.  And you can tell in this picture (note the flat hair). And no, that doesn't count as gushing.

I want to include one last picture, not from this past weekend, but from long ago.  It was about 1949.  I would be born later that year in November.  Dad and Mom were standing outside of their house in Eaton, Indiana, not far from where he is now. 

I don't remember ever seeing this photo before about a month ago.  I found it in a box of my grandmother's pictures.  I was moved by how handsome Dad looked, but especially by the expression of adoration on my mother's face, and the clutching of his hand on hers at his waist.  Dad would have been about 27 here and Mom about 25.  They had been married 5 years.  Their journey together was still just beginning.  They were married a total of 55 years.  They had 4 children.  Dad had a successful career as a teacher and coach--a winning coach, I should add.  Dad retired in 1993 after 45 years of coaching.  It was just in time to become Mom's caregiver.  She was stricken with alzheimer's disease.  Dad cared for her every need for over 5 years until she passed away in 2000.  Now it is his turn to be cared for, in these, his final days.  Does the brevity of life not strike you here?  Our time on this earth is so short.  It is far too short for the petty things that we let upset us.  

So this Father's Day was difficult, knowing it was my last one.  But it was good.  I know where my father is going, and I will see him again.  I was able to make him smile and tell him I love him.  He was able to tell me the same.  It was good to wait on him--bring him a root beer (he loves root beer).  It was good to make him as comfortable as possible, to mark all his clothing with his name, mundane tasks, but they were all I could do.  God has charge of the rest.  Dad is in His hands.   

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."  --2 Cor 4:16-18