The Robber

My dad has a horrible disease. Parkinson's. Almost like a thief in the night it came in and robbed him of a full and vibrant life.

Growing up my dad was the physically strongest and hardest working man I knew. He grew up on a farm and never left his hard work ethic behind. He worked from sun up to sun down. Even during the hardest of times whether personally or economically he always took care of us. Our needs were always met.

About 15 years ago he started having nightmares and slight tremors. Eventually a neurologist diagnosed him with Parkinson's. Along the way various doctors said, "no, it's not Parkinson's" and as any of us probably would, he wanted to believe their diagnosis more than the real one. He never gave up. He always pushed ahead and worked himself until he was exhausted. Sometimes after a day's work, he would spend the entire next day in bed or at home re cooperating. This was a side of my dad I wasn't used to seeing. Growing up I knew that my dad was REALLY sick if he ever missed work or came home and went to bed. It was a sight I only remember seeing a time or two in my entire life. Until the robber came into his life. Even in the beginning stages, he pushed himself to do more than he probably should have.

During this initial diagnosis I was living in Virginia and didn't notice his decline like my mom who lived with him day in and day out. The realization came with me one summer evening when we were standing on the porch of the Madison house. Joking and playing around with him, I gave him a bit of a shove and almost knocked him off the porch. Quickly I grabbed him and helped steady him before he fell off and to the ground. That was my first encounter with the fact that my daddy wasn't still the strongest man I knew.

Watching a parent slowly slip away is something I would never wish on anyone. It hurts. We all deal with hurt in various way. I would rather choose to remember him how he was. Seeing him laying in a nursing home bed unable to take care of himself and at the mercy of some underpaid aides and nurses makes me sad. It's a fine line with my mom - she wants us there for her comfort, but we (Karen and I) would rather not see him like this. I know my mom's friends probably think we are awful because we're not there 24/7...I just hope someone understands how hard it is for us.

Now we face the question of life support. Dad's wishes have always been very well known that he DOES NOT want any kind of life support....but does that include a feeding tube which the doctors now want to put in?

I hate this part of being a child. I hate the robber that stole my dad's life. But in the midst of my anger and hurt I rest in the knowledge that my father gave his life to Jesus in the 1950's and that I am assured he will spend life in eternity.

Please join us in praying for comfort and wisdom in the days ahead.