It is well... it really is.

My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer's at the age of 55. I remember the day that my mom called from the doctor's office. We knew that there was a problem. He knew that there was a problem. And on that day, the doctor confirmed that there was a problem.


I remember being at their house not long after he was diagnosed. He had taken early retirement. He was home doing the things he loved - riding his tractor, cutting his grass, working in his yard. We went for a walk in the pasture. We never really talked about the disease. In fact, I don't ever really remember talking about it with him. But he talked about lots of other things. He told me things I did not know. He reminded me of things I did know. He affirmed some of my feelings and concerns about those family things that you normally never get around to voicing. I guess it was his way of acknowledging the situation without actually talking about it.


Mom took the brunt of the caregiving. She did the day in and day out stuff. It was very hard. It was a lot of years. I felt like I lost my daddy twice. The first time was long and slow and painful.  It was a long 13 years. We watched as he slowly forgot things. We helped as he slowly could not do the everyday things. There were a lot of years of him being frustrated with himself and then there were a lot of years of him being frustrated with us. There were a lot of years that he was cared for in a nursing home. And there were a lot of years that he had no idea who I was.


The second loss came quickly. In less than 24 hours. He had pneumonia. He went down hill quickly. We had already prepared for this scenario. We knew by this time that this would come. But you are never ready for it, no matter how long it has been or how hard it has been.


We spent those last hours by his side. My husband, my brother and my sister-in-law sat with me on his bed. I wondered during those hours if he knew we were there. We told stories. We laughed. We cried. We watched his breathing begin to slow down. He began to look peaceful for the first time in a long time. Right at the end, he opened his eyes. He looked right at me. It was a look of recognition. There is no doubt in my mind that he saw me and knew it was me. It was quick. Just a brief moment.


A few minutes later, he looked to the corner of the room. There was another look of recognition. There is no doubt in my mind that he saw Jesus. It was quick. Just a brief moment. Soon he was gone. Very peaceful. 


There were so many lessons in all those years. Some I learned as they happened. Others I have learned over the years as I reflect back on that time. It was long and it was hard but there were so many blessings. Sometimes it just takes a long time to realize the blessings. But they were there and God's presence in our lives was so evident as we look back.


A few weeks after his death, mom and I were talking about what to put on his grave marker. She decided on a picture of a tractor. The inscription read: It is well with my soul. And you know, even then, it really was.

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.