If you’ve read my previous posts, you’re already aware that I have an autistic toddler son. I’m also the caretaker for my diabetic father who is a triple amputee (two below the knee and one thumb). We just found out a few days ago that he has a malignant tumor in his kidney that’s beginning to spread. There’s no denying the tumor’s presence. The doctor allowed us to view the cat scan. Dad didn’t know what he was looking at, but I did. I used to work in a radiology department of a hospital years ago. I’m far from a radiologist, but I do know what tumors and foreign objects look like. The doctor discussed what needed to be done next and future options. My father immediately turned them down, stating he is ready to die. He’s not yet sixty years old, and ready to die. He has three beautiful grandchildren; two of them in college and one in preschool, yet he’s ready to die. So much more living to do, but he’s ready to die. How does a man get like this? I can only tell my personal experience and opinion. He’s tired. He’s tired of losing loved ones; a 13 year old son to Burkitt’s lymphoma in 1992, his father to prostate cancer in 2000, his best friend to injuries sustained in a car accident in 2006, his mother to kidney disease in 2012, and a list of nonfatal tragedies in between. His body is weakened by surgeries, and mind warped with fear and paranoia brought on by schizophrenia. He’s ready to die. He spoke those very same words to me in the past. I had an answer for him at the time. It was around Easter of 2011. I was a few months pregnant with my son. Dad’s diabetes had become bad. His thumb had been amputated and his body afflicted with infections. He told me he was going to die. I replied, “I understand. You’ve suffered a great deal in your life, but you won’t get to meet your grandson.” The reply was significant because I was no more than 12-15 weeks pregnant and sex can’t be determined that early. I told him that the Holy Spirit instructed me to keep the baby because he’s a boy and I won’t die like the doctors said I would (due to blood clot in my lung at 9 weeks pregnancy). Dad believed me, and all three of us are still existing. However, now, at the appointment conclusion, he said to me that he’d like to watch his grandson grow up, but he’s ready to see his own son again. My heart hit the floor. I had to lean on a vending machine to keep from passing out.
Now, I don’t have an answer. I’ve prayed and the Lord told me to begin to let go. Hearing divine instructions isn’t the hard part. Accepting then obeying is. But, I have faith in the reward that He promised me for doing such. I’m often asked how I endure. I have an answer. I simply and truly let go and trust in the Lord. I realize I have no control over others, nor life and death. For me, my life, it’s all about divine faith, belief, and trust. Therefore, it’s not too hard to begin to let go.
After we arrived home from the doctor’s office when receiving the fateful news, my son who avoids contact and affection greeted me with a very tight hug around my neck. I tried putting him down and he held on tighter. It’s then I realized that we not only have a familial bond, but a spiritual one too. He was healed from his autism just long enough to comfort me. And that was the beginning of letting go, by holding on.
18 Years of Grace and Mercy: A Teenage Mother’s Testimony, Vol. 1 and
The Pusher, the Prostitute, and a Preacher
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