The Tide

I've been told more than once that my faith must bring me peace, joy, consolation - pick a word along those lines - during my dad's illness. I'm sorry to say that at the time, it really didn't. Not in a tangible way that had an impact on the way I lived my days. I truly felt adrift, to the point I started to question whether I did in fact believe anything I'd heard, read, studied, or prayed about over the years. While I continued to know it in an impersonally intellectual way, the idea that God was present to my dad and to me, that He had a plan, and would bring good out of what was so clearly bad...did not console me as I lay weeping on my bed, or performing some mundane task at work. All I could think of was that I was going to have to live the rest of my life without the man who gave me a safe harbour, who was the point of reference for my opinions and ideas. I've said it before, but I really did fear losing my dad more than anything, and have been aware of that fear since I was a little girl.

I must say that this was in spite of the fact that my dad himself was living his life with faith and trust, embracing his suffering to the best of his abilities, believing that God in His mercy was allowing it for some purpose. And my mom right beside him, lending him her strength when he needed it, and all the while having complete faith that her trust in God would not be overlooked.
When the news of his death came, I felt something that came close to despair. I didn't know how I could go on, whether I would ever not feel such a heavy sadness, or if the emptiness would remain as bleak and heavy in my chest for the rest of my life. And so it continued for the next three days, right up until his funeral. (there were moments of light throughout, and I'll share those later...they are important, too)

As soon as I walked into the church, I felt a warm peace, reassurance, and at times even exultant joy. Since then, I do have the assurance of my faith: God is merciful, He is love, He is faithful and compassionate, and He has been present all along. My dad knew that, and that is what enabled him to go on for as long as he did. (I know that Christmas was a gift he gave to us.)

There is still sadness - of course there is. It washes over me like the tide: sometimes it's a gentle lapping, barely discernable; sometimes it's a rough wave that almost knocks me off balance. I'll take refuge in my lighthouse for a while, and when I'm ready, Pop will show me how to carry on... he's perfectly placed now, to do just that.