My friend's mom posted recently about looking at a photo of her son and remembering him as the young man he was, not the one with all these tubes attached to him, battling the cancer for his life.
I can totally understand this sentiment.
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Her post made me think of the time my dad had pneumonia. He was living up in Missouri at the time and became so sick that he was admitted to the hospital, lungs almost full of fluid. Mom of course went up to spend the weekend with him, but I just couldn't go. Not because I didn't love my dad. Not because I was being an obstinate teenager. Not because I had to work and couldn't get off from my part-time job. That's just not how I wanted to remember my daddy if worse came to worst. Mom said he didn't look at all like himself. He had been so sick for so long that he had lost a lot of weight and just looked very fatigued.
Was it a good decision not to go and spend those moments with my father, to show him support, to show him how much I love him? Luckily, I don't have to know or have regrets about it.
I've never talked with my dad and shared why I didn't go visit him in the hospital, but I don't have any doubts that he knows that I love him a lot.
By God's grace, my daddy made it through that yucky situation just fine. In fact, in the end I'd say he came out of it a healthier man. Pumping his lungs and being so dehydrated cleansed his body of his nicotine cravings, and he finally quit smoking after many, many years.
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I pray that by God's grace these moments in the hospital with her son are not the last moments my friend's mother has with him.
