Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala. (John 19:25)
During this month of June, I’ve been standing at the foot of cross next to Mary.
My father had a heart attack on June 1, 2013, (incidentally, the month of the Sacred Heart.) He has been in the hospital ever since, fighting for his life.
There are few things harder than watching someone you love suffering. You can do nothing but pray.
Though he is 74 years old, my 6’2” tall father was the picture of health – handsome, with a ruddy complexion, thin and in good shape. He had longevity on his side of the family, and the calm strength he exuded gave you the impression he was indestructible.
Now he has lost at least 30 pounds, and lies immobile in a bed, with a tube in his throat, breathing with the help of a machine. His lungs were badly damaged, either by pulmonary embolisms (blood clots that came either before or after the heart attack) or possibly from the treatment and medicines he received to combat the heart attack. The doctors call his situation “complicated” and continue to struggle to determine the best way to help him.
Yesterday, they turned off the sedation drugs that were keeping him asleep while he is on the ventilator. I suppose this is a good thing, because they are trying to see if he can breathe on his own. But he didn’t do so well the first day. He lasted only 40 minutes before they had turn the machine back on, but not the sedation (I’m not sure why.)
Since his progress is slow, he will likely have to have the ventilator inserted in his throat through a tracheotomy, and we don’t know if this will be temporary or permanent. Until then (sometime next week) he has to deal with having the tube inserted through his mouth down his throat. He cannot talk, but his eyes, now open for the first time in more than a week, are dazed, confused and a bit afraid. He continues to try to raise his weak arms to his throat, but he cannot touch the tubes (the nurse said this would be catastrophic) so they had to put him in restraints.
I don’t know if you have ever read an article that floats around the Internet, especially on Facebook, that describes how Jesus Christ’s death on the cross was actually a slow suffocation, in which he struggled to breathe until the end. These thoughts came to my mind as I watch my father.
And watching my mother watch him is sometimes even harder. (Her name, incidentally, is “Mary” Lu.) My father is her life and her strength, and has been throughout the 52 years of their marriage, and she is very lost and also frightened right now. My brother and sister and I have been taking turns being with her during this vigil at my dad’s bedside.
Despite all the pain at this time in our lives, we all have grown closer to the Lord and our Blessed Mother. I am grateful for my faith. In the end, it is the only thing that can really get a person through things like this.
And it makes me appreciate all the more the strength of the two who suffered together on that first Calvary. We are all clinging to their strength, faithfully waiting for God’s will to be accomplished.
Lord, into your hands I commend my family.
