For a few moments today, Daddy, you didn’t know my name. And in those moments, my heart twisted into knots—your eyes that held no recognition took my breath away. I stood before you, just another person who invades your small world—who offers no memories or remembrances of brighter days. I ached to be your daughter again. I wanted the father I had known before the stroke and dementia had come. I longed to hear for the hundredth time that you needed help with your computer. I ached for what had been before you could not take care of yourself. I ached for the Daddy that had swung me up in his arms in the pool, and caught me on the way down.
Slowly recognition dawned in your eyes, and you smiled that sweet little grin. You knew me again. You couldn’t remember to discuss the chickens that I was raising for you. The VV bus that I needed to fix for my sister had not come to your mind. You might not have been able to discuss the numerous concerns that your mind often generated. But right then, there was no problem for me to solve. There were no words you could say. Your eyes and your smile spoke all my heart needed to hear.
“Hold on to what is good,” I hear in my heart (1 Thessalonians 5:21b NLT). I will hold on to moments like this. I will treasure them as another memory in this journey. This is a journey of loss, but it is also a journey of hope. Every day I discover something new about what God wishes in my life. And every day I praise Him for His hope that never ends. As Daddy’s life here on earth fades before my eyes, He draws closer to God’s call to come home. “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him,” Paul wrote (1 Corinthians 2:9 NLT). My eyes might not see, but perhaps Daddy has glimpsed a glory that is being prepared just for Him.
© 2017 Lynn Lacher