Three months ago – it was also a Wednesday – God took my dad home to be with Him. I cannot believe it’s been three months, yet it feels oddly longer.
A watched pot never boils.
For thirty days we sat day after day in the hospital or by the phone, hanging on every word, watching my dad. Waiting for anything – answers, a miracle, death, something. We had hope, we had false hope, we had dashed hope, and then we had death. It felt like an eternity – just watching and waiting; unsure and unsettled about his future. Since his death, the days have just passed by. Time is the same – time never changes, but our view of it does. We’ve stopped waiting. Now that he’s gone we know he’s gone, and he’s not coming back. There’s no more uncertainty, no more waiting. We’ve been forced to stop hanging onto hope. We’ve been forced to move on. To keep on living.
If you’ve ever watched a pot boil – just like the idiom – it feels like it never happens. Yet the minute you walk away – get involved in something – not only has the water boiled, but it’s evaporated. Those thirty days felt like forever as we waited to hear the prognosis on my dad’s future. Yet these three months have slipped by.
The seconds tick s-l-o-w-l-y by as you put your whole focus on something, but as soon as you shift that focus onto something else, the seconds quickly become hours and days.
Life gets so busy, that we barely take time for each other, even the most important people. I spent more time in the hospital with my dad in his last thirty days than I have in the last few years. Had God not allowed dad to get sick and forced him (and us) to slow down and wait patiently, we would have missed so much irreplaceable time with him.
Foose Bits 