Redefining Normal Part 2

I want to start by sharing my first realization; If you know where you're headed after death, then our death day is more of a celebration than devastation. Before the age of nine I attended over five funerals that I can clearly remember. In addition, my dad was a funeral director.  I spent many days hanging out in the funeral home, and my dad drove me to school many times in a hearse or limo.  I visited multiple graves and wasn't afraid of seeing a dead body.  In fact, in my early college years, I worked at a funeral home in San Jose, typing death certificates and helping with family visitations. Throughout these years, what I hadn't witnessed was an actual death...until my dad's. 

My dad was admitted into USC hospital on June 2. He was not only suffering from stomach cancer, but also diabetes and heart, liver, kidney, and lung failure. On June 21st, he coded in the hospital room and was saved by doctors, but placed on a ventilator. By June 23rd, his body was automatically shutting down and doctors said my dad's death could be in a matter of hours or days.  At midnight,  on the verge of a new day, June 25th, Daniel, mom, and I sat anxiously in the hospital room. The entire ICU was out of control.  Nurses were running in and out, blaring alarms sounded in nearby rooms, and our nerves raged inside our bodies.  We watched dad intensely, taking every slow breath, mostly induced by the ventilator.  Around 1:00 am, my dad's heart rate dropped from 101 to 80bpm.  By 2:00 am, it had decreased slowly to 65bpm.  And at 3:00 am, his heart rate hit 60...the critical number.  Why 60? Because that's when dad's alarm alerted the nurses.  We knew once his heart rate hit 60, he more than likely was saying goodbye to the life he knew.  For the course of 10 minutes, his heart rate bounced from 55-61. Below 60, alarm on, above 60, alarm off... alarm on, alarm off, alarm on, alarm off.  Our hearts pounded...and then, without any doubt, our hearts were filled with peace.
Isaiah 26:3 says,

"You will keep in perfect peace    

those whose minds are steadfast,

  because they trust in you."

I had spent the last year proclaiming my faith in Christ, even through this terrible cancer tragedy.  I prayed passionately for healing! I prayed passionately for peace.  I prayed passionately that friends, family, and I could see God's goodness through this all...and at that moment, 3:10am, we all felt this perfect peace.  It didn't make sense.  And for the following 7 minutes, with the obnoxious inconsistent alarms blaring, we felt the best peace ever. My mom cuddled next to my dad and slept...Daniel slouched in the chair next to me and slept...and I stared at daddy's vitals...with a smile on my face.

At 3:17am, dad's heartrate dropped to 49 and continued slowly, one beat at a time.  At that moment, a nurse quietly stepped in, and silenced the alarm.  Once his heart rate hit 45, I slowly emerged from my seat to wake my mom up...but I couldn't.  Laying before my foggy eyes, my mom snored. I'm not kidding. She snored so loud. I'm pretty sure it was the best sleep she'd had in at least 6 weeks.  So I waited, and smiled, and a peaceful silence surrounded us.  44,41,39,36,34...it was time.  I rose from my seat, tapped mom on the shoulder and told her it was time.  She grabbed my dad's face and whispered sweet words in his ear, kissing him.  I stared at the vitals while holding dad's hand with Dan's arm holding me close. 31,26, 23..."Mom, he's almost there." 19, 14, --------------. 3:18am, my arms reached high in the air and I shouted "He's there! He's in heaven. I can see the angels singing."  PEACE that passes all understanding filled the entire room.  Six nurses stood at the door watching this exuberant celebration.  This was the best high of my life.  How, you might ask?  Because of God's abundant love for me, for us.

This life is full of joy, sadness, rest, busyness, pain, and peace.  There are times its hard to get through the day.  Many days lately I find it hard to wake up in the morning. I pray for my life to become "normal" again. But then I realize, there's not much excitement with normal.

Death is devastating for those of us left behind.  But for those who know the love and truth of Christ, death begins an eternal party.  I miss you dad. But I know where you are. And that gives me joy.  Friends, I care about you. I'm so sorry I have found it so hard to communicate.  Thank you for taking time to read this today.  I hope with whatever you're going through in life, you can find God's goodness too. Much Love.

Redefining Normal Part I

Dear Friends,

Recently I received a phone call from a loving and honest friend.  Although we haven't been friends for very long, we seem to have a lot in common.  In this conversation, she shared some interesting thoughts/observations.  One of the observations she mentioned was my absence of writing and sharing my journey of faith on Facebook.  Over the last year, I spent approximately 10 months during the time my dad was sick, updating friends and family of my dad's health and our family's progress, especially in regards to our hope and trust in God.  Since his death, I have been somewhat silent. For those of you wondering, I want to share what's been going on.


I was raised in a very close family.  We care a lot for each other and know how to encourage each other.  When I was 8, my brother died and during the years to follow, my parents did everything they knew to give me a healthy happy life.  They did too! I was nurtured, loved, and always valued in their eyes. Because of this though, I hardly saw my parents grieve the death of Kevin.  They made sure life moved on and helped me achieve whatever dreams I desired. Later as I grew older, my mom revealed that every day driving to/from work, she cried nonstop.  The reason I'm mentioning this is because since my daddy died, I'm finding this grieving process difficult.  What seemed to protect me earlier in life, is causing me to struggle now.  Because I never saw my parents cry much, I find it uncomfortable to cry.  Even around my husband, mom, family and closest friends, I don't want to show tears.  Because of this hesitation, over the last few months, I have drawn away from people, some of my closest friends.  I am so ashamed of this.  I am unbelievably blessed by love.  My humble and patient friends and family extend grace, service, love, and prayers for me.  And yet I can't seem to talk openly.  I have wanted to share my heart and thoughts, but haven't known how.  When I received this recent phone call , I began thinking of how I could still communicate and share my heart, like I had done over the last year.  So as part of my "redefining normal,"(as stated by our Senior Pastor) I have decided to start this blog as a way to help me grieve.  I enjoy sharing my God story with you all. You have no idea how much joy you've brought into my life this year. I want to engage in conversations with many of you but I've realized at this point, writing is an easier outlet than talking.  So if you decide to share this journey with me, thank you.  I truly thank God for so many of you!