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Starhill Tenebrae

Darkness closes over the life of my father
Lucas and his grandfather at the WWII Museum, 2012
Lucas and his grandfather at the WWII Museum, 2012

I have not been very active on this site this week. I’m writing you tonight from the bedside of my father, who appears to be entering the final days of his life, though he may have more time. The point is, we are at the end now. I have chosen to spend the rest of his days here, with him, helping my mother, who has been carrying a heavy burden for a long, long time. Please forgive me for the lack of busy-ness on this site in these days; I trust that you understand.

My son Lucas is especially close to his grandfather, as he was to his Aunt Ruthie. He is taking it especially hard. He planned to come back with me to Pawpaw’s house after vespers tonight, but halfway through services, he angled himself into me, wet my shoulder with his tears, and said, “Take care of Pawpaw for me. I can’t make it there. I just can’t.”

This week, Daddy has been spending almost all of his time in the hospital bed in his room. He is often receding into the mist. We have conversations like this:

“How is your family? Are they well?” says the ghostly, faraway voice.

“They’re fine, Daddy,” I say.

“When are you going to get a haircut?”

Yep, he’s still with us.

We just spent a good half hour in the dark, me listening to him tell the story about the time his base captain in the Coast Guard sent him out into Mobile Bay captaining a 40-foot schooner, in a hurricane. I have heard that story countless times. I heard it once again, but never so poignantly. He mumbled the familiar details, e.g., how he had to lash himself to the wheel to keep from being swept overboard. Sixty-foot waves. It was absolute terror; he didn’t think he was going to make it through the storm alive.

The man who endured that tempest is now so weak he cannot sit up in bed without assistance, or even move his feet. But let it be known that while he lived, Ray Dreher lived.

Your prayers and good wishes are deeply appreciated. Don’t forget to pray for six kids who are about to lose a grandfather, and an older woman who is having to say goodbye to her husband of 51 years.

I’ve been reading Tolstoy short stories these past few days. Two of them were about forgiveness. Tonight I held my father’s hand and asked him to forgive me the sins I committed against him. “It’s the easiest thing in the world to forgive you, baby,” he murmured. “I love every bone in your body.”

Tough days ahead. Bright sadness abounds.

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