Lying There

Peaceful and regal he lays there–day after day. Once a four letterman athlete at Stanford, my 6’5” father-in-law held the physical fitness record for the Army and adorned the cover of Saturday Evening Post. He was an Adonis-god of a man.

What astonishes me is how he endures the day-to-day task of living while he lays there unable to move more than his arms, neck and hands now. Having suffered a massive stroke, his home is now a single room decorated with cards, family photos, art that he can’t see due to macular degeneration. He’s nearly blind. The energy of the room, however, is a bright and cheery place compared to the waiting room of sadness that is outside of his four walls.

He has visitors. Loyal friends and family visit multiple times a week. People he served in his life that don’t forget him now. He jokes about his feeding tube being the best diet he’s ever been on. He hasn’t had a real meal in a year-and-a-half, yet he smiles and lays there peacefully; gratefully holding onto the life he still has.

I am proud to know him and proud that he considers me a daughter. I visit him as often as my schedule allows, and his surrender impresses me in a way that I’ve not ever seen.

Many people would have succumb to depression, and I know the full-time care he’s had to get used to was very difficult at first–to say the least for such a strong and independent man.

But, in this place of kindred care there is community and wonderful nurses who somehow also have the courage to go to work each day and attempt to make life better for those who are waiting for their turn to return Home.

I walk in each time mindful that the people in their wheelchairs were just like me—they lived their story—they lived their vibrant lives.

I do my best to connect with them and smile and treat them with the respect they deserve knowing that it can’t be easy to continue life in the shell of who you once were.

I love my father-in-law and I’ve never had so much respect for him as I do now. He lays there–often a peaceful, white-toothed smile, beaming ear-to-ear and filling his face with love and the grace of an angel.

I think to myself: I’m not sure many people could live with such peace and joy in his circumstances. I’m not sure I could.

Yet, he says, “My purpose has always been to inspire others to feel good. I want someone to leave feeling better than when they walked in.”

Even laying there my father-in-law shows me he is still living his vibrant life.

Don’t turn away from what is difficult to see because it’s just too uncomfortable to acknowledge. Allow yourself to make the most of the years we have.

“It’s never too late to live on purpose-it’s never too late to awaken to your most vibrant life.”