No Cantata Today

Today our choir was to have sung a Christmas cantata in morning worship. Bad weather Thursday night prevented us from holding our final (and necessary) rehearsal, so I had asked to move the cantata to next week. The pastor agreed and encouraged me to take another day with my Dad, not to hurry back for conducting the choir. I was glad she suggested it. We did take another morning to be with Dad.



He was doing a bit better. Yesterday he had taken a bath, asked for his razor, moved about more. It is encouraging that the little changes in care are helping. We will not be able to stay with him, and another sister will arrive tomorrow. We must take our leave. I bring in a battery operated three candle candelabra and a snow globe with a nativity scene, glitter snow, and a music box that plays Joy to the World. A bit of Christmas to invade the cancer.



We sing Silent Night, Joy to the World. I leave a note for Dad. I want him to know how much he has shaped my life, what an impact he has had on my character, my faith. I recall things we have done together over the years, trips we have taken, projects we have accomplished. We have not always seen eye to eye. My theology is a far piece from his. My decisions and choices would not have been ones he would have made. But despite our differences, I am much like him. It is hard to say thank you out loud. I am better at writing things. I am thankful for the chance to communicate my gratitude.



It is hard to say good-bye. It might be the last time I see him this side of heaven. As we drive home, the weather is sleet and freezing rain, difficult driving conditions that don't turn to the more amenable rain until nearly Syracuse, a good three hours of focused concentration required. The weather was much like this the day my son Michael passed away and I can't help reflecting how often the weather mirrors my anguish. No wonder the sky turned black the day Jesus was crucified.



My heart stays in Lake George. My head is in my prayer closet continually. My body sinks with relief and exhaustion into the blue recliner as I finally reach the shelter of my own cozy home. I thank God for allowing me the privilege of seeing Dad and Mom again. I pray for an easing of Dad's suffering and Mom's anxiety. I am done in. Despite Sugar's exuberance at seeing me, I retire early. Tomorrow will be time enough to unpack.