Focus Scripture: Psalm 139:11-12 (NLT)
I could ask the darkness to hide me, and the light around me to become night, but even in darkness I cannot hide from you. To you the night shines as bright as day. Darkness and light are the same to you.
In remembrance of James T. Reed, Jr. (1928-2010)
What can I say about James T. Reed, Jr., my father-in-law? He was an enigma, a complex man, infuriating yet endearing all at the same time. On the outside, he wore this harsh exterior. But if you looked below the surface, you could see a sensitive, vulnerable soul who hoped with all his heart that when he reached out to others, they would reach back to him. During his lifetime, he worked his way from the bottom up to show the world he was good enough. He was a man of determination who resolved early in life to walk tall, to live free, and to rise above the circumstances of his birth. He spent a great deal of time and energy showing others he could stand alongside the best of them, regardless of race, social status, or politics. In many ways he was indomitable.
Then Alzheimer’s disease attacked my father-in-law in his later years. My husband, daughter, granddaughter, and I used to go to visit him in the nursing home every week. At first, he could communicate, maintaining the ability to engage in conversation and share his spirit, his presence, his wants, and his needs. As the disease progressed, he lost the ability to attend to our presence except through non-verbal means such as eye contact and purposive body language.
Sometimes, when we arrived for our visit, we would ask him how he was. “Cold and hungry,” he would reply. So, we retrieved an extra blanket from the linen rack and went down to the snack bar to get him something to eat. That satisfied his needs for a time. Then there were those other visits when he simply didn’t want to be bothered with us or anyone else. When we arrived on those days, my husband would say, “Hi, Daddy.” My father-in-law would respond, “Hi, Son.” Then he would lower his head and pretend to be asleep. Daddy kept his eyes closed through the entire visit.
But we saw through the ruse and insisted on being present with him despite his inhospitable attitude. We’d sit by his bedside for 30 minutes or so talking among ourselves about people he knew and events that had occurred since our last visit. Even though Daddy could not participate in the conversation – and even though he was supposed to be sleep – he gave little signals to show that he was listening. When he truly was ready for us to leave, Daddy would start fidgeting in his chair and scowling. My husband would then nod his head to signal that is was time to go. “We have to go now. Bye, Daddy. We love you,” my husband would say. Daddy would open his eyes, look up, and respond, “Goodbye, Son,” after which he would lower his head once again and continue with his pretense of sleep.
Other visits were more disturbing, when my father-in-law retreated into impenetrable reverie. Our words could not reach him there. Those visits left us feeling helpless and unsettled. I used to wonder where Daddy went during those episodes of repose when he seemed to be alone within himself. I found it painful to watch this once intimidating, vibrant, life-loving man decline into someone who couldn’t even remember what he had for breakfast. None of it made sense to me, and I hate confusion. I needed the pieces to fit together; I needed to figure it out.
My reflections focused on Psalm 139. In this scripture, the psalmist speaks of God: “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast” (vv. 7-10, NIV).
I believe that during those times when my father-in-law drifted to that inner place, God was with him. This scripture reassured me that, even as we sat in Daddy’s room on those silent days, God was embracing my father-in-law with steadfast, everlasting love. I believe that in the throes of Alzheimer’s disease, my father-in-law was resting in a state of peacefulness with God, the Maker of Light: “even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you (v 12).”
After reflecting on Psalm 139, I am convinced that the darkness of Alzheimer’s disease is not greater than our Creator, who has searched us and known us and is acquainted with all our ways. I believe that during those dark times, God was beaming his eternal light into the spirit of my father-in-law. And I believe with all my heart that my father-in-law’s spirit is now at rest and peace with God, the Lord of Light.
Prayer
Faithful God, I thank you for being acquainted with all my ways and for loving me in spite of them. Even in the midst of my challenges, when I seem to be in total darkness, the light of your sustaining love surrounds me and comforts me. Amen.
From Reflective Renewal: Grace at the Crossroads
