What you need to let go of the people you love

One phone call and life changes: “Lael, this is Mom. They’ve called in hospice for Dad.”

I fly to Texas immediately where I’m learning about hospice. It’s no longer just for critical care at the very end of life. With advanced Lewy-body dementia and Parkinson’s disease my Dad continually cycles between somewhat relaxed and hyper-agitated. Psalm 31:7 describes it well: “…you have seen my affliction; you have known the distress of my soul.” Clearly Dad’s soul is in distress. Like the unforgettable quote from George Washington, “I die hard.”

Whoever tries to sell death as simply the turn of the wheel in the circle of life is so deceived. Death is horrific. The ultimate brokenness of our world. Death may have lost its final sting but dying stings hard every day. Hospice can provide the meds to mitigate the sting. So I’m glad for that. Dad’s face is not as anguished.

But as hospice begins their palliative care Dad is not as present as he was. The big-gun meds bring on the smoke and fog. He no longer remembers that he is a brilliant petroleum engineer, retired oil company executive, corner office in downtown Houston. But he remembers Jesus.

“Dad, are you ready to see Jesus?”

“You betcha.”

A few days later Jack and I roll him out of the Memory Care day room and into his private room. We need God’s word in the middle of this mess of death so we read Psalm 31 to him. “Be gracious to me, O LORD, for I am in distress; my eye is wasted from grief; my soul and my body also. For my life is spent with sorrow, and my years with sighing…I have become like a broken vessel…But I trust in you, O LORD; I say, ‘You are my God.’ (Psalm 31:9-10)” 

“Is that what you say, Dad?”

“Yes, I say that.”

Psalm 31:15 reads, “My times are in your hand; rescue me from the hand of my enemies.” This disease is such an enemy. I’ve struggled with how to pray for Dad. And here it is: “Lord, please rescue Dad from the enemy of this disease.”

We need God’s presence too so when we finish reading Psalm 31 I ask, “Dad, do you want us to pray for you?”


We stand on either side of him. From his reclining “Jerry” chair he reaches out his hands to take Jack’s and mine. But before we can begin, he begins. He is speaking, but we can’t understand him. We wait for a pause so we can pray for him. But there is no pause. He goes on and on…what is he saying?

His voice gets stronger. “And bless (unintelligible)….and bless (unintelligible)…” He is praying for us! And if there was any doubt, in his strongest voice yet he concludes, “And now thank you for this food we are about to eat. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

No food in sight and hours before dinner, but the oft-prayed prayer enfolds us in his heart-felt benediction. We walk out of his room with big grins and a sense of…This holy moment is brought to you by…Jesus. “Thank you,” I whisper.

On Easter Sunday my Mom and I announce our visit singing “Up from the grave he arose…” And Dad chimes right in, “with a mighty triumph o’re his foes…” The man who cannot always remember our names remembers some of the words and when he can’t sing the words he vocalizes every note. Then, on Christ the Lord is Risen today, he sings along on the aaaaaleluuia, just like Mr. Bean.

We need a fresh vision of where all this is going. So we talk about heaven. Again, from Psalm 31:19  “Oh, how abundant is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you…” We wonder what Jesus might have “stored up” for Dad. The ultimate engineer’s “fix-it” shop? A studio loaded with blank canvas and vibrant oils where he can paint to his heart’s content?

“Maybe you’ll be able to play the organ,” Mom says. “You’ve always wanted to play the organ.”

We talk of life overcoming death. Of resurrection. We consider Dad’s failing mind, my hands bent by RA, my mom’s haywire heart beat and can see ourselves walking together in eternity with easy, confident steps. No pain or shortness of breath. It is real and solid. It is Jesus rising from the grave and cooking fish on the shore and eating with his friends.

It’s the ending that all the best stories want to borrow…Titanic…Gladiator…but it is not wishful thinking or Hollywood putting a bow on the ending for better ratings. It’s not something we’ve borrowed in from somewhere else.

Resurrection is our story. As followers of Jesus we own it.

And when it comes to letting the ones you love go, there is nothing to compare. We’re not getting older. We’re getting closer.

"Be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the LORD! (Psalm 31:24)

Lael writes and speaks about faith and culture and how God renews our vision and desire for Him and his Kingdom. She earned a master's degree (MAT) in the history of ideas from the University of Texas at Dallas, and has taught Western culture and apologetics at secular and Christian schools and colleges. Her long-term experience with rheumatoid arthritis and being a pastor’s wife has deepened her desire to minister to the whole person—mind, heart, soul and spirit. Lael has co-hosted a talk radio program, The Things That Matter Most, on secular stations in Houston and Dallas about what we believe and why we believe it with guests as diverse as Dr. Deepak Chopra, atheist Sam Harris and VeggieTales creator Phil Vischer. (Programs are archived on the website.) Lael has authored four books, including a March 2011 soft paper edition of A Faith and Culture Devotional (now titled Faith and Culture: A Guide to a Culture Shaped by Faith), Godsight, and Worldproofing Your Kids. Lael’s writing has also been featured in Focus on the Family and World magazines, and she has appeared on many national radio and television programs. Lael and her husband, Jack, now make their home in South Carolina.


  • DeeAnn Novakosky

    such wisdom and sweet sentiment

    Lael, your words, obviously from the depth of your heart, are beautifully spoken.  And what great hope we have as believers – the promise of an eternity with our savior, Jesus Christ!  Your dad and mom are on my prayer list and have been for years.  What a great pleasure it is knowing them.  And the friendship I have with your dad was a God thing for sure.  So enjoyed him coming in early every Sunday morning and visiting with Patrick and I in the booth at FOHC.  My favorite psalm is 27:13-14… "I would have lost hope unless I had believed I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.  Wait on the Lord, be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart.  Wait I say, on the Lord."  We serve a living God who is a risen Savior!  I am going soon to visit your dad, at least one time before I see him later, in Heaven.  DeeAnn

    • Lael Arrington

      loyal friendship

      DeeAnn, I read your comment to my Mom. It meant a lot to her. Thank you for your continuing care and prayers for them.

  • Sue Bohlin

    Fantastic. And ouch.

    I'm sorry, Lael. Death stinks. Dying stinks.

    I am so glad that Jesus is Lord and we know the end of the story!

    Love you.

    • Lael Arrington

      concern and comfort

      Yep, Sue, me too. We know the end of the story. It still hurts. Jesus is with us. Such comfort for me as I leave my Mom to deal with this hard chapter..

  • Melanie Newton

    Not older,, but closer

    Like Sue, I hurt with you. Death stinks. But I love what you said, "We aren't getting older. We are getting closer." Nice way to think about it for a Christian. 

    • Tana atkinson

      Painting In Heaven

      So so hard! my heart is heavy for you and your family, and at the same time I feel a sweet touch from The Lord for you. Love the  thought of meeting you dad and seeing him painting for our Lord. Perhaps, I will ask "What are you painting a picture of?" and his answer "MAJESTY!"Once again your exressions of life, love of family, and dying have pierced my heart!


      • Lael Arrington

        Great thought

        Tana, I love the way you took our vision of heaven a step further. I look forward to introducing you to my Dad!

    • Lael Arrington

      Kind words

      Thanks Melody for your kind words. I really feel them, especially after thirty-four years of RA