It was December 2008. I received a phone call telling me they didn’t think my dad was going to make it through the night. Hospice was coming in to offer him end-of-life care.
I was standing near my friend Jennifer’s spare bedroom dresser when I got the call. It was a phone call no 25-year-old girl who had lived her life desperate for the love of her dad, wanted to receive.
I immediately got in the car to go to him. I knew he had to know Jesus before he died. I had to tell him about Jesus!
Little did I know, my carefully planned ‘salvation talk’ would take an unexpected turn. As they say, when you make plans for God, He chuckles.
I got to the house and he was lying in the bed. Hospice hadn’t yet brought the hospital bed. I remember nothing except the next thing I knew, there was a Bible on his bed, we were talking about something from Beth Moore, and I asked him if he wanted to accept Jesus into his heart. He couldn’t talk much; he was too weak, but he said yes.
And there, at that bedside, my dad gave his life to Jesus!
That night, I slept beside him in the bed because there was nowhere else to stay. It was the last time he’d ever wrap his arms around the “little girl” who wanted nothing more than to have a healthy relationship with her dad.
I woke up the next morning and he was still there. So weak. So feeble. So sick. But hanging on.
What started as “he won’t make it through the night” became weeks. We prayed together, asked for each other’s forgiveness, and even laughed a time or two when he was strong enough to wake up. I read him the Bible, and we rang in 2009 together at my aunt Sherri’s house.
Though there’s so much in the in-between, it would take too long to tell the story. Let’s just say God intervened and brought my dad back from the pit of death, literally.
January 2009
My mom and I drove him to the hospital to check him in so he could be treated for the hole in his lung. Talk about the grace of God. There stood the woman he’d divorced, helping carry him into the hospital, despite their past, because LOVE covers a multitude of sins.
Before we took him to the hospital, Dad and I got in the car and rode some gravel roads through Belle. We talked about this being a second chance for him and that he had the opportunity to do things differently. He seemed excited.
At the hospital, I hugged him goodbye and told him we’d see each other again soon.
February 23, 2009
We talked on the phone. I was coming down for the weekend, and we were going to ride gravel roads and make plans to go fishing. I was excited!
Later that evening, I missed his call, but he left a voice message telling me he loved me.
February 24, 2009.
My mom, Christi, showed up at 4:30 in the morning to tell me my dad died.
Died. Gone.
That is something no mother ever wants to tell her daughter. To say I grieved is an understatement.
Then there I sat with my best friend Jammie, holding my hand at the funeral home, hearing words like “cremation,” “burial,” and “death certificate.” No daughter should ever have to listen to these words at 25 years old.
I wish I could say something like, “It was his time to go,” or “he lost his battle with cancer.” But no… I can’t tell you that because it wouldn’t be true.
I learned later that my dad most likely died from an accidental overdose. Fentanyl. It had controlled him for years, and finally, it took his life.
Addiction. It stole my dad. Addiction. It stole him from ever walking me down the aisle. Addiction. It left me longing for a relationship I never got to have with a man I so desperately wanted to know better.
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BUT LET ME TELL YOU WHAT ADDICTION DIDN’T STEAL.
My opportunity to mourn with hope. I hope that despite the sadness and the heartbreak, someday I WILL dance with my dad in heaven.
What if I hadn’t gone to see him with the urgency to lead him to Christ? I wouldn’t be able to mourn with hope.
What if I had been too afraid to talk to him about Jesus because I didn’t want to offend him or I didn’t want to be rejected again? I wouldn’t be able to mourn with hope.
Today, I miss so many “what ifs,” but I mourn with hope, knowing I will see him again someday.
I won’t pretend my dad didn’t die a broken man. He was in bondage. Though he had accepted Jesus, he hadn’t yet accepted the freedom Jesus could offer him from the chains of addiction wrapped around him so tightly.
Oh, what I would have given to see that for him.
BUT… God is not done telling my dad’s story. As a matter of fact, He’s about to do it in a way I never expected.
I’m not sure “excited” is the right word to express the news, but it works for now. God woke me up a few weeks ago to tell me that He wanted me to write an album telling my dad’s story.
So, I’m doing it. I’m not ready to release all the details yet, but I will. Right now, I’m writing. And healing. And grieving. And healing some more. It’s actually been an incredible journey, and it’s only just begun.
Keep me in your prayers as we push forward in this project because I believe He’s about to blow the top off like never before and do things with this project I could never even wrap my head around.
Today, 16 years ago, my life was forever changed. But God wastes nothing, and He’s doing something new. Doug Graham’s tragedy will not be wasted.
God is good.