Two years ago today I spent the afternoon with my father in the
rehabilitation center/nursing home he was moved to just a day earlier.
Three weeks earlier, he had fallen down the basement stairs in
the new house my parents purchased three houses down from our house.
He broke all the ribs on his left side and had a small brain bleed.
He was not happy.
He couldn't understand why he was in this place.
And he kept asking to "go home."
I decided to take him for a little "spin" in his wheelchair
and after a few rides up and down the hallways,
we went outside to sit on the front porch.
My father had not been outside in the fresh air in the 3 weeks since his fall.
It was raining, but I made sure he had his sweatshirt
closed and even put his hood on for him.
We sat there together watching the cars go by and listening to the rain.
My father was still a bit confused, not sure really
where he was or why he was at this nursing home.
I kept reassuring him that once he could use the walker,
he would come home; that was the goal.
He wanted to come home so badly.
We all wanted him to come home.
And my father did go home...
But not to the home WE wanted.
My father went HOME to be with the Lord the following day.
Home to heaven.
Home to be with his Savior whom he preached about for over 50 years.
And oh how I miss him.