"Help"

​In Dad’s final days he got in this habit of yelling “Help!” I vividly recall lounging in the oversized brown leather recliner across from his Hospice bed when out of a deep sleep he began yelling “HELP! HELP! HONEY HELP!” Startled, yet determined to keep my cool, I got up and walked to the left side of his bed. With terror and anguish, his hazel eyes locked with my deep brown gaze as he continued yelling, “HELP!” “Daddy” I began in the most soothing voice I could muster, “What is it? What do you need?” Yelling as loudly and aggressively as he could he said “HELP! I NEED HELP! HONEY HELP!”

My eyes couldn’t help but fill with tears, though I couldn’t let them fall. For after months of doing all I could for Dad I was in a place where I could no longer provide the help he needed. All I could do was promise everything would be “OK” as I took a seat beside his bed and started praying for my daddy and interceding for peace. Dad soon drifted off into a sleep from which he would not awake.

There are many hypotheses that would give reason to my father’s final plea, but I believe Dad was running from death that day. Yes, he was a Christian and already knew he was dying, but I believe that in seeing the angel of death appear, perhaps his time seemed a bit under-calculated; perhaps though ready in the flesh, his heart longed to do just a little bit more while here on earth.

One of the final words I heard Dad say was “Help” and the irony of it all is that help was the one thing I longed for; I wanted nothing more than to feel a type of “help” that would ease my pain and halt the horror of my reality. For it was “help” that I’d been crying out for since Mom died.

On many occasions, since the loss of my parents, I’ve cried out for “Help” from God. You know, on those days when my prayers are muffled between a rush of tears and a lack of understanding. The truth is that my desire for “help” continues to be the constant in my ongoing conversations with God. There is something about “help” that only God can provide; about a type of “help” that serves as a balm to my broken heart. While I can’t describe it, I can feel it and anyone around me can see it. God’s help is what allows me to get up each morning; God’s help is what allows me to smile and find joy even in this season of my life; God’s help wipes my tears and holds me close; God’s help aligns me with the people needed to move forward in life; God’s help is what allows me to still testify of God’ goodness and grace even during traumatic loss. I am grateful for God’s help.