Repositioning...

Responding.

Twitching.

Resisting our attempts to move his arms, legs and head.

Pulling away.

Grimacing.

Eyebrows furrowing.

Expressions of sadness.

Pain.

Each time we touch dad these are the responses we get.

But we have to reposition him.

He is getting bedsores.

The first sore broke open tonight. It's raw and exposed.

It brought tears to my eyes.

There is nothing we can do.

Except....

We've increased his medications. It seems his body has adjusted to the doses we have been giving him, so we've increased the amounts, and added boosters of the pain meds in between his regular times.

We've repositioned him to another side, he hated the whole process. From removing the pillows that support his body, to shifting him forward, and repostioning pillows. It makes me wonder what he is thinking when we touch him and move him. Does he hate us for doing this to him? When he knows that we know it hurts him, but we also know it is worse to leave him for too long in one position. Those who are near death can experience pain in just simple touch. His hospice nurse told us that she didn't think that was true for dad because he seemed to be enjoying the massages we were giving him. We'd use lotion and rub down his arms and legs (and back before he became bed ridden)...but that was last week. No one thought he would make it this long, maybe he is sensitive to touch now. But the alternative to not touching him isn't much better. It's painful to be in this position, and I pray Heavenly Father to please grant us relief.

All of us.

Jadee.

Jacobi.

Me.

Please Father, above all, grant my dad the freedom from pain that he so desperately needs. Deliver him from this body so that he may know true peace, and comfort and Your amazing grace. Bring him to Your kingdom so that he may walk beside You.

I feel guilt for praying for this, wanting him to be back the way he was. Sitting in his chair, looking over his lawn, watching his deer, drinking his beer, loving his grandkids, telling stories. And laughing. Lots of laughing. I miss him already. The grandkids are worried they'll forget his voice. It's been almost a year since we last heard it. That makes my heart hurt. I miss him.

Praying...praying...praying...