While Dad Was Dying

Steve Crain, age 64 in 2011, says, “Tony Hemphill and Tony’s little sister and parents lived across the street from my family when I was a teenager in Greer, S.C. Tony and I are graduates of Greer High School. Tony, now 54 (in 2011) and a minister living in Cleveland, S.C., shares the following story":

While Dad Was Dying...
by the Rev. Tony Hemphill, May 2011

My father was diagnosed with throat cancer in September 1997. He was single, again, and since my only sibling lives out of state, the primary responsibility of caring for Dad fell to me.

I took him to 72 radiation treatments and five rounds of chemo. Dad and I had been close all my life. He was truly my best friend, so there was nothing that needed to be said that had been “smoldering” for any length of time. When something needed to be discussed, we hashed it out. Dad did pretty well during these treatments, and, much to the chagrin of some of his friends who had predicted a bald head, he didn’t lose a single one of his beautiful gray hairs.

All the radiation burned up his larynx. In June 1998, Dad was admitted to Allen Bennett Hospital in Greer to have it removed. While there, Dad began to become confused, not knowing where he was or the day of the week. Blood tests showed an extremely elevated calcium level which had to be coming from bone being “dissolved.” It was determined that the cancer had metastisized and was in his spine. He was transferred to Greenville Memorial, basically to be made as comfortable as possible until his inevitable death. Doctors couldn’t say whether it would be days or weeks, but they were clear that Dad was terminal. Dad’s living will included the provision that no “heroic” procedures should be used to prolong his life.

Within a couple of weeks his condition deteriorated significantly. He was rarely lucid. A feeding tube was inserted; I couldn’t let him starve or thirst to death. On July 4, I brought a large American flag and hung it on the wall opposite his bed. Later in the day, I saw his eyes open and a slight smile as he saw the flag.

It had been several days since dad had opened his eyes or made any effort to communicate. I stayed by his bed from early in the morning until midnight or so. I was trying to sell my home, wrap up my job and finish preparations to move to Wake Forest to attend seminary. One afternoon, I was standing by his bed. I had laid my Bible on his stomach and read some Scripture passages that he appreciated. Two of his friends and I were singing a hymn as we surrounded his bed.

When we finished singing, I turned around to see a young “Candy Striper” standing in the room, not so close to the bed as to be intrusive in such a private, poignant moment family moment. I had not heard her enter the room, and she was crying. I asked her if she were OK. She replied, “I’ve never seen so much love in one of these rooms. You don’t know how bad I needed to see this.” I told her that since my dad knew Jesus as his Savior, he was going home. As much as we would miss him, unless God chose to perform a miracle, he was going to die, but his death was just a home-going.

Later that afternoon, as I walked past the nurses’ station, a grizzled, veteran of a nurse asked me, “What happened in your father’s room today?” I wasn’t sure what she meant. So she explained, “That young volunteer who came into his room earlier is new on this wing where terminal patients are cared for. She has been having a rough time coping with everything she has been seeing. She came from a terrible home life that included neglect and abuse. Today is the first day we have ever seen her happy.”

I went back into Dad’s room and told him, “evidently, God still has stuff for you to do. I’ve been praying for God to end your suffering and take you quickly and peacefully. Dad, I’m going to change the way I pray. I want His will to be done in your life. The Lord’s not going to bring you home until He is finished with you.”

I have no idea whether or not Dad heard me. But, two days later, my best friend from Savannah drove up to see him. I had told Pat that Dad wouldn’t recognize him and probably would not even be aware of his presence. Dad and Pat had also been very close. Because Pat and I had been friends for twenty-plus years, Dad thought of him as his second son. Pat went to his bedside, took my father’s hand and said, “Let’s go fishing.” To my amazement, Dad opened his eyes and he mouthed the word, “Low Country." That was my dad’s nickname for Pat.

Dad died on July 8, 1998. I gave his eulogy and preached a brief gospel message. After the service, Pat (who was a non-practicing Catholic) said he’d never been to such a funeral where the Bible was preached. He also said, “I’ve got a lot to think about.”

Fast-forward ten years. Pat stood for me as my best man when I married my childhood sweetheart and love of my life. I had always meant to talk with Pat about his relationship with the Lord. I was hoping my example would suffice until I built up my nerve to actually confront him. I waited too late. A year after my wedding, almost to the day, Pat died of a massive coronary in his home while getting ready for work. He would have been 51 years old a couple of months later. We had made plans to get together in Savannah to celebrate.

The Lord continued to work His will through my dad, even with Dad on his deathbed. I pray that the young “Candy Striper” saw a family that showed the love of Christ. I pray a seed was planted that someone else watered later. I never saw her again after that day, but I think of her often and hope she is coping well. I also pray that my best man, Pat, who had “a lot to think about,” found a relationship with Jesus before his death. It’s a rare day that I don’t think about him and feel so guilty for not following up with the work the Lord began while my dad was dying.