Having a Hard Time

I’m feeling lost. Outside of myself. Discombobulated. Numb.

For those of you who don’t know, my Dad - Dennis Ray Gillespie - died on 25 February, 2025. He was 84 years old. Next October will be the 20th anniversary of my Mom’s passing. Dad’s funeral was held on 12 March in Pauls Valley, Oklahoma and he was buried next to my Mother at Whitebead Cemetery there in Pauls Valley.

It’s an odd feeling being without my parents. My sister (and cousin, who had lost his parents years before) said we’re orphans now.

Orphans.

Try wrapping your head around that one.

I hadn’t thought of it that way. My cousin also asked, “How’s it feel being the oldest in the family now?”

Again, something else I hadn’t thought of.

Dad was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer in March of last year. We all knew this was coming and he fought longer than anyone expected. His quality of life was really good up until the day before he died.

My Sister and her husband (plus their family) were saints in action. You see, they were living in Texas and moved back to Oklahoma in July of 2024 with the sole purpose of taking care of Dad. The place they have has a “tiny home” attached to the garage. Dad had his own space with a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, etc. He lived there with his two dogs - Sam and Gillis - for about six months or so. And he was good. Really good. Of course, he was losing weight because of the cancer, but he was his same ol’ funny, quick-witted self. Until the day before he died.

My brother-in-law and he were having a talk but Dad was coughing a lot more than normal that Tuesday. My Sister messaged my that night and said we should make plans to come see him as soon as possible. Dad’s Hospice nurse told my Sister that Dad had taken a turn for the worst and he could die soon. We took the day off and went to see him on Wednesday. He was in his bed (it had been moved into the living room) and woke up when we got there.

“Oh, Jack!” he said and he kissed my hand.

He then got to see his great-grandson again and touch him.

And that was the last time he was really conscious. He kept fighting until the very end, though. He rallied a couple of times and finally breathed his last around 7:30 that night. My Sister sobbed. She told me that she sobbed like that when Dad was first diagnosed.

The hospice nurse arrived and we helped give him a sponge bath. Then the man from the funeral home arrived to pick up Dad’s body. My Dad was a veteran and he and my Sister had discussed about getting a flag for Dad, but Dad refused because he felt he didn’t deserve it since he hadn’t see combat (he was a missile systems analyst). The man who came to pick up his body was also a veteran, a POW in fact. He settled the “argument” by stating it didn’t matter if someone saw combat or not, if Dad was in the military he would get a flag.

And so he did.

As the man loaded up Dad’s body to take it to the funeral home, he honored Dad with a military salute and slowly put down his hand. He then turned and said, “We’ll take good care of him.”

At the funeral service, there were the usual hymns and sermon (with which I had some difficulties because verses were taken out of context). However, the last two songs Dad requested were up-beat, old time Gospel songs by the Gaithers. I turned to my Sister and told her the only way it would be better is if we were all dancing to the songs! She laughed.

There were many of Dad’s friends and our friends at the funeral. People we haven’t seen in ages - cousins, aunts and uncles, extended family, life-long friends, etc. Just the immediate family went to the graveyard. My Sister, Brother-in-law, and I lowered the urn into the ground next to Mom and covered it up. We all stood there for a moment and told stories about Dad and Mom.

All-in-all, it was a nice service.

And I was fine for a couple of days. But, Monday the 17th - St Patrick’s Day - I was hit really hard with depression (and, honestly, I’m still struggling, too). Like I said at the beginning, “I’m feeling lost. Outside of myself. Discombobulated. Numb.” Also, my feelings are raw, like I could just crumble at any moment. I know I’ll get better - be better - someday, but that’s not today. And I don’t want to push these feelings down. No. I need to experience them and learn from them.

I’ve noticed that I’m feeling more grateful. My wife - whom I adore - has been a rock for me. I love her so much more than before Dad’s death. Maybe that’s because she’s the only family I have left? Like, immediate family (other than my Sister and Daughter, of course). That’s not quite right. I don’t know. I just know that I’m feeling more for her than I ever have. But that’s my feelings - all over the place and “more than” they used to be. I’m just so appreciative of her and all that she does for us.

Anyway, this post has been sitting here for a few days waiting for me to finish it. So, I guess this is the end. Tell your family - and show them - you love them. If you haven’t spoken to your parents in a while, I bet they miss you, even if you have real issues that need real work. Like the saying goes, “You don’t really know about tomorrow. What is your life? You’re a mist that appears for only a short while before it vanishes” (James 4.14; CEB).

In the Love of the Three in One,

Br. Jack+, LC