Some of you have followed along as our family's story has unfolded over the years, so you may already know about Birth Dad — the biological father of two children Daniel and I adopted. Ours was not a complicated relationship, but it was a real one, built slowly over time on a foundation of love for the children who bound our lives together. When I recently received word that he was failing and had been taken to the hospital in Vincennes, my heart knew what we needed to do.
We were on our way to the Vincennes hospital. I was wiping tears.
Birth Dad had a special place in our lives, especially since Daniel had gone home to heaven. I'll never forget that first summer when Daniel's birthday rolled around on August 28th, how I made an apricot pie for him. There was no way other than making one for him, and no one that I wanted to give it to. That is when I thought of Birth Dad. He it is who ate that pie after my weary body rested from making Daniel's routine birthday dishes of underground ham casserole and apricot pie. There was joy in my heart, yet I was maxed. My physical condition mirrored the mental stress of spending my first summer as a single mother with more needs than I could meet on my own. There was a sense of relief as I watched Birth Dad dig into that pie with a spoon his wife had brought to him.
Not everything was simple in his life; details of his younger years were rich with intensity as he told of being held at gunpoint in the middle of nowhere, and a call from his mom that saved his life.
From a back seat, one of the children who was aware that God sometimes uses birds to encourage me exclaimed, "Mom, a bird swooped down right next to our van." I thanked him for telling me. As we neared the more busy part of town, memories of coming close to the hospital to see Daniel flooded back.
We made our way to the third floor. I told the children to stay with Grandma in the waiting room while I went in to see if he was ready for guests. How my heart was touched as I met with several of his children whom I had never seen before. After greeting them, I shuffled my way to Birth Dad's side. I spoke to him, telling him who I was. A tear came to his eye, which was the only sign of him hearing me. How deep it went — how memories flooded back of the time I was at Daniel's side during his last hours in that great big hospital: painful, but oh so precious! I spoke to him of how close he is to heaven and how much he has meant to us. I knew today would likely be the last chance for me to see him. It was too precious for words; God was in the midst, and it was evident that he could hear us when we spoke. The family granted permission for me to bring the children in to see him. In a few minutes we were gathered by his bedside where we sang songs, prayed, wiped tears, and took turns talking to him.
After some time, his other children offered that we could have some time alone with him, which we accepted. At one point the children headed down to the cafeteria with Josh, who had also come with us.
I looked at this dear old man, ready to bid this world goodbye. At 67 years old he had faced much in his time, and I knew how burdened he was over the children he had adopted out to us, especially since Daniel was gone and he could not be there for them. I took the opportunity to tell him how God is caring for us and how Hosanna heard an audible voice some time ago as God promised His provision to her. At this, a tear came to his eye. As I spoke there was an obvious effort to respond; I assured him that I know he can hear, and it's okay. I was amazed as I saw him relax, his breathing becoming more spaced out.
A song came to my mind which has become precious to me over the past several years: "Exceeding, abundantly above all ye ask or think, that's what He'll do for you..." When the last notes faded, I sang another favorite which we had sung as Daniel drew his last breaths. God seemed so close as I sang the words, "And when death within you lies, you must cross the great divide, if you have Jesus on your side, there'll be a deep settled peace in your soul." Instead of singing the chorus after the verse like I always have, I stopped, sensing that song to be finished. I turned to the nurse and asked, "Is he still with us?" Using her stethoscope, she checked for a heartbeat. "I think he's gone."
Floodgates opened. I wept in awe to the great God of heaven who allowed me to be by the side of my children's father when he drew his last breath. The kind nurses were a blessing and let me cry it out. One said she had known him for quite some time. After five or ten minutes the other siblings came into the room, shocked to see he was gone. Together we wept. Soon I told them I'd give them some space, before I made my way down to the main floor where I simply explained to the children what had just happened.
It was an intense day for all of us, yet the hand of God was in it all. This morning — though I had forgotten about it until tonight — my dad had told me God is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think. Then as Birth Dad was in the last minutes of his life, that song came to my mind. Surely God has done exceeding abundantly above all that we asked or thought, and He it is who will always keep those who trust in Him!
We'll finish up here with a recipe he liked when I'd make for him: banana cream pie.
Banana Cream Pie
1 baked pie shell
1-2 bananas, sliced
2 cups whipped topping
Filling:
3 ⅔ cups milk, divided
2 tablespoons butter
1 cup white sugar or sweetener of your choice
3 eggs yolks
¼ cup flour
¼ cup cornstarch or clear-jell
1 teaspoon vanilla
¼ teaspoon salt
Heat 3 cups milk til scalded. Whip remaining ingredients together, then stir into hot milk, bring to a boil. Cool.
Place banana slices into the bottom of baked pie shell. Spread filling over the slices then top with whipped topping. Of desired, place remaining banana slices on top just before serving.
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