
Early in 1998, my brother called and told me that my dad was dying of cancer and that dad was asking for me.
When I heard this, I was very upset. Not that my father was dying, mind you, but that he’d asked for me. I needed him all my life, and now, he’s asking for me?
“Tell Dad I’m not coming!” I replied.
I have four brothers and a sister, and they all called me, urging me to visit Dad. A week or so went by, and I finally caved into the pressure.
I first visited my dad in the Contra Costa County Hospital, as the VA in Martinez, California, was short on beds. There, he lay in a bed surrounded by adjustable rails. My younger brother, John, and my mother were present.
My mom pulled me aside to tell me the seriousness of Dad’s esophageal cancer. She said, “It doesn’t look good, I’ve researched the prognosis, and he doesn’t have much time left.” By the time I had visited my father, he’d already been battered by chemotherapy and every other treatment.
The cancer had permanently closed up his esophagus, and he could no longer swallow but was fed through a feeding tube, which was surgically inserted through the side of his abdomen and directly into his stomach. My father was so frightened; I had never seen him so fragile and helpless.
Since things did not look good for my dad, I called one of my pastors from our church in Danville, California, called East Bay Fellowship, which I was attending with my wife and kids. I asked if Pastor Allan Shrewsbury could come by and pray over my father in the hope that it would give him some comfort.
Pastor Allan quickly arrived, praying with my dad and confirming my father’s faith and trust in Jesus Christ as his Savior.
It was getting late, and we began to ready ourselves to leave when I noticed tears filling my father’s eyes, along with the room filling with a sense of heaviness. It seemed as though this might be our last goodbye. I think the feeling of; “he may not make it through the night” hit all of us at the same time.
Compassion began to rise within my heart. I leaned over his bedrail and gently kissed my father’s unshaven face. His prickly whiskers caused my lips to tingle. My brother John leaned in and kissed our dad, as did my mom, and then we all tried to convince and reassure him that he would be fine as we slowly left the room.
As John and I walked out together towards the parking lot, my lips still tingling, I said:
“John, there is something strangely familiar about kissing dad.”
I continued:
“My lips—they’re still tingling!”
John responded:
“What’s up with you, Tom? Don’t you remember when we were little kids, we’d line up in front of dad’s favorite chair and kiss him goodnight on his cheek, and he’d say with a smile,
’… Don’t let the bedbugs bite!’”
All of a sudden, good memories came flooding into my mind. That gentle kiss on my father’s unshaven face was a key to my dungeon of despair and loneliness. All my years of anger, bitterness, and hatred; all my doubts and unforgiveness, all swallowed up from the tingly whiskers of my father’s unshaven face!
After that moment, I couldn’t wait to see my father. I saw him over the next several months as often as I could.
Several weeks before my dad passed away, a nurse came into his hospital room, asking:
“Who is your executor and healthcare director?”
My father lifted his feeble arm and pointed in my direction. I turned to see if one of my two older brothers was behind me, but there was no one.
For some, this would have been an unwelcome appointment, a burden, but for me, it meant I had my father’s complete and utter trust and respect. The significance of my dad’s appointment was a paradigm shift for me, possibly one of my most life-affirming events.
Later, I learned that my father had consulted with my mother about whom he should appoint as Trustee of his estate and healthcare. My mother agreed with my dad on his final choice. My sister, Laurie, was also named co-trustee. Simply amazing!
A few weeks later, my dad’s condition was worsening. His organs were beginning to show signs of shutting down. At this point, my siblings and I would trade off, spending the night with Dad alone.
Finally, it was my turn. It was October 7, 1998. I arrived shortly after the dinner hour. A nurse brought in a cot with a blanket and a pillow for me to sleep on. My dad and I talked for quite a while, mostly about politics, which was my dad’s favorite topic. Soon, it was lights out, which never happens in a hospital.
As I lay there, realizing the significance of this moment with my dad, I knew if I didn’t say what was indeed on my heart now, that this moment would be lost forever. You see, my father had never told me that he loved me. I was thirty-nine years old, and my dad was about to turn sixty-nine the next day. I wanted so much to hear those words from him; no, I needed to hear those words from him—something in me was guiding me and granting me the courage to say what I needed to say:
“Dad?”
“Yes, son?” he replied
Dad … I love you!” I said cautiously.
Only mere seconds passed by, but it felt like years.
“… I love you too, son,” Dad replied.
I exchanged “I love you” with my dad for what seemed like all night long! I said those precious and life-giving words, which he echoed back:
“I love you too, son.”
All my hate and anger against my dad had washed away, and now for good! I heard the three most important words every son or daughter needs to hear:
“I love you, son!”
“Look, I am sending you the prophet Elijah before the great and dreadful day of the LORD arrives. His preaching will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers. Otherwise, I will come and strike the land with a curse.” — Malachi 4: 5-6
The days of the “curse” were finally over for me. For a greater spirit than Elijah had entered that hospital room that night. The Spirit of the Living God had softened the hearts of father and son, and the mess I had made of my life suddenly became beautiful!
“His wrath, you see, is
fleeting, but His grace
lasts a lifetime. The
deepest pains may linger
through the night, but joy
greets the soul with the
smile of morning.” — Psalms 30:5
My dad, while broken with cancer, poured into me so much life and hope, and, in such a short time! The man whom I had despised all of my life was my dad, with whom I just fell in love but who is now leaving.
The morning came, with it, a smile and a “Happy Birthday, Dad!”
It was October 8, 1998, and my father wanted to get cleaned up for his Birthday. He said:
“Tom, get my shaving bag, it’s over there, in that cabinet.”
“Here it is, Dad,” I replied.
“Okay, get my Electric Shave lotion and my razor out,” my dad directed, and then he asked:
“Son, will you shave my face?”
This may sound silly, but this was the most intimate moment I’ve ever had with my father. The whiskers that tingled my lips and softened the hardness of my heart, the mouth that finally spoke: “I love you too, son,” was the face I was about to care for and shave.
“The deepest pains may linger through the night, but joy greets the soul with the smile of morning.”
… and I shaved my father’s face.
That is why I would not change a single moment of my life. The pain is swallowed up in the sweetness of heartfelt forgiveness and the “I love yous.” For what had become broken has now been given, and the mess of my life has now become beautiful!
Four days later, on October 12, 1998, my father passed away. At his right-hand side, I stood a restored and beloved son, loved and approved. As life was quickly draining from my dad, he looked up towards the ceiling, letting out his final breath; he smiled, his heartbeat stopped, and we wept loudly in the grief of our great loss! I then reached over his body and closed my father’s eyes.
He died my hero triumphantly and bravely; he faced death and passed from this life into the heart of God.
“Death swallowed by triumphant
Life! Who got the last word? Oh, Death, who’s afraid of
you now?” – I Corinthians 15:55
While this was both a painful and magical time for me, these events with my father were a new beginning and a paradigm shift for my present and future.
I can honestly say that God used the final moments of my father’s life to make me into a better man, a restored son, and a better father.
Letting my anger for my father go allowed love to come bursting in. Becoming my father’s beloved son made it possible for me to believe I could be God’s beloved son, too.
Good night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite. I’ll see you in heaven. I love you, dad!








