The season my life changed, forever.
In the summer of 1998, a telephone call from my mom was the first signal that something was wrong. She was concerned about my dad, specifically, his physical well-being. She said that he seemed to be a bit disoriented, for no apparent reason, and she felt the need to seek professional help. As she was preparing herself and my dad for a trip to Columbus to see his doctor, she called to see if it would be ok to drop off my baby brother, Jamie, at my house. While they were there dropping off Jamie, I teased with Daddy about his state of dizziness, assuming he was suffering from a inner ear infection or something of that caliber. I remember even holding up three fingers and asking him to tell me what he saw, never dreaming that would be the last conversation I would have with him outside of a hospital. You see, at this time, we felt no need for alarm, not understanding the seriousness of what he was about to experience.
His doctor examined him in the office and decided there was a need for further testing, still not sure of what was wrong with him. Just a day earlier, he was on the golf course, enjoying life, until the ball became "fuzzy", causing him to terminate his game early. I, again, received a call from mom after the doctor's office visit, informing me of his need to be admitted to the hospital. Still, at this point, there was no reason for concern as his primary doctor began running tests to determine the source of his confusion and dizzy sensations. After many tests, nothing was decided. His doctor began doing spinal taps, neurological tests, and even began calling in specialists as his confusion was strengthening by the hour. During this series of testing, I'm convinced daddy knew it was more than routine. I'm convinced, by his actions, that he knew something was seriously wrong with his Earthly body.
We continued to encourage him. I vividly remember asking him everyday questions, such as "who is the president", and reminding him to exercise his brain as he would any other muscle. We also tried encouraging him with a trip to the beach. Daddy had just a month or so earlier purchased a beach condo, one of his life goals. At this point, he had not even enjoyed the fruits of his labor yet. We began arbitrarily planning a family trip to the beach, in attempts to give him the will he needed to sustain all these tests. Unfortunately, the doctors continued scratching their heads, as the tests, one after one, would come back negative, revealing nothing. But, clearly, his cognitive ability was decreasing with each passing day, more specifically, with each passing hour.
Within the first week of him being admitted to the hospital, we received life changing news, news that would forever alter our family unit as we knew it. His neurologist, took a break from his Sunday afternoon golf game to deliver this devastating news to our family. Upon his arrival, he asked to speak with my mom alone on that Sunday afternoon in July. She refused to meet with him alone, sensing his delivery of negative news. She told him that whatever he had to say could be said in front of her four children, including Jamie who was only 14 years old at the time. He agreed, reluctantly, to meet with us all per her request, and off we went into an empty hospital room.
"He has a brain disease that will take his life, and it will take it sooner rather than later" are the words that met our ears that hot summer afternoon. He went on to say, "Savor every moment you have with him because there will not be many more for him". We stood in shock at the news that was just delivered to every member of our family. Everyone in that room handled it differently. Some began to cry, others began to stare in silence, and yet others began to ask the doctor questions. Our lives, as we knew them, would never again be the same. My mom's life partner would only be cognitive for a short time to come? My daddy would lose the ability to recognize my face or recall my name? Is that what he was telling us? Our bodies were overcome with emotions so strong and severe words could not do them justice.
In shock, we all began to walk though the fog that would surround us for weeks to come.
After hearing this mind boggling, life altering news we decided to not share it's entirety with daddy. It was our unanimous opinion, that if he knew, he would give up, and the neurologist agreed when we expressed our concerns to him. We shared with daddy a portion of the news, excluding the fact that there was no modern medicine that could help him, no specialist wise enough to treat him, and no cure for what his body had acquired. You see, this disease was fatal. The one and only person that could heal him would be his Jesus. I knew it was possible, but would He choose to heal my daddy? Those were my thoughts at that moment. At this point in the process, that was the unknown. We only knew we had to move forward quickly and begin praying for his healing. The Neurologist suggested that we begin making the arrangements to take daddy to Emory, in Atlanta, where they could better care for his condition. So, we did.
That afternoon, as we returned to his hosptial room, one at a time, trying to act as normal as possible.... he knew. He simply knew. I can't explain it and he didn't tell us that he knew, but it was obvious to me by his actions that would soon follow that he knew something was really wrong with his weak body and his confused mind. I believe now, looking back on the situation, that his Jesus was preparing him. He was preparing him physically, emotionally, and spiritually for his reward, that was quickly approaching, in Heaven.
Immediately after hearing this news that hot July afternoon, not knowing what else to do, mom sent Monnie-Moo, my grandmother, home to prepare a home cooked meal, complete with fried cornbread, for us to enjoy as a family surrounding daddy's hospital bed. We felt confident that what the doctor had said was accurate and we could tell, by daddy's decreasing cognitive ability, that his days, hours, and minutes were limited. We desired, as a family, to share one last Sunday meal together with our daddy, even if it had to be around his St. Francis hospital bed.
The food was great, I'm sure of it.... but, honestly, I don't even remember it having a taste at all. This meal was anything but enjoyable, but it was special to each one of us, none the less. Daddy was not himself during the majority of the meal, at times saying things unrelated to the conversation at hand, but we ignored the stray comments and tried to make him feel like a participating member of the conversation the best we knew how. As unusual as this meal was, it was one of the last times that we all had together with daddy, even if it was on a "hit-or-miss" basis, and to this day one of my fondest memories of my family, together, in one room. We agreed that we would cherish every remaining moment we had with him, and we did!
Most of us stayed in the hospital waiting room that night sitting in shock, holding our crying loved ones, and trying to plan the days that followed the best we could. The next morning, we woke with many things on our "to-do" lists. The things listed could not be found on an ordinary "to-do" list. You see, they were things such as....have the family attorney prepare a Power of Attorney that would give us full access to any of dad's business affairs. It included arranging for an ambulance to transport my daddy to his final earthy destination, Emory Hospital. This "to-do" list is one that I want to never execute again.
Later that next day, daddy signed the Power of Attorney. I'm convinced he didn't fully understand what he was signing, but I felt certain he knew just what we were doing as he never once questioned our actions. I can't be sure why, but my siblings left this matter up to me. I followed their request, obeyed the rules, explained clearly by the attorney, complete with a witness in the room, and off I went to complete the task. The look in dad's eyes was something I will never forget and could never explain to anyone. I saw confusion in his eyes coupled with trust in his spirit..... He knew. He simply knew. At this point, he knew what had to be done and he released responsibility beautifully. In fact, he discussed with me later that day, during a good cognitive moment, just who I needed to get in touch with to find his important life documents, ensuring I took notes as he talked. He walked me through his office, visually, telling me where to find things, who to call, and where to go to get all his important records. He knew. He simply knew. He knew he would never again see his office or his business that he had worked so hard to establish. This was a day in my life I will never forget. A day that no 25 year old should have to experience, but a day that I now know was necessary for the next few weeks to fall into place.
The day that followed was his transport day. It was a day that fully contributed to my daddy never regaining the cognitive ability he lost in that 2 hour drive in the back of an ambulance to Atlanta. None of us can be sure why, but he was never again "my daddy" upon his arrival at Emory, making me more appreciative that we "took care of business" the day before.
Did he allow himself to cave to the woes of his weakining body during that drive to Atlanta? Did his Jesus allow him to lose the cognitive ability required to fully understand the magnitude of his disease? Did the disease progress so rapidly that it was simply out of control at that point? We can't be sure, but we are grateful that he didn't have to suffer on a cognitive level from that point on in his life. During the last few weeks of his life at Emory, he would gain & lose cognitive ability with no rhyme or reason, but he was never completely "my daddy" again, beginning with the inability to recognize my face. How could he know my face in Columbus and then two hours later, not know who I was, my name, or even how I was related to him? Incredible, sad, and devistating.... the speed of this cognitive degeneration. Was it a blessing? At that point, I didn't see it that way, but now, I'm sure of it. I feel confident that his Jesus was protecting him from what was about to happen.
During the next couple of weeks, daddy would come in and out of cognition, the doctors continued to perform their tests, and we began the process of emotionally letting him go. These weeks, as I look back on them now, were a blessing to me. I was given the opportunity that everyone is not afforded. I was able to tell my daddy good-bye privately, in my own way. I remember one particular night, before he slipped into his coma, sitting with him in silence, alone. We held hands. Daddy would always rub our hands or pat our knee to show affection, a bold memory I have from my early childhood. That night he began to rub my hand and I began to cry. He knew. He simply knew. He knew his time to be with his Jesus was nearing and within reach. I was able to personally thank him for being such a great father, an opportunity that I will always be grateful for. This particular night he slipped into a deep sleep, or at least I thought he was sleeping. All I know is that he saw, with his minds eyes, the pathway to Heaven. He began describing to me, with full confidence, what he was seeing, and it was an amazing moment. A bright stairway, to be exact. He was thrilled to see it and became frustrated with me in my inability to visualize it with him. He told me that it was small and bright, a sight I can only dream of seeing myself one day. In his own words..."It's too small for your mom to go with me and that makes me sad". He knew. He simply knew. He knew that his Jesus was calling him home and his only reservation was that he couldn't take his life partner with him. Wow!
In the next couple of weeks that passed, we watched the man we loved and called daddy slip away, right in front of our eyes. A sad time for us all. We could only rejoice in the fact of knowing that he would soon be with his Jesus, away from his earthy pain, his earthly hurt, his earthy stress, and his earthy disease. He would soon be walking the streets of gold with His father, both his earthy father and his spiritual father. We were excited for him, yet selfishly we were sad to see him go. The last couple of weeks were spent holding his hands, whispering in his ears, and rubbing his chest. He never again regained consciousness, and we believe now that was for the best. He didn't need to know, on a cognitive level, the deterioration of his physical body. The doctors kept him comfortable and we made sure he was surrounded with love until his final assent to be with his Jesus.
On the day that he would physically leave this earth, we, his children, were in Columbus taking care of "business". Mom called, once again, with news of his near departure. She asked if we wanted to come and be with him as he drew his last breath. The doctors had predicted it would come that night. We decided, collectively, to reserve that moment for mom, his life partner. We knew she was surrounded and protected by her friends and her family there and we decided that it would be too painful for a child to watch. She so boldly held his hand, rubbed his chest, and comforted what was left of his soul as he left this earth and entered the Kingdom of Heaven~
This week, as Father's Day approaches, I am reminded of a daddy that I didn't always agree with. I am reminded of a daddy that once rubbed my hand or patted my knee to show affection. I am reminded of a daddy that always gave me advice, whether I wanted it or not. I am reminded of a daddy who put God first in his life, always. I am reminded of a daddy that shared my Alma Mater, War Eagle! I am reminded of a daddy that did what he felt was best for his family. I am reminded of a daddy that encouraged me to continue my education. I am reminded of a man who lost a physical battle with a vicious disease and gained the eternal life promised to him by his Jesus. I am reminded of a daddy that was always proud of me.
I am reminded of Lewis Ned Jones, my daddy.
Davis and I were riding down the road the other day alone and he, being the death obsessed boy that he is, asked me a question that made me laugh. 
Today was Aflac's family day at Magic Springs, an amusement/water park, in Hot Springs. It is advertised on TV as a place that will make "all your dreams come true". False advertisement, indeed. Today would have been one of those days where I would have loved to have found a bench in the shade, enjoyed an ice cream cone, and watched people go by. But, with children the ages of mine and a husband who is not supposed to be in the sun, that was an impossibility. Instead of enjoying the day in the shade completely dressed with an ice cream, I found myself walking around the park, sweating uncontrollably, wearing only a bathing suit, with thousands of other people. Fun? I'm not too sure.
