Once we “solved” the phone call issue and got Mom that first call to Dad, we thought it was all taken care of, but as most things go, it wasn’t over at all. Sam had learned to use the tablet, and whenever he was on night shift, he called Mom and let her talk to Dad. Sometimes, we assumed it was because of the wifi, Mom would lose connection with Dad, and Sam would have to call her back. But other than Sam, none of the other nurses called. So we had to wait each evening until about 6:30 or 7:00 to call the desk and see who was on the night shift for Dad and ask them to call. It was nerve-wracking because you never knew who would be on, and of course Mom had to wait all day for the possibility of being able to speak to Dad.
By now I was obsessed with Mom being able to call Dad. I don’t know whether it was a coping mechanism to worry about something “physical” that I could help control, since I had no control over Dad’s ability to breathe or survive. I don’t know whether it was just a very real fear that if Dad stopped hearing Mom’s voice he would simply give up. Maybe it was my innate desire to fix everything that kicked into high gear with all of the stress. Whatever it was, I shouldn't have given in to the worry. Not only did God have His hand on Dad, Dad was too much of a fighter to just give up and lie there—that’s why he was kicking and trying to get up. But at that moment in my life, the one over-arching concern on my mind was getting phone calls to Dad!
I wrote in my e-mail:
God reminded me today that I have gotten so caught up in "helping Dad" that I haven't spent time with Him like I should. So I opened my Bible to one of my bookmarked places and God gave me this verse, "there was no one to intervene; so His own arm achieved salvation for Him" (Isaiah 59:16b). I just sat there and cried. I feel so helpless trying to make it possible for Mom to talk to Dad just 10-15 minutes a day. And here God was reminding me that if there's no one to intervene for me, then He can.
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