What a beautiful story that shows us the peace that we can find in life and death.
Before Alzheimer’s took his mind, my father always had a story or song for his children. I can remember him sitting in his big chair cradling my baby brother on his lap as his mellow voice filled the room with stories from his youth—everything from tending the cows with his cat draped over his shoulder to sliding down the red rock of Escalante, Utah, USA. Then, as my brother’s eyes began to droop, the stories stopped, and the same cowboy lullaby began:
Close your sleepy eyes, my little buckaroo,
While your Heavenly Father watches over you.
Don’t you know it’s time for bed, another day is through.
So go to sleep, my little buckaroo.
Now my baby brother is a father, and my dad lies in a hospital bed in San Diego, California, USA. Though he sees palm trees, he thinks he is a boy turning irrigation water down the rows of corn, tomatoes, and green beans. But he is not. He is dying.