My August.

August 20th, will not be a day easily forgotten in my mind. My best friend Angela, had just moved back up to Oregon and it was the first day we could actually spend the day together since her return. I took the day off, and we spent the day lunching, shopping and chatting just like we always had. On this same day, my dad was driving up to visit me and my brother for an entire week. He had been living down in Fresno, California with my grandma (his mom) taking care of her, but was aiming to move back to Oregon in October so he could be near us again. It's a 12 hour drive, so he had split it up, staying the night in Redding with a friend the night before. He was scheduled to arrive at my house - where he would be staying most of the week - about 4 or 5pm. I figured I had plenty of time to do my shopping with Angela, and be back in time to greet him. He arrived around 4:30pm, and he beat me home. Tommy was home, and let him in to the guest room where he took in his bags and brought in a bag of fresh California produce, as he always did. This trip he brought a bag of vine ripened lemon cucumbers and a few hand picked avocados...perfect.

He had arrived with a truck full of boxes, as he was starting his transition back to Oregon, and had brought many things with him for me to store for him until his official move back. When he got to my house, he realized I wasn't home yet and that I didn't have the room to store anything (at least not 10 boxes worth of space) so he decided to go have dinner with his old buddy Jim, and store the boxes with him. I got home around 6, realizing he had already left to go meet up with his friend. We chatted very briefly on the phone, and he said he was having dinner out with him and wouldn't be back for a few hours. So, rather than just sit at home waiting for him, I made the decision to go back to Angela's and watch a movie with her; Tommy joined us. My dad called me in the middle of our movie saying he was headed back to my place...it was 9:20pm. I apologized saying we were in the middle of a movie but I'd be home in an hour or so, so I would see him shortly. It was a very brief chat, but I knew I would see him soon and he was staying with us all week, so I didn't give it a second thought.

We left Angela's around 11pm. We pulled in to our cul-de-sac about 11:20pm. As our headlights neared our driveway, I saw the shadows of something large and very unusual lying in our driveway. Oh My God. It was my dad. Face down and awkward, there he was. My heart stopped. I screamed. I cried. I started hyperventilating. I panicked. I shook. We jumped out of the car and approached him. His ankle was twitching, and he was breathing...heavy labored breaths, but he was breathing. Tommy looked at me and said with stern direction, "Emily, call 911." While he crouched down beside him, I fumbled for my phone and my shaky hands dialed those 3 numbers everyone should fear. I have never been so relieved to hear sirens in my life. Within 2 minutes, we had an ambulance and a firetruck pull in. I had a million things running through my head. Did he trip and fall and hit his head? Did he have a heart attack? A stroke? How long had he been laying here? Why didn't anyone else notice? Why is his skin so clammy? Why isn't he waking up to my voice or touch? Why wasn't I home? Why is this happening to me? Why me? Why me? Not now! Oh God! Why me?!

Paul joined me in the ER as quickly as he could. Just an hour later, after being put on a ventilator to regulate his breathing and a cat scan among other tests, the doctors did not "sugar-coat" anything. My dad had suffered a brain aneurysm, most likely caused from the brain tumor he battled 17 years ago. His "astrocytoma" most likely began to grow back and his brain just couldn't handle it for a second time. They said it was terminal, and we should start weighing out options for organ donation. Enter: bricks - a TON of BRICKS. Everything around me starts to fade. Slow motion. Surrealism. I think I literally heard my heart shattering inside my body. I see the doctors lips moving, but I cannot wrap my head around the words she is speaking. Why, oh why?

After being up all Friday night, we had to spend our entire day Saturday talking to the Organ Donation Coordinator about his eligibility to donate; that's what he would have wanted. We were sure. Long story short, he was not eligible based on his medical history with the astrocytoma. At that point, we knew he would not want to be kept alive artificially, so we needed to decide when to remove him from the ventilator. Before we decided to do so, we had a few of his closest friends and extended family join us to pray over him and say their good-byes. My mom, Paul and I each took a turn going in and talking to him and praying over him. I wasn't sure how. Do you pray for a miracle? Do you pray for God to take him and end any suffering he may be experiencing? We know without a shadow of doubt he was a child of God and that he would be going to meet his maker in Heaven, but regardless of that, how do you pray in these situations? I prayed that God's will be done. I said my good-byes. I told him I loved him. I sobbed; the belly trembling, throat wrenching, hideous faced, SOB. He is so warm still. How can the body be so alive, but the mind be so gone? Is this really happening? This is a nightmare. This isn't real. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

We removed him from the ventilator at 4pm on Saturday. He continued breathing on his own until Monday. With my brother and Tommy with me, I held my dad's now cool hand, as he took his last earthly breath at 11:38am. Nothing can describe that moment. It's over. Nothing can be done. He's gone. I am helpless. With tears of disbelief, we left the hospital - numb, exhausted, and delirious. He died the day before his 57th birthday.

I imagine he spent his birthday walking with Jesus on streets of gold - whole, healthy, and with the angels singing to welcome him home. I know God has infinite timing. I know in everything there is a purpose under Heaven. I don't understand it, but I believe it. I don't know why God brought my dad home to Salem to die. I don't know why I had to find him. I don't know why I didn't get to see him before I found him. Why didn't I get one more conversation, one more hug, one more week...?

These are questions that may always be in the back of my mind, but I do have some peace knowing where my dad is now, and I believe he was ready. I will continue to walk through the stages of grief as they rear their ugly heads. I will continue to have good days and bad - but I know I will navigate through these times with Christ who gives me strength. Death is ugly. Grief is uglier. Grace, however - is beautiful. I will continue to pray for a peace that passes all understanding. I know with time it will come - and for that I am eternally grateful.

Craig Tyler: August 24, 1953-August 23, 2010. I miss you, dad.