Family From My View

A Good Fight

January 20, 2020 /

Two days before Christmas, my daughters and I grab some water bottles, fill the gas tank and drive 4 hours north to pick up my granddaughter. Her 6-week old brother is in the hospital with RSV.

On the drive home, one daughter reads books with my granddaughter while the other fields calls and texts for me. My dad is not doing well. He needs medical attention. We call an ambulance. 

My dad spends Christmas in the hospital, as does my grandson. Our celebration is muted. We make Christmas dinner, but hold off on stockings and gifts. 

The day after Christmas, my grandson is well enough to leave the hospital.  

The day after Christmas, my siblings and I speak with a hospice nurse. 

After 5 flights and 1 road trip, my children gather for Christmas. Our time together is condensed to 3 days.

On New Year’s Eve, my dad rallies. I FaceTime him and say things I’ve told him all my life. I tell him he has fought a good fight.

He whispers, “I love you.” 

The hospice nurse tells me there’s not much time. I leave my full house and take a flight to my dad.

The plane is full of holiday travelers. My head is full of memories that unfold as the plane ascends.

I see a little girl step onto her dad’s feet, reach for his hands and hold on as they twirl and dance around the room. She laughs and holds on tighter as her legs stretch to match his long stride. In those moments I felt safe and loved. 

After his Parkinson’s diagnosis when my dad’s feet dance, they don’t carry a little girl. Sometimes his feet move uncontrollably. Sometimes they don’t move at all. 

My dad’s path began on a small dairy farm in Idaho. It continued through a mission in Canada, naval bases in San Diego and Honolulu, a doctoral program in a northern state, a professorship on the east coast, research and development in the midwest and businesses in the southwest. 

His path was sometimes uphill, sometimes rocky. Sometimes he couldn’t see beyond the next few steps, so he held onto the iron rod – the word of God. He held onto his wife’s hand.

In later years there were times he couldn’t take a step by himself so he held onto the iron rod – the word of God. And he held onto his children’s hands.

The passenger in the middle seat elbows me for a response to the flight attendant. I pass on peanuts and return to my reverie.

Another memory unfolds. Six weeks ago, my son and his wife invite me to be present at the birth of my grandson. When I walk into the room and see the laboring mama’s face, I am overcome with love for her. The room is filled with helpers and medical equipment and the unknown. It is bustling. The moment of his birth is peaceful and beautiful as we welcome him into the world. I try to study every inch of him.

The plane lands. I am anxious to get to my dad. I’ve traveled across the country. Now I’m in the same state. I skip the restroom and head to the baggage carousel, then the rental car counter. His caregiver texts and urges me to hurry.

I drive in the dark to my dad.

I walk into the room and see his face. I am overcome with emotion. Moments follow that are difficult and unknown. But the moment of his passing and the moments right after are peaceful. It is as if there is something happening that we don’t want to disturb. I feel a tiny bit of anticipation, as I imagine my dad being welcomed home by his wife, his daughter, his parents and others whom he loved. 

Our ultimate and highest destiny is to return to our heavenly home. When that time comes, it can be as momentous as the time of birth. Birth is the gateway to mortal life; death is the gateway to immortality and eternal life.

Russell M. Nelson


Moments after my dad left, I read Paul’s words in 2 Timothy and I hear my dad’s voice.

“For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand.
I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith:”

12 Comments

  • Bette Molgard

    January 21, 2020 at 12:16 pm

    The delivery room is magic to me. I love being there as a new life begins so fresh from our heavenly home. It is a sacred moment where I feel a touch of the Divine in a way that I don’t find on earth except in the temple.

    I felt that same touch watching my mother pass back to her heavenly home. She reached for unseen arms stretched out to her with a look of anticipatory joy.

    Thank you for the reminders…I know the loss of a goodly parent hurts so much. Hugs♥️

  • Billie Francis

    January 21, 2020 at 2:09 pm

    Luanne, isn’t it interesting and quite spiritual to write about a new birth and a death at the same time?!
    We celebrate when a new spirit joins our family and again, we celebrate a life at the time of a person’s death.

    We pray the new little spirit in the family will learn about the Iron Rod and cling to it. We are thankful a loved one just lost to us had the faith to hold on to the Iron Rod, his wife and children – through his entire life.
    As we age we understand more and more the importance of good choices, leaving a good example for the younger generation!
    I pray you always remember and share the complete feeling of being safe and secure while dancing on your Dad’s feet! He will, along with your Mom always be as close as your next heartbeat!
    Blessings to you and your family!

  • Laurel Nixon

    January 21, 2020 at 7:19 pm

    LuAnne your words beautifully convey what a loving and mindful daughter and mom you are, an example of grace to so many of us. May you have many peaceful moments when you feel your family near and know of their great love for you.

  • Debbie MacDonnell

    January 21, 2020 at 8:15 pm

    oh Luanne…such beautiful words to describe such sacred and beautiful moments. I weep when I read your posts … partly for the pain or joy you are feeling…but partly for the joy and memories I’ve never experienced. what a blessing you’ve lived…having Godly parents to raise you. what a legacy they’ve left…such a warm and wonderful woman you are. your ability to put in to words the feelings and emotions you experience are a gift. I appreciate you sharing your gift with us/me. prayers for your loss and hoping you feel the peace and comfort those prayers request for you. xoxo

  • Shirley

    February 16, 2020 at 9:06 am

    Thank you for sharing these beautiful thoughts! I have not yet experienced either but look to them with anticipation and dread ♥️ And hopefulness with dear friends and a Savior who has lit the path head! Hugs 💗

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