The Rollercoaster
Patsy Kuipers, Guest Writers
TODAY’S TREASURE
I was in elementary school when Mom, Dad, and I went to Myrtle Beach for the first of many family beach vacations. One evening, we ventured to the amusement park, home of the Swamp Fox, a towering wooden roller coaster. I must have been eight or nine at the time, totally unaware of how it felt to ride such a thing, so when Dad suggested Mom and I get in the front seat, I went for it. Being first is a big deal when you’re a kid, plus I would have a great view of the park, right?
My dad’s mischievous grin should have given me a hint regarding what awaited, but Mom and I climbed aboard when the coaster rattled into the station. The first few rises and falls were manageable, lulling me into complacency, but then we began to climb. Clickety-clack, clickety-clack. Higher and higher we went. The Swamp Fox reached the peak and then paused briefly before plummeting at a rate that left me gasping for breath. What little air I had escaped my lungs as uncontrollable screams.
I grasped the slender safety bar inches in front of my lap as if it were the only thing that stood between me and certain death. At my age, I did not understand the forces playing on my body as we hurtled toward Earth. Instead, a firm conviction permeated my being – surely, if I let go for an instant, my body would catapult out of that seat.
Traumatized and terror-stricken, I vowed I’d never get on another rollercoaster! I kept that promise for ten years until another vacation found us at Busch Gardens Tampa Bay. I stood by one of the coasters, listening to the screams of riders as they sped over and around, up and down. Were they exhilarated or terrified?
Determined not to let rollercoasters get the best of me, I asked Dad to join me for a ride. I can’t say I enjoyed it, and I don’t remember how much or little I screamed, but I had the satisfaction of conquering a long-standing fear. Even so, I didn’t plan to ride one again, ever!
Despite my long-ago proclamation, I found myself in the front seat of another rollercoaster last year, an emotional one, as Dad’s declining health became increasingly fragile. Highs and lows, twists and turns that mimic those of the iconic rides, filled the last few weeks of his life.
Dad began sleeping more and eating less. He spent most of his time in bed, didn’t talk much, and rarely looked at his newspapers, something he’d always done. But one evening, when I went to visit, it was a different story. Dad ate his dinner and sat in his recliner while we visited. When I left, he was reading the comics and watching Sports Center.
What an improvement! I almost skipped to my car. I couldn’t wait to text the good news to my kids.
My heart was still singing a happy song of praise the next day. And then, barely 24 hours after I exited Dad’s apartment, I got a call that he’d fallen. He didn’t have any injuries, but his blood pressure was precariously low.
I went to check on Dad and await the arrival of the on-call hospice nurse. After he examined him and took his vitals, Chris said, “I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. I’ve seen people rally, but given your dad’s extremely low blood pressure and slow, erratic pulse, I’d say he’s nearing the end.”
I replied stoically, “Considering Dad’s recent decline, I can accept that, especially since he’s pain-free and not in distress. I’ve prayed he won’t experience the same torment Mom did in her final days.”
There would be no skipping to my car that night. Despite my brave words, it took me a long time to go to sleep. When I finally drifted off, I tossed and turned, plagued by troubling dreams.
Dad’s vitals improved over the next three days, and he resumed eating. But early one morning, not a week later, the buzzing of my FitBit jolted me out of a deep sleep. Dad had fallen again. Paramedics with him assured me he hadn’t broken any bones but needed me to confirm his wishes not to go to the hospital. I did so emphatically since I’d promised Dad when his hospice care began several months before that I would do everything possible to keep him out of the hospital.
LIFE-GIVING ENCOURAGEMENT
Up and down, back and forth. I had no idea what would happen next. The uncertainty took a physical as well as emotional toll. Not only did my tracker alert me to the incoming call the morning Dad fell, but it also captured the effect it and the news I received had on my heart as my pulse rate shot up from a restful 50-some beats per minute to nearly 100!
Though there were times when I felt like screaming, tears became my emotional safety valve. Sometimes, I’d sniffle intermittently throughout most of the day. I was losing Dad bit by bit, and, to borrow a phrase one of my daughters used when Mom was slipping away, my heart was breaking in slow motion.
Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack. How high would the car climb? How steep would the plunge be, snatching my breath and elevating my heart rate? How many times could I prepare myself for the worst without becoming numb?
I didn’t know the answers to those questions, but I knew nothing surprises God. I clung to the same assurances I held on to when Mom’s earthly life was drawing to a close – God is faithful, His mercies are new every morning, and His grace is sufficient (Lamentations 3:21-24; 2 Corinthians 12:9).
Though there were times when I felt like I was free-falling, I knew God was holding Dad and me safely in His grasp. His grip is more secure than any safety harness on any ride.
The rollercoaster Dad and I rode the last couple of months of his life, enduring the ups and downs and twists and turns of his precarious health, came to a gentle stop in the wee hours of July 12, 2023. Dad disembarked and passed peacefully into the presence of Jesus, leaving me to sob alone on the platform.
Yet even in that dark moment, I knew I wasn’t truly alone. God was counting each tear, assuring me that Dad was better than he’d ever been.
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PRAYER
O Lord, we are often powerless before the hordes that come against us and our loved ones, not knowing what to do. Please help us keep our eyes fixed on You, knowing You are sovereign over every detail. Thank You that Your children are never out of Your sight or beyond Your reach.
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Sharon W. Betters is a mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, pastor’s wife, and cofounder of MARKINC Ministries, where she is the Director of Resource Development. Sharon is the author of several books, including Treasures of Encouragement, Treasures in Darkness, and co-author with Susan Hunt of Aging with Grace. She is the co-host of the Help & Hope podcast and writes Daily Treasure, an online devotional.
Contact Sharon with comments or questions at dailytreasure@markinc.org.