The Passing of a Saint into Glory

My daddy, Bill Robinson, was ill for a week, and he died on Sunday evening. I would say there is a big hole in this daddy's-girl's heart, but it's not true -- whether he's on this planet, or with Jesus in His heaven, my daddy still fills the same big wonderful place in my life.

He died so well, so nobly, so strongly. Trying to understand a loved one's medical condition can be quite difficult. In the end, it was not his diabetes or his terrible circulation, or a second stroke that killed him. He had two heart attacks in the last week of his life, but that did not take him either. He was so strong! He had fought aggressively for many years against the illnesses of his body, and diligently done everything possible to maintain mobility and strength. In a conversation with his doctor a few days before his death, he told her he was weary of the fight, and that no, he did not want to go to a rehab facility. He was ready to die, and he wanted to pursue that end.

My daddy was a man in charge of his life and world. This was difficult to live with sometimes, but he was so utterly dependable and wise, cautious and loving, that if I were in trouble, it was a comfort to have him in charge of my world for a while. I never saw my daddy lose his temper, scream and yell, throw a fit. He was a man under control. This is how he died as well. Opting against treatment and rehab, the fluid that was gathering in his lungs increased. His body was shutting down and his tissues were deteriorating. I'm not sure that he fully understood that medically, he would die of a lung condition, of pulmonary edema. This is a hard and scary way to die, as we saw on Sunday afternoon. I do not share this to be morbid, but simply to relate the truth of palliative care in a hospice house. The staff were wonderful, tender, attentive. We all knew that they could give more morphine and other drugs so that Daddy would not be in any distress, but family were trying to come, and we wanted Daddy to be as awake and alert as possible. His condition deteriorated rapidly as the fluid increased. To put it simply, he couldn't breath, couldn't get enough oxygen, was gasping and struggling for air. Those with asthma know how it feels. In effect, he was slowly drowning, and I know he was aware of this, as he lay there and we stood around him. I could tell he was scared, and that this was not the type of death he'd anticipated. However, in good Bill Robinson fashion he studied and accepted the situation, complied fully with the nurses, accepted meds when they gave them, but otherwise fought so very hard to maintain control and composure as he endured this agony. I was also in agony watching him, but afterward I was filled with overwhelming pride at how he died, and how he faced down the struggle and even in his final hours, he mastered it. 

We praise God for his life, for his strength, for how he did so much good with his life in spite of a very difficult family beginning, and in spite of significant personal temperament liabilities. The men in our family are often (not always) bull-headed, stubborn, self-centered, controlling, and insist on their own way. Daddy had all those traits, but he fought them, and with varying success, he won over them. Certainly he never allowed them to ruin his ability to serve God's kingdom, love his family, keep his marriage, and enjoy life. And his gifts! He was utterly reliable and trustworthy. In his job at Reformed Theological Seminary, elderly people entrusted him (and often him alone) with financial wealth and financial information, certain of his absolute honesty. He loved his work, and I loved watching him find work that used his best gifts so beautifully for the end goal: that God's Word would go out into the world and change people's lives.  Hundreds of pastors are now serving, thanks to the money he carefully raised for the seminary. 

Daddy was also hilariously funny, loved jokes, enjoyed his grandchildren especially, and could be excessively generous. Upon retirement, he and Mother decided to move to the Ridge Haven community in NC, where our church's denomination has retirement lots to build on. Ridge Haven also has summer camps for kids, and Daddy planned to pay for all of his grandchildren to attend camp there each summer. This generosity transformed the entire family, kept us all close, made us love their home, drew the grandchildren tight together and bonded everyone. He did not know he would have so many grandchildren, and camp fees would cost him thousands of dollars each year -- but he happily paid it and loved every minute of watching them go each summer. 

My parents have the gift of hospitality, and they used it tirelessly. They lived on the seminary campus for 25 years, and hundreds of students and their families ate Sunday pot roast around their table, often just arrived on campus, disoriented and scared about coming to seminary. My parents put them at ease and became their friends. My daddy maintained friendships with hundreds of seminary students over the years, ever interested in what they were doing for the Lord. Daddy was always actively involved in church wherever they lived, serving as an elder. Yesterday as I hunted through his files for his already-written obituary, I saw correspondence from years ago -- he was active and respected in ecclesiastical circles, in Christian education circles. I found correspondence asking him to serve on the Board of Trustees of Covenant College, which he graciously declined. He knew his gifts, and he knew his limits, and Daddy was not one to sit on a board; he wanted to be doing, being with people, in the trenches, so to say. 

 

In the end, I can only write of my own experience with him, and I was a "daddy's girl" primarily because my daddy loved his little girl. I was as feisty and strong-willed as he was, and not always easy to handle, but our relationship was very close -- not full of long conversations or pouring out of hearts, but a quiet understanding between us that we were both very precious to each other. He never doubted that, and neither did I. Much of the self-confidence and sure-footedness I have in my personality is due simply to the unwavering certainty I've always had that my daddy loves me devotedly and would do anything to help me. A girl can go far in life with that certainty.

Daddy is a Christian. So he is still alive, and has simply left his body here for us to tend carefully, awaiting its resurrection when Jesus says our waiting is over, and it's time for us to live on a New Earth together. But Bill Robinson himself is very much alive, and is himself, now free of the physical war of illness that dominated his life for so long. What a relief! The key concept with our loved ones who've moved on to glory is not that we want to bring them back here -- we want to follow them there. So, as usual, my daddy is leading the way, and he taught me on Sunday how crushingly difficult it is to die fearlessly and well. I hope I will be able to do the same.

Until heaven.

Daddy with Mark, Max, and Marshall