
We were arranged in dad’s nursing home room – my brother and sister-in-law, dad’s dearest friend, and me. The nursing home staff had gathered enough recliners for us all to stay by dad’s side during what we expected to be his final hours.
The night-shift nurse came to dad every 30 minutes like clockwork, ensuring he experienced no pain.
One by one, eyes closed in the room – although none of us felt we could possibly sleep. I remember glancing at the clock when the nurse entered. 3 a.m.
Apparently, my eyes drifted shut. The next thing I know, I’m being awakened by the nurse gently entering the room again. November 12, 2018. 3:30 a.m.
“He’s gone,” she said, quietly. “He was just waiting for you to fall asleep.”
I sat in shock.
I prayed silently, “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for ending his pain.” The long battle was won. Dad was no longer suffering – he was finally in a body that would no longer fail him. In what was surely the greenest pastures filled with greatest national champion cattle from earth. Walking with his dad and uncles and friends who had gone before him. In a place more beautiful than we can possibly imagine.
And likely telling some big tales and sharing laughs about life on earth, too.
I had no idea what awaited in the days and weeks and months to come. Grief would come in waves, literally taking my breath away. And my views of grief and loss have deepened in a way I never knew possible.
Of all I’ve learned, five lessons rise to the top.
No matter how “prepared” you believe you are – you’re not. Not at all.
Dad battled multiple sclerosis for close to two decades, and during that time, we watched his body slowly rebel against him.
He spent his final three years in a nursing home, unable to even stand. This proud, strong man relied on others for everything. Every. thing.
He went onto hospice care 20 months before his passing. This isn’t how he wanted to live. But he fought – oh, how he fought.
We had years to prepare. But when the time came? I wasn’t nearly as ready as I thought. You can do all you know to do, in order to prepare your heart and mind for that loss. But until it actually happens, you don’t know how you’ll react.
Give yourself grace. Allow yourself to feel it all. And know there’s no “right” way to grieve.
It hurts to watch a loved one suffer. It hurts to lose a loved one. It’s just a different hurt.
In the weeks leading up to dad’s passing, my brother and I had to make some incredibly difficult decisions regarding dad’s medications and care. It was heart wrenching. No real “winning” choices.
My Bible study was my lifeline, and they prayed me through each and every step through the years. And as we approached the end, I asked them to change from prayers of healing, to prayers of a quick, smooth passing. For dad to be at peace. For us all to be at peace.
As much as I knew we would miss my dad, I thought it would have to be easier than seeing him suffering as he was.
I was so naïve.
It isn’t easier to miss him. It’s just a different hurt.
No, I would never wish him back the way he was in that nursing home bed. But man, I sure do miss him.
Life goes on – whether you like it or not.
That’s the thing about loss. You may feel that your world has stopped. But around you, the world keeps spinning.
Your kids still need homework checked. Groceries still need to be bought. Laundry still piles up. Work deadlines still loom.
In some ways, that helps you keep moving forward, step by step. Day by day. But there are other days when it’s crippling.
In those moments, it’s OK to take care of you. Cancel those nonessential appointments. Ask for help (something I’ve never been good with). And if you need a day on the couch in last night’s pajamas, take that day on the couch.
For a Type-A, get-it-done person like me, I don’t sit well. But in the past year, I’ve found myself slowing down much more often. Work and service organization issues that would normally upset me don’t bother me as much – because, does it really matter? Like, in the view of eternity?
And you know what? The world hasn’t stopped. My business is still thriving. My kids still seem to know their momma loves them and is here for them. And life. goes. on.
You will learn that there are no new memories to be made – but you can certainly cherish the ones you have.
Many times in the past year, I have found myself angry. Angry that dad would have given anything to be in the barns and ringside at each and every cattle show our kids attended, giving advice and encouragement. And for some reason, God’s Plan didn’t allow for that.
Angry when my dad couldn’t see his grandkids doing the things that would make him proud. Showing cattle in Denver – one of his favorite places on earth. Those boys spending time with dad’s lifelong friends, and growing into some incredible young adults. Our young Caroline hugging that Minnie Mouse stuffed animal from “Papaw,” knowing he picked that out just for her.
But what I’ve also learned? Dad is still here. Oh, how he’s here. In the stories that get told by friends. In the laughs over the crazy things he somehow got away with. In his grandkids carrying on the traditions he held so close. In the pride I feel for being “Bill Couch’s daughter.”
Faith and grief can live side by side.
God’s promises are good, and God’s promises are real – in all of the good and all of the bad. It never wavers, no matter our circumstances. He’s just as good on the days of ugly cries as in the days of laughter.
The grief will come like waves – out of the blue. On a seemingly normal Tuesday evening, while cooking tacos. On a Friday morning, when Dan Seals comes on your Prime Country station. And in all of it, it is good.
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28.
I’m so thankful God’s goodness isn’t dependent on our circumstances. In all of the ups and downs of life, it’s the one constant.
I’m so thankful for our faith, for being able to know dad is no longer hurting. And we will most definitely see each other again.
Awesome, as always, Christy. Your dad was so very, very proud of you, Willy, and your kids. Many of our conversations were about you and Willy and the great people you had become.
So thankful you and dad reconnected. You were such a blessing to him, and you are such a blessing to all of us.
Beautiful! God bless!
I think of Don often. Praying for you as you continue to work through your loss, as well. He was an incredible man.
Beautiful! Thank you for sharing your heart! Hugs and love to you, friend! ❤️
Thank you so much for your continual support and love, Kathy. So blessed by your friendship!
Your dad was and is always one of my idols and mentors. I never told you or Willy this, but on the day of my wedding invited you father and guest. As we were walking into the reception, my phone kept ringing……as you would guess, I tried not to answer but since I would not quit I did. It was your father. I answered the call and he said , “Hey Brad it’s Couch, I can’t find where this place is”; We stopped the entrance so I could be 100% sure sure he see. Me walk in with my new bride on the pasture that the tent was set up where we grazed all the show heifers at night! He felt so bad that we hesitatesd his behalf; I was proud that he had went out of his way to make such a long drive and come and celebrate with us! I was so happy that day! As we went through the greeting line, he apologized and said “I didn’t know what to get you”. My response was “Bill, I’m just glad your here, and THANKYOU so much for being with us” . I told him he could make it up to me if he could just dance a song or two, you know what…..he did with the biggest smile on his face! I was so proud that one of my idols put everything aside and was just there! I have never been prouder my whole life than to have had your father there! He was and still is such an amazing inspiration to this entire industry! I miss our talks, and think of him daily, my heart goes out to you and yours!
Brad — I have never heard this story, and it absolutely takes my breath away. Thank you so very much for sharing. (And I have to admit — I rolled my eyes knowing he called you at such a critical time. Haha! Goodness — that is absolutely something he would do.)
Loved hearing these words because they are or will be true for all of us in some way shape or form. Death is a part of life that no one wants to experience, yet it is inevitable for ourselves and our family and everyone. Dealing with grief is very personal. There is no right or wrong way. Thank God for memories made and experiences treasured to get us through each day!
So very true, Tamara!
Beautiful and honoring. Your dad was an amazing man! I grew up with him showed cattle in 4H with him. Our family knew his and loved him. This is a beautiful tribute to your dad. I lost my mom in June, thank you for sharing this. Grief is strange and yes it hurts more now sometimes. I know mom is in heaven loving some amazing cowboys!
Devin Smith
I’m so very sorry for your loss, Devin. Praying for you as you work through your grief, as well.
Absolutely the best written expression of living with grief, love and Grace, that I’ve ever read!
Thank you…
You grandparents were neighbors of my parents. They were special people. I remember Billy so well as a kid.
Our families attended the same church growing
up, Cumberland Presbyterian in Owensville.
Oh, so many great memories at the Cumberland Presbyterian Church! Thank you so much for your kind words.
I also miss the big guy with the slow , but witty voice. I’ll never forget the times we had going to county fairs in the two ton truck or hauling a bull in Arthur’s pickup. The long days on the road at state fairs sleeping in the barns on the bedding and mass clothes washing between fairs as we dumped are clothes from feed bags onto the Landry mat floor along with the meal worms. Even though Bill was my age, he always seemed like a big brother. I should have visited more when he became ill, but was so hard to see him in that condition. So one day I look forward to listening to the stories he could tell again. Till then I miss him.
Steve, I cherish that day we spent together in dad’s room, while the two of you traded stories. I can only imagine what it was like to live those stories in real life! Dad thought the world of you, and it meant so much to have you there. You’re a true friend.