It has been a crazy summer so far.

Summer is necessarily a busy time for me because of my profession.  Youth ministry summers are full of camps, VBS’s, and mission trips.  That’s normal.

But this summer has been different.

It started on June 16.

My dad was diagnosed with melanoma that had metastasized into his brain and several other organs 18 months ago.  The past year and a half have been very turbulent, with numerous trips to the hospital, assisted nursing facilities and Dad’s home.

On June 16, my step-mom called.  She was taking Dad into the emergency room.  He was weakening again.  After regaining significant strength and making progress with his therapy, he was weakening again.

I left the camp I was at and headed to Springfield, where I hung out in the ER with Dad and Karen for the evening.  He seemed to be rallying, so the next morning, I headed to Monahans, Texas with a good friend for the wedding of another good friend.

Dobie and I drove through the day, into west Texas’ 109 degree heat.  We enjoyed a great wedding ceremony for Ken Smith, the worship leader at our church.  While in Texas, I managed to pick up a couple of geocaches, we visited the Odessa Meteor Crater, and the replica of Stonehenge on the college campus in Odessa.

The next night, we drove home.  I made it home with enough time to shower and change before heading out the door for church.

It was Father’s Day.

That morning I was blessed with the privilege of baptizing my son, Titus, into Christ.  What a great way to celebrate Father’s Day!

That afternoon, I called and talked with Dad for a while.  He sounded good.  Stronger.  Almost like normal again.  I made plans to head up to see him that week.

On Tuesday, our lead minister, Brian, and I headed to Springfield for some supplies for camp.  While we were in town, we stopped by the hospital to see Dad.  He was weakening again, and was fading into and out of wakefulness. We talked for a little while, and as we were leaving, I leaned over and kissed my dad on the forehead.  I said, “I love you, Dad.”  Without opening he eyes, he responded, “Love you.”

Those were the last words he ever said.  But I didn’t know that yet.

Brian and I headed home.  The next morning, Karen called me.  She was worried.  Dad was non-responsive.  I immediately headed back to the hospital.

Dad was in worse shape than I’ve ever seen him.  He was groaning with every breath, and those were becoming more and more shallow and infrequent.

The doctor came in and informed us that another metastasized tumor was in his brain, blocking the flow of spinal fluid.  That was causing his sleepiness and unresponsive state.  They could operate; they could drill a hole into his head and hopefully relieve the pressure of this fluid, and allow him to regain consciousness.  If so, it needed to happen right away.  There was no time to lose.

What choice did we have?  I told the doctor to do it.  Karen was overwhelmed, and my brother hadn’t arrived yet.  I called him with the news.  He was coming as quickly as he could.

The surgery was quick, but not successful.  There wasn’t as much fluid as the doctor feared.  Dad was still in the same situation.

With my brother, Rick, there now, and Dad’s parents and sister, along with most of Karen’s family, all we could do was watch and wait.

And so we did.

Dad’s breathing rate, and other vitals continued to trend down slowly.  By Saturday night, his condition was terrible, but was at least steady.  I decided to head home and go to church the following morning with my family.

At 4:00 Sunday morning, my phone rang.  I thought I knew immediately what it was.  But I was wrong.  As I looked at the called ID, I saw that it was my mom.  She doesn’t call without a reason, especially that time of night.  Something was wrong.

My step-father had passed away.  He had been in rough health for several years, with several touchy situations in the ER with his lungs.  But most recently, he had been doing well.

He was gone.

I showered, re-packed, and headed to Mom’s.  Before I’d even arrived, Rick called me around 6:30 to tell me that Dad was gone, too.

The next few days are a blur.  I stayed with Mom, while Rick stayed with Karen and Dad’s family, both of us helping however we could.

It was a tough time.

The funeral plans were made, and we slowly made our way through what seemed to be the longest week of my life.

Perhaps the hardest part was listening to the military honor guard play Taps at Dad’s graveside.  As a veteran, he received this honor, including three volleys of gunfire.  But when Taps was played, it seemed to ring with a note of finality.  Dad was gone.

Last night, we smoked some baby back ribs on the smoker.  It was my first time ever smoking ribs.  As we ate them, all I could think of was how I wanted to call Dad.  I wanted to tell him how great they turned out.  I wanted to plan to do it again, with him.  He would have loved that.

As hard as the past few weeks have been, they are still a cause for celebration.  We celebrated a new marriage.  And we celebrated two lives, who are now standing alongside their Creator and Savior, waiting for us to join them.

Rest in peace, Donald Lee Randleman and Calvin Max Sisco.  You are loved.  And you are missed.  Until we meet again…..