Watching a bright star fade is more than a fleeting spectacle; it is a doorway to profound insights and contemplations of what may come next.

As we gaze upon these celestial changes, we are reminded of the universe’s ever-changing nature and our place within it. The dimming of a star, though momentary, leaves an indelible mark on the canvas of human curiosity and exploration.

I’ve felt called to share my dad’s journey with Parkinson’s disease because I know so many families are struggling with this same diagnosis. To find Part One in this series, go here. 

As of the writing of this article, his Parkinson’s has progressed, which comes along with Dementia. It has been very difficult to watch his struggle, knowing the bright, strong man he has been all his life.

My parents have been together since my mother was in ninth grade. One morning, she asked if I would come over before work to help discuss our options with doctors, healthcare providers, and insurance information, for the best interests of both of us and to ensure the best possible care. She had previously given me his medical records and the directives he had written, which she had stashed in a UPS envelope for me to review.

I had decided that morning I would go to McDonald’s and bring us breakfast. On the way to their house, I was right behind the “95” bus, which made me smile. These are ways I know God continues to show me that He is there during our suffering.

The 95 is also the year of my high school graduating class, and it was headed to the High School where most of my family attended. My dad’s class happens to be the first graduating class of South Point High School.

I grabbed my phone as I do most times to attempt to document my God Winks. I had realized the bus was passing the First Baptist Church of Belmont, where my parents were married and my brother and I attended preschool.

To my surprise, God sent a Carolina blue Volkswagen Beetle, just like the one my dad once owned, and my parents had driven off from the church after they got married.  I had the UPS envelope in my passenger seat of the car, and the UPS truck was following the blue Volkswagen bug.

We grieve so hard when we love so much. The last fluent conversation I had with my dad was months ago. I have spent the last years and months asking him many questions I thought I would want to know, and I am left with a lot more I wish I had the opportunity to ask.

Months ago, my mom had told me about a dream he had where he had seen his father standing on the front porch of the first home in our town of Belmont, where my father resided. My dad told me about his dream and said it was very real to him, and his dad was waving for him to come here. I wanted to know if he saw my grandfather with crutches or without them, and he said my grandfather had his crutches when he saw him in the dream.

He went on in our conversation to say that no matter what he did, got married, had a great job, a family, worked hard, he would never hear a good job from him. Unfortunately, I have heard this from many men in counseling about their fathers, and yes, some mothers as well.

Words of affirmation are extremely powerful for many and are the primary love language for some individuals. Unsaid words can cause harm even unintentionally.

I enjoy spending time with my dad and assisting him with his care. Some days his eyes are bright, and other days they are dim. Often, I am intentional with our time, and recently, I bent down, looking straight at him while he was sitting, to tell him how much I love him and how proud I am of him. I was surprised that I didn’t cry tears of love for him.

He shook his head and appeared disgusted with himself at my words because of his inability to do more. That was hard to see. It wasn’t the reaction I would have expected if I had even thought to ponder what his response might be.

I did leave that day tearful and sad.

Later, I laughed, knowing honestly my dad might not have even heard me then. It’s hard at times to see when the star may be dim because my dad will always be so bright to me.  It’s evident his mind is extremely busy with his advanced Parkinson’s; he could have been thinking, Why has my dinner been the same almost daily?

I like to inquire about what the spirit teaches me from these types of lessons and for me no matter if he understood my words, was upset because I was in his way of the game, or his dinner was awful, I am to continue teaching humans to love their core sense of self and who God created them to be.

Words from God and His Father ring clear in my mind: You are on the right track, Melissa. Let all ego and self-righteous pride burn. Vulnerability is strength. His power is made perfect in weakness.

I believe my dad will hear these confirming words one day from God- “Well done.”

(A thoughtful gift from my dad’s dentist.)