Dear Daddy,
We celebrated your life today. We shared your accomplishments, your values, your legacy. It's a strange life without you in it. You will always carry my heart, even without touch. JJ Obituary & guestbook links:
http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/florencenews/obituary.aspx?pid=159508706#fbLoggedOut
http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/orlandosentinel/obituary.aspx?n=edward-t-johnson&pid=159495960#fbLoggedOut
Eulogy: Jennifer Johnson Judson
Force Equals Mass Times Acceleration; This is Newton's Second Law. This too was our dad. Daddy was a man of numbers, a man of science. The only thing he loved more than being an engineer was his wife of 63 years, and 32 days. Daddy’s always said that marriage is an entirely different level of commitment. On our wedding day we
stand before God and make a promise to our spouse. In all the days that follow he taught, we must get up and decide to love that person, no matter what. Success in life, in marriage, is just a decision.
Daddy was born in 1925. Gas was .23 cents a gallon, bread was .10 cents a loaf, and a postage stamp was .02 cents. He was the son of William & Mini Bell, brother to Colee, John, Clyde, LeRoy, Bill, Jesse, and Miriam. He was raised Pentecostal Holiness and baptized in shingle creek.
He was husband to Lynette, father to DJ & JJ (that’s what he called us). He was grandfather to Melissa, Shaun, and Stephanie, and great grandfather to Alexis, T’Mayla, Kassidy, Kason, and Sagia. Daddy knew so well the importance of family. Pretty much every morning, even as he grew weaker & weaker, he would ask “What can we do today as a family?”
He served his country honorably during WW2. He was with the 373rd weather reconnaissance squadron. The 373rd was assigned to Kindley AFB in Bermuda, and was one of the early holders of the title "Hurricane Hunters". After his military service, he attended Clemson University, class of 1953. Daddy loved to learn, he loved being a student. He taught us the value of education not only with his words, but by his actions as well.
As I’ve gone through daddy’s things in preparation for this memorial I have found bits of myself revealed in his history. He was meticulous about documentation, so am I. He was thorough, so am I. He paid attention to the details, and so do I. What that tells me is that while I love him as only a daughter can love her daddy, even more so, I respect him. I respect his methods, his accomplishments, and the example that he so steadfastly set for us.
The distance between dreams and reality is called discipline. Daddy was disciplined, tenacious, and purposeful in his life. It is that tenacity that brought him success. His work was a tremendous source of pride for him and for all of us really. He continued his service to our country during his tenure with Lockheed Martin where he was part of the team that developed the Pershing weapons system.
His legacy will carry on through the memories we share of the past.
My brother shared a fishing story with me. He said it was over an hour’s drive to a place called Willard Bay in Utah. When they got there, they put the canoe in the water. They looked at each other and said “Did you get the poles?”…“No, I thought you got the poles.” They had everything they needed, including the beer…but no poles. So daddy went into town and picked up some poles. But! All was well; the fishing trip was a huge success! You’ll see the picture in the video.
I remember fondly one birthday that daddy had taken me to pick out a fish tank. We spent the afternoon together setting it up. Daddy had
a way of making me feel so special. He told me once that when people say I’m spoiled the best response to that is “Yes, but I handle it well.”
When Missi, his oldest grandchild was little, she would pretend to fall down right in front of him and he’d bend down and just fuss over her like crazy. There’s a picture of that in the video too.
Daddy shared his love for golf with my son Shaun, and Stephanie was always his “bright spot.”
Our future can honor the past through what we lovingly call Dadisms… .. .
~Red Lobster, is there any other color?
~Only dogs get mad.
~Anyone drinking beer cold is merely drinking to get drunk. I drink my beer room temperature to enjoy the flavor.
~Never, ever, drive a car off the lot until the financing is finalized.
~Always do business face to face, so that you can shake hands on the deal, in person.
~Never drive behind something you can’t see around.
~ When you’ve done all you can, when you’ve exhausted every effort, just roll over on your back and float. Let time take care of things.
In the poem Continuities, Whitman says that nothing is ever lost or can be lost. The body, sluggish, aged, cold--the embers left from earlier fires, The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again.
I like that. I like the thought of that.
In the weeks before his passing daddy shared that he has always believed and never doubted God’s promise of salvation. What a tremendous gift to give to his family, through his own words, that
he knew where he was going. I am comforted in the certainty that Daddy is in heaven now. He has been reunited with his family, and is in the presence of our Lord, Jesus Christ.
I believe and have always believed that in the hour of our death, Christ is with us. There is no more fear, there is no more pain, and death is sweet. For we are dust, and to dust we shall return; to hear the words, well done, good and faithful servant!
So daddy…you’ve done it all, roll over on your back and float. Well done Dad. Well done.
As we finalize the details of the funeral service for tomorrow, it seems appropriate to share this little snipit of video from Daddy.
As we celebrate the life of my father, Edward T Johnson, our family would like to invite all of you to attend. Even though many of you did not know Daddy personally, I feel that you know him through the sharing of our journey together. We would be honored & comforted by your presence.
Mission Community Church
4450 E Elliot Rd
Gilbert, AZ 85234
Wednesday, August 29th at 11:00AM.
Flowers by Watson Flower Shop at 480-632-8700.
Refreshments will be served immediately following the service.
 The call came at 7:44 yesterday morning. It was a 32 second phone call that would forever alter our lives.
It was the hospice nurse letting me know that she thinks daddy is near the end. I thanked her and said we'll be right there.
Mom was standing in the bathroom getting ready for the day. I said "Mom, we need to go. We need to go to daddy, they called." She asked "Is he dying?" I said "Yes". As I was getting dressed I made two more calls to my husband and my brother.
We left quickly. I drove with a sense of urgency, but sadly...I didn't make it on time. As we walked in daddy's nurse was there, she was shaking her head "No" as we approached her. Daddy left this world at 8:10 AM on August 23rd, 2012.
I walked into daddy's room. There he was, seemingly peaceful as he lay there. I know he's not there though. His body is, the vessel that carried him here on earth is, but his spirit is with Jesus. I took his hand, I looked up to the heavens and said "I know you can see me daddy. I know you're up there. You were the best daddy. The best husband, the best father. I will remember all you've ever taught me and I will go on."
The door opened and my friend Stephanie came in. Stephanie is an RN with hospice and she was on duty at that time. That's how God provides for us ya know? He puts people in our path when we need them. She walked in and I broke down. I burried my head in her shoulder and just sobbed. She held on tight.
They told us it was very peaceful. He didn't struggle, he didn't gasp. He was taking some rapid shallow breaths and then, he was gone. The atmosphere in the room with daddy was surreal. I've always anticipated how I would feel in that moment, it wasn't anything like what I'd imagined or planned. There are some things you just can't plan out I guess. There are some things that God allows us to feel. To experience. Things that cause us to draw near Him.
My brother arrived, he walked straight into mom's arms. He sat on the opposite side of the bed. He reached out for daddy's hand, then my hand. We just sat there, holding hands, with our heads down. In the moment that my brother reached out and took my hand too, I felt such love in his touch. I will always treasure that memory. Tom arrived next. In his arms I feel so safe.
The hospice chaplin came in, prayers were said. Then our pastor arrived. We reminisced a bit, then more prayers were said. As we said our final goodbye's to daddy, I held his hand to my cheek. It was ice cold, but it was daddy, he still smelled like daddy. I want to always remember that smell. I want to keep one of his shirts so that when I'm missing him I can hold it close to my face and smell & feel him.
On the way home in the car mom & I were just kind of quietly disturbed. Our tranquility, our inward composure seemed to be thrown into disorder.
Since yesterday we've had several phone calls from family. We are a strong southern family, with roots that run deep in the Carolina's. Time & distance may seperate us, but we're never truly seperated. We just pick up right where we left off. That's the power & presence of family.
And finally...Daddy, I love you. There are no words to describe how a daughter loves her daddy. You will always be with me, in my heart, in my mind, and even in my actions. I love you. JJ
 I can't breath. I feel stifled & suppressed. Emotionally, and then in turn, physically.
I feel this way because all I really want to do is scream, simply scream with unending, inexplicable, abandon. I won't though, I'm to responsible to allow myself the luxury of runaway emotions.
As I sat at daddy's bedside this morning, I studied his face. I thought, I bet he feels the same way. Stifled & suppressed. It looks as though he trys to speak, his lips & mouth move. I'm not totally sure. If he is trying to speak, can you imagine how incredibly frustrating that must be for him?
His lips are chapped, his mouth dry. I keep thinking he's trying to say water. There's a cup of water on the night stand next to the bed. There's a syringe and a sponge mouth swab in it. I fill the syringe with water and introduce it to daddy's mouth. Sometimes he takes it, sometimes he closes his mouth shut tight. With the syringe in his mouth, I push the plunger very very very slowly. I can tell by his expression when he feels the water in his mouth. I watch to see if he swallows.
I smile, I look at him, I touch his hand. His body jumps and twitches. That can be a side effect of the morphine. I hold his hand firmly and reassure him that he's not falling.
As I look at him I wonder, why is he lingering? Is he lingering in the love of his family? I don't know. I wish I did. Although, even if I knew it wouldn't change the sequence of how this mystery novel is being played out. There's no playbill for death.
Daddy's always been an overachiever though. He's always gone at least one step further than your standard overachiever.
I can always count on daddy to be "daddy", even now and right up until the very end, I'm sure. Maybe that's what he's trying to tell me. Never compromise who you are for any reason, stay true to yourself, and always go the extra mile. idk...
Daddy opened his eyes today! He opened his eyes and I just know that he knew who I was. I believe that he was trying to let me know that he knew it was me. My heart was jumping with joy! Athough he never spoke, I believe he was trying to. He reached his hand out to me, twice. Thank you God for such a gift!
This morning the Hospice Of The Valley Veterans came by and saluted daddy for his service to our country in WW2. They left a lapel pin for him and a small flag. I will keep it with all of daddy's memorial items.
When we left today the pauses in his breathing were anywhere from 21 to 25 seconds. He's still very warm to the touch. They gave him medication that pulls the fluid off his body as well as medication to
dry up some of the mucous in his lungs. This has caused the rattling to significantly decrease, therefore his comfort level has improved greatly. When we would reposition him it didn't seem to cause him pain.
It was a grand day. A unexpectantly grand day indeed.
Death looms over head like a storm cloud. It follows you throughout your day. Everytime you think you've dodged it, it shows up again. In the next thought or moment or sentence.
Sitting with daddy today revealed the brutality of death. The body struggles so hard to leave this world.
Labored breathing followed by 10 second pauses of no breathing, then repeat. The mouth, dry, sounds are heard but not deciphered. I dunk the foam mouth swab in cool water, rub it around the gum line of his mouth. I can only imagine how wonderful that must feel to him. The rattle, that horrific sounding rattle that I will never forget. The heat coming off the body, intense. Voided urine, unfiltered because the kidneys are shutting down. The pain reflected in his face when turning him, excruciating. His eyes, trying to burst through the process and open. Finally opening just a slit, for a few brief seconds...then closed, not to open again.
God is here! He is here and has revealed himself to me! There is a God my friends! A big, bold, present and relevant God! I am amazed at our God and what He provides, when He provides, and how He provides!
We are down to hours now untill daddy meets Jesus face to face. I can only imagine... .. .Amen.
 We went to see daddy today. This was the first day that my brother had come to the Hospice PCU.
Mom & I arrived first, then my brother. He broke down, he hadn't seen daddy this way. I tried to comfort him. I told him that daddy will be in heaven, he will be able to hear, to see, to be restored. I told him we have to hang on to that promise. We must allow that promise to be as much comfort to us as it can be.
Daddy knew who we were, I could see the recognition in his face. When he trys to speak we have to get really close to hear him, and even then it's not always possible to understand him.
I took my Bible this time and read the 23rd Psalm to him. That's always been his favorite. I remember his sharing that with me so many times as I was growing up. I also read from Thessalonians.
Our being there agitated him I think. Not us personally, but just his trying to communicate at all, is agitating for him. I sat the head of the bed up. It was ok for a short while but then it looked as though he was having pain. Those non-verbal signs of pain. I lowered the bed back down. His hands would grasp the edge of the blanket and begin to roll up the edge. Much like rolling up a sleeping bag. He was shaking. The nurse came in and gave him something for pain & anxiety.
It seems so strange not to cry, but I didn't. I feel the loss of my dad, I feel the sadness, yet I also feel remarkably strong. Amen. I like to think it's because I know where he's going. God continues to give me the courage I ask for, the strength for my brother, my family.
We stayed for a while, maybe two hours I think. My brother just looked so sad, like someone had kicked him in the stomach. It is a kick in the gut, an enormous kick in the gut. I guess we all have our own way of processing what's happening, including daddy.
Before we left I leaned in and spoke to daddy. I told him everything is going to be ok. I told him he's right where he needs to be. I told him that we will take care of mom, we'll take care of each other. I told him that I will continue to do all the things he's taught me. I told him to rest, we've got this, no worries.
We're home now, and I feel...numb. Not happy, not sad, just numb.
Daddy was suppose to come home today. We were all ready. The hospital bed & geri chair had all been delivered an set up.
There was some paperwork that needed to be signed so we had to stop by the PCU to take care of it today prior to daddy being discharged.
While there, I popped my head into daddy's room. The nurse had said that he was sleeping and very lethargic today. A sharp contrast to yesterday. Yesterday he was alert. He didn't nap the entire day.
So I was standing there, looking at him. Mom was there, the nurse came in. Daddy was gurgling. The nurse took another look, felt for a pulse, elevated the head of the bed due to all the fluid in his lungs. That's what causes the death rattle.
She left the room to talk with her supervisor and the doctor. She promptly returned and said they're keeping him. She just didn't feel right about sending him home in this critical condition. Critical condition. That's the first time I'd heard that word, critical. She said maybe yesterdays alertness was the final ralley. I don't know, she doesn't know, the doctors do not know. There's only so much we can know, as family, as clinical caregivers. God is the only one that truly knows and He will let us know in His time. Amen.
My mom broke down and cried. I think she was crying out of relief & sadness, both. I asked the nurse to join us in prayer for daddy. I held his hand, we all held hands. Lord God, I prayed. Please welcome daddy home. Please ease any fearfulness he may have. I prayed that he would be with Jesus, where he could see and hear and be restored. I told God that he had been just the perfect dad & husband, the perfect servant. I asked God to please make this transistion easy for him. Amen.
I asked mom if she wanted to stay and sit with him. She didn't . She said she didn't want to be there for that moment. I assured her that that is ok. There is no wrong or right way. All of us are different.
On the way home, I called my brother. I told him the situation and asked if he wanted to be called when the time comes. He said yes, he wants to be with dad.
I called & spoke to the nurse about 4:30 this afternoon. Daddy had woke for just a short bit, they tried to feed him some applesauce. Within an hour he was gurgling again and sleeping again. The nurse told me that she didn't think daddy would be leaving there. At least not to come to our home.
The phone rang earlier, it was my brother checking in. Everytime the phone rings, I take a deep breath as I glance over to see who it is on the caller ID. I can do this, I can do this, I say to myself. I'm prepared. I can do this. I can keep it together for my family. I can busy myself with details and push through this.
Please God, help me push through this. Amen
Daddy has been in palative care since Thursday of last week. It all happened fairly quickly actually. Wednesday night he gurgled all night. I could even hear it in the living room over the TV.
Thursday morning he was still ratteling a bit and looked very bad. His speech was slurred and difficult to understand. He was confused. He was stiff. He was in pain. I called hospice at 6:30AM.
I spoke with Mary, triage nurse. She was so kind. She said that from everything I described, it sounds as though he's close to death.
It's so hard to know what to do, or if to call when these changes take place. I do all I can to focus, to use all my clinical skills to assess daddy, to look at my mom and know that she's looking to me for guidance. I'm finding though that ultimately, I'm a daughter more than anything else. Before they all arrived, I layed next to daddy, I stroked his hair, I kissed his forehead, I kept reassuring him. Mom did too.
Perception can be a peculiar thing. When the RN arrived I didn't get the impression that she saw the situation as I did. He had a low grade temp, he was still gurgling (she said snoring) and when she went to help him up the pain in his face was undeniable.
We were able to get him cleaned up and in his wheelchair. By this time he was talking & talking...but making no sense. Rose arrived, our social worker. Dear, sweet, gifted Rose. Thank you God for Rose. She chatted with daddy, offered him the stuff animal I had tried to offer him previously. He took it, and then proceeded to try to take it's ear off and try to eat it's foot. That brought a smile. A smile through the grief.
When Theresa, daddy's aide arrived (another gem of God's Grace), she sat and chatted with daddy too, and mom. He was hallucianating by then, touching her pant leg as though he was reaching for something, examining something.
The transport van arrived. I had to sign another one of those orange DNR forms. It has to be done, I know this, it still feels like such a powerful thing to do though. With just a stroke of a pen.
Once at the PCU, he slept, for 15 hours. We went to see him on Friday. He knew who we were, and responded when we spoke to him. His voice only a whisper. There was a priceless moment though. Mom went to kiss him goodbye, she leaned in, kissed him and he held up two fingers, like a peace sign. He wanted another kiss, he wanted two kisses. I laughed out loud! Thank you Jesus for a laugh out loud moment amongst the end of life times.
My dear friend and RN, Stephanie, happens to work at the PCU where daddy was taken. That's another example of God's Grace showing up in the midst of this mystery novel that's unfolding daily. God's Grace in the face of a trusted friend. It was such a relief to learn that we made the right choice by calling hospice that morning at 6:30AM. The PCU physician said they would observe him over the next couple of days. Perhaps they'll be able to determine where he is in the dying process. It seems like a brutal question I know. It almost sounds uncaring to even ask. It's not meant that way, not at all. Waiting is gut wrenching. I can feel my entire body clench up as changes in his symptoms come & go.
I learned that too much stimulation exacerbates dementia symptoms. So our keeping daddy in the living room with us, trying to keep things as normal as possible, ultimately agitated him. He just couldn't express it. All the household noises, the TV, the dog, the doorbell...all of it, exhausted him. I had no idea.
So as I close this post, I still do not know how much time daddy has left. I've arranged for a hospital bed to be delivered, and I've prepared a nice, quite, room for him.
I know that God has prepared a place for him too. Amen.
 Update: 8/9/12 Daddy went to palative care. Pic is from today.
I'm tired. So tired. My eyes are burning, my head hurts.
My mind is so full though. Daddy is almost bed bound. Not quite though. His mind thinks he can ambulate, his body disagree's.
Yesterday afternoon, we were sitting on the couch and his right hand started to violently shake, very quickly he was shaking all over. This happened once before. At that time the RN had explained that the shaking could be a non verbal sign of pain. I held his hand, and mom gave him some tylenol. It stopped after just a bit. But, immediately after that he became incredibly confused. He didn't know who I was or where he was or anything.
I try, God knows I'm trying. I am human though, and tired, and frustrated with myself. This afternoon he was in his "sundowners" time of day and even though his meds have been increased it was still challenging. Over & over again "When are we leaving?" "Where's my car?" "Miss, can you help me?" Over and over again, "Daddy, it's me, JJ. We're at home, we're not going anywhere. You are safe here with your family." Over and over and over and over again.
So I take a deep breath and I sit with him. I hold his hand. I try to comfort him. I think to some degree it helps, as the questions slow down. He still repeatedly ask, but he's calmer.
Tonight, he's gurgleing. He's done that before, but tonight it's worse. It started while he was sitting up on the couch. Tom & I took him to bed. We lifted him into the wheelchair. It's like lifting jello...heavy jello. He was coughing, and gagging, and drooling. Once in the bed, we layed him on his side so that the fluid can drain out, hopefully.
Mom just went into bed. I don't know how she's suppose to sleep with that sound. Please God, have mercy on her and let her sleep. Please God, have mercy on daddy and take him home. This is no life for him. There must be something more I'm suppose to learn, or know, or understand, or accept. Please God, hit me over the head with a brick so that I get it and daddy's suffering, all our suffering, can be done. Amen.
I read on facebook today the following:
Keep your head up.
God gives his hardest battles
to his strongest soldiers.
Hummmm......................that's God's timing. So, I'm going to take my very tired self to bed now.
Please join our family in prayer.
Jenny
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