Last Days, Holy Moments

You have no idea how long I sat staring at the blank page on my computer, trying to figure out how to start this post. How do I describe what these past weeks have been like? How do I bring you into this journey while protecting the one I love in his most vulnerable days and hours? So, you’ll have to forgive me if this is not as polished or profound as Dave would have written. Honestly, my brain feels a bit like mush these days, and I’m writing these sentences simply as a way for me to prime the pump, so to speak. “Just write!” my inner voice calls. “Maybe the words will start flowing.” So, here goes.

This is Going Really Fast

One of the phrases I heard over and over during Dave’s three weeks of hospice care was, “This is going really fast.” It seemed that every day brought a change in his condition.

Really, the speed of his decline started in early April. Easter Sunday, to be exact. His loss of appetite led to weight loss, which led to weakness, which led to needing a wheelchair, and by the time we met with the hospice nurse for the first time in mid-May, his cognition was failing, and he was sleeping a lot.

As the nurse left that first day, I walked out to the car with her and asked, “Based on what you’ve just observed, how much time do you think we have?” She kindly but honestly said, “I think we’re looking at a month or two at most.”

This is going really fast. Too fast.

As the days slipped by, so did Dave. Eating less. Sleeping more. Speech became more and more difficult, and confusion made communication a challenge.

But one thing always made him perk up. His kids.

When our daughter would stop by, her bright, “Hi, Dad!” would bring a smile and a slightly slurred, “Hey, Princess!” When our son Jim and Jeff’s wife, Sam, spent a couple of hours with him so I could get out and get my hair cut, he told stories of his Eagle Scout days until he was too worn out to continue. When Jeff came by to mow the lawn, Dave found the energy to chat about the Knicks, Jeff’s favorite team since he was 10 years old. Aware that, at last, Jeff had something to be excited about.

Each encounter was a gift.

A Holy Moment

Aware that this was going really fast, Dave and I had begun talking about his wishes regarding final arrangements. We put some ideas down on paper, but we wanted to bring our kids into this discussion. So, on Friday, May 29, the five of us gathered in our living room. By this point, Dave was only awake for a few hours a day, and it was increasingly difficult for him to communicate with us. But that morning, he was more alert and engaged than he had been for days.

We started by asking Dave to pray for us. He began by saying, “These are my favorite people in the whole world.” He repeated it: “These are my favorite people in the whole world.” By this time, we all had tears rolling down our faces. Then he said it one more time. “These are my favorite people in the whole world.”

He then went on to pray the most beautiful prayer of blessing over each of his children and over me. It was a holy moment. Sacred. A gift to each of us that we will cherish for the rest of our lives.

After his amen, we all grabbed for the Kleenex because we were bawling our eyes out. It was a snot-fest for sure!

We came up with a plan that allows the public to honor and remember Dave’s life and legacy, but also gives us a special time of our own. My kids have had to share their dad with thousands of people their whole lives. They wanted a time for us. Without the crowds. Where he’s not Pastor Dave, he’s dad.

The Vigil Begins

That Friday would end up being a turning point. From then on, he slept nearly 20 hours a day. When the nurse saw him next, she commented on how fast this was going. Rather than seeing the nurse twice a week, he would now get daily nursing visits. We moved him to a hospital bed on Tuesday, and by Wednesday, he was no longer responsive. The nurse told us that he had turned the final corner. He was “actively dying.” It would be a matter of hours. The vigil began.

My kids have been amazing through all of this. The last few days, they made sure someone was with me around the clock…just in case. And on Thursday, Jeff walked in with coffee and flowers. You see, June 4th was Dave’s and my 49th anniversary.

I’d had quite a conversation with God earlier about the potential that Dave might die on our anniversary. At first, I begged Him not to do that to me, but later I changed my mind. June 4th was “our” day. We started our life together on that day. It seemed rather fitting if it were to end on that day.

In the end, God waited and called Dave home at 3:35 PM on Friday, June 5, 2026. Our kids were with me, gathered around the bed, telling him how much we loved him, as he took that last breath. The journey was done. His pilgrimage of hope had reached its final destination—heaven.

It went really fast.

But that was actually a blessing. We got the chance to love on him, care for him, tell him how proud of him we are, and how grateful we are to have had him in our lives. But he didn’t linger for days and days—something that was a blessing both for him and for us.

Blessings Amidst the Tears

As long as I’m counting my blessings, here are a few more.

1.     Dave was never in pain. THAT was a blessing!

2.     Our hospice nurse was a wonderful woman named Bonnie. She is a Fellowshipper! She was so gentle, kind, and generous. She went way beyond the call of duty in caring for Dave at the end. That final night, she was here until 3:30 in the morning, helping our son Jim care for Dave while I got a little sleep. She was amazing! So grateful!

There are more…but this post is already long enough!

Friends, I can’t thank you enough for your love, your encouragement, and your prayers for us over the past year. We have felt them hold us up and give us strength.

Memorial Arrangements

If you would like to join us in celebrating the life of Dave DeSelm, here are the arrangements:

Visitation: Thursday, June 18, 2026

3-8 PM at Fellowship Missionary Church, 2536 E. Tillman Rd. Fort Wayne, 46819.

Memorial Service: Friday, June 19, 2026

11 AM at Fellowship Missionary Church. Visitation one hour prior.

If you can’t make it in person, we hope to record the service and make it available online.

We cherish your prayers in the days ahead as my kids, grandkids, and I learn to do life without Dave. I have now started a new journey. The journey of grief. The journey of widowhood.