Category Archives: Saying Goodbye

Roadside Memorial

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We’ve all driven past small, hand-made memorials on the side of the highway, and this week I noticed a new one very near my home. Pulling off onto the grassy shoulder of the four lane road, I walked back to the cluster of items that made up the memorial. A beautiful wooden cross held a plaque that read, “Frankie L. Pipkins III, May 30, 1991, January 6, 2010.”

Frankie died at 18. I felt sick to my stomach, envisioning a horrendous car crash and a family’s shock. As I stood and studied what this young man’s loved ones had left in memory of him, I hoped maybe someone from his family might come by to visit the memorial, too. I craved more information about this teenager and wanted to ask questions of the people who loved him.

Next to the cross was a Christmas wreath decorated for the holidays with a string of red lights, silver bows and several ornaments: a pewter half-moon with an angel sitting on it next to the word “peace”, an old-fashioned Santa, and four ceramic ornaments with the words “hope, love, dream, wish.”

Also hanging from the wreath was a girl’s silver necklace with a ring on it, a pair of guy-sunglasses and two beaded necklaces with small footballs hanging from them.

Artificial sun flowers and lilies nearly hid a telling piece of the memorial. Nestled in the grass at the base of the cross was the insignia from Frankie’s vehicle. The FORD logo, still attached to a jagged piece of red metal, sent a chill up my spine. I’m not sure why anyone would place that there, but as I crouched near the ground, I saw small hunks of red metal everywhere.

Bending to pick up one piece, I realized they were all firmly embedded in the hard ground, probably driven in by the terrible impact. But just when I started to weep over this young person’s violent end, I spotted something hopeful, a note written by hand and put next to the cross:

“Psalm 115:15 – May you be blessed by the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.”

Had Frankie been raised in a home where God was lifted up and his Word taught? Did he know the Lord as his personal Savior? If he did, he’s healthy and whole in paradise, possibly shaking hands with Nate. But what about his family? Are they healthy and whole? Although we had “only” 42 days with Nate, Frankie’s family had only one instant to absorb the dreadful truth.

I gathered up several stems of Queen Anne’s lace growing nearby and laid them next to the cross. If the Pipkins family ever visited their memorial, they might be encouraged to know that someone else had stopped to think about their Frankie, too.

“Discipline yourself for the purpose of godliness, for bodily discipline is only of little profit, but godliness is profitable for all things, since it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come.” (1 Timothy 4:7-8)

A word from Linnea

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June was a great month for me, mainly because I spent over half of it at my mom’s house. Though I live in Florida with my husband and two kids, my heart and mind are often at my mom’s place in Michigan these days.

I hadn’t been back since I left last November after my dad’s funeral. On my first afternoon back I sat in a chair and looked at the living room. In my mind I saw my brothers and sisters sitting in our nightly circle, eating dinner together the way we did during the weeks before my dad’s death. Nelson would be carrying wood in from outside to keep the fire going. Nicholas and Skylar, the only two grandchildren at that time, would be eating and chattering, making plenty of noise and a total mess. There’d be a lot of laughing and talking, though we’d all be thinking of Papa with sadness at the same time. And my mom would be serving my dad faithfully, getting his pills and ice packs, and encouraging him to eat something.

The house feels different now. It’s my mom’s house instead of my parents’. My dad’s chair is empty and there are no newspapers scattered on the floor next to it. It’s summertime, so instead of chilly fall winds and orange leaves on the ground, everything outside is bright green and the air is thick and humid. During my last visit I was pregnant; this time I spent hours walking outside with baby Micah in my arms. Being outside calms him down when he’s fussy, so we’d go for slow walks down the road, just the way my dad did during his final weeks.

Each day as I traced my dad’s steps, I’d think about the end of his life. I hate that he had to die and I hate that my mom is now a widow. But as I’d stare up at the tall trees lining the road, their leaves making a shady covering for Micah and me, I couldn’t help but remember God’s faithfulness and goodness to my family, even as He took my dad away. I’ll never forget the moment my dad died—the way my mom sat and held his hand, and how all of us kids were right there in the house when it happened. After he was gone, we stood around his bed, said our goodbyes to him, and cried. If any of us had been missing—out running an errand or walking the dog—it would have been different. God arranged the timing perfectly and that was a gift. One of many.

It’s scary to think that death can reach out and touch us without much warning, without our permission. We are not in control of our lives the way we like to think. In the end, all that matters is our faith in God. Do I belong to Him? If my answer is yes, then I don’t have to live in fear—not of cancer, not of being alone, and not even of death. God has promised to work everything together for my good. Watching my dad die was awful. I don’t think I’ll understand in this lifetime why it had to happen the way it did. But God has left the evidence of His love for my family all over our memories, and when He says someday He’ll wipe away our tears for good, I believe Him.

“Do not be afraid. I am the First and the Last. I am the Living One; I was dead, and behold I am alive for ever and ever! And I hold the keys of death and Hades.” (Revelation 1:17b-18)

And now they leave…

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Recently it’s been lively at our normally quiet cottage. That’s because Linnea, Adam, Micah and SKYLAR have been here. Neighbors have told me, “We love hearing your granddaughter’s adorable voice.” That tells me the volume has been high enough to travel through our screens and into theirs. Actually, as I’ve been waking up each morning, Skylar’s enthusiastic life-commentary has moved out the open downstairs windows and into my bedroom windows above, making me smile before my head has left the pillow. Her parents would agree with my assessment that she is a cheerful, LOUD child!

But Skylar and co. get on an airplane tomorrow morning, and I’ll come home to a very quiet house with no Skylar in it. I could cry already.

Skylar’s ongoing dialogs (and monologs) captivate me: “Oh. Jack sneezed. God bless you, Jack. Daddy is so cute and cuddly. How are you, girlfriend? I like spaghetti sauce. There’s a boo-boo on my knee. We go to the beach with sand and waves and rocks and bubbles. Mommy loves me.”

This little chatterbox is not yet two years old but never runs out of words. Her lilting voice and sparkling conversation have kept us laughing and happy, and I can’t imagine how much I’ll miss her.

Today Louisa, Birgitta and I had the fun of caring for big-girl Skylar and her baby brother most of the day while her parents had a well-deserved day off. Since Skylar never walks but always runs, the first thing she did was take a header onto the hardwood floor, absorbing the blow with her nose. Despite the swelling and bluish color, she plowed through her day with merriment and unbounded enthusiasm. As we walked around the neighborhood together, she identified the houses where Jack’s doggie friends live, remembering what each looks like. When he threw himself down on a lawn for a roll, Skylar shouted, “Happy dance! Happy dance!” and followed his lead.

She entertained the toddlers in Sunday school, expounded on the joys of a McDonald’s Happy Meal, read me a book at nap time, swam at the beach, and struggled up the dunes “by myself” singing “Climb, climb up Sunshine Mountain.” When I’ve heard her say, “I want Midgeeeee!” it’s been better music than any ipod favorite. I wish she wasn’t going!

I know every grandparent feels this way about their grandchildren, which simply proves what a good idea God had in setting families up this way. Just when we parents are beginning to feel our age, here come children-relatives who move us into a second childhood and bring good old fashioned fun along with them.

Without Skylar here, I wouldn’t have made sand cakes and topped them with black chocolate chip stones, or filled jars with colored water. I wouldn’t have sung my favorite childhood choruses, or danced in circles while blowing bubbles through a wand. Picking up dog poop wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun without my inquisitive audience, and I wouldn’t have acted out the story of The Three Pigs. Skylar was the inspiration for all of it and much more.

As they leave, I’ll try to remember what Nate often said: “Receive what you’re given.” I was given 18 days with Skylar and her family, and that gift will be my warm fuzzy for a long time.

“Marry and have children. Then find spouses for them so that you may have many grandchildren. Multiply! Do not dwindle away!” (Jeremiah 29:6)