Category Archives: Dying

Nine Years Ago Today

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Today, September 22, is the 9th anniversary of the day Nate and I learned of his fatal cancer. He’d been bothered by severe back pain for 7 months and was scheduled for surgery when pre-op tests told a different story.

After that appointment at a Chicago hospital, we pointed our mini-van toward the peace and quiet of our Michigan home. As I drove, Nate used the time to call each of his 7 children to tell them personally what we’d just learned. As emotionally draining as that job was, he wanted each of them to hear it directly from him.

Normal life came to a screeching halt that day as we tried to absorb the shock. No one knew what was going to happen, but all agreed it couldn’t possibly be anything good.

*          *              *              *              *             *              *              *             *              *

Recently I came across a paper with Nate’s handwriting on it, something I don’t often see these days. It was the first page in a blank book, dated 9/22/09. He had titled it, “Journal of Willard Nyman.” *

In less than 20 words his first entry summarized the dreadful truth:

Sept. 22, 2009The Dr told me I have [metastasizing] pancreatic cancer today. Thought it was back problem all the time.

In those words I could hear his grave disappointment but also a measure of acceptance. Though Nate had hoped to write down his thoughts as he journeyed through cancer, he never had the chance. The daily pace moved too fast for that. This first entry was his last.

Because September 22 has come around 9 times now, I find myself thinking back without tears. Though I miss Nate every hour of every day, God’s healing of my heart has taken away the pain of remembering.

Now when I go back to that time, I think of the many ways God was on the move. On September 22, when we’d all agreed nothing good could possibly happen after the diagnosis, we had been wrong.

M and N, Aug. 09God pulled our attention toward him on every one of those 42 days by causing unusual things to happen in and around us. He proved how very close he was and sustained us by sprinkling blessings over each day’s harsh circumstances. And God is willing to partner like that with every person through grievous situations. He sustains us, rescues us, and is so close he can even carry us.

The Lord said, “I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.” (Isaiah 46:4b)

* Nate’s real name: Willard Nathan Nyman (Photo taken 8/22/09)

Beach Bums No More

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IMG_4053Not a day goes by that I’m not grateful to live near Lake Michigan. Even on days when I don’t go to the beach, I can smell the lake’s fresh water and hear the music of its waves.

And with beach rocks all over the house (around clocks, picture frames, mirrors, and on door mats), my thoughts are never far from the shore. All my neighbors feel the same.

1951Mary, Tom, and I grew up spending summers on this same shoreline (left: 1951) and raised our collective brood of 17 children here. But the most authentic beach bums in the whole family have always been Mary and me.

Neither of our husbands enjoyed baking in the sun, and both were glad they didn’t have to — since Mary and I had each other to do that. Despite too much sun exposure (and the dermatologist bills to prove it), the gains have more than outweighed the losses.

Mary and I moved through 70 summers side-by-side, but then my beach buddy got terminal cancer. God graciously gave us one last summer together, though, before he carried her to heaven.

M & M.During that time we both understood that we wouldn’t be sitting on the sand together much longer, and Mary wanted to talk about it. The soothing sound of the waves made those difficult conversations easier as we faced the reality of what was just ahead.

And then… how well I remember the moment she let me know her beach days were over. Though it came as a shock, she did it gently. It was probably just as hard for her to say, as it was for me to hear.

We’d been to the beach the day before, and on this perfect weather-day we’d agreed to go again, around 2:00 PM. I drove the few blocks to her cottage to pick her up, since riding bikes was no longer an option. But when I got there, she was seated in a chair on the lawn, dressed in regular clothes.

“You know,” she said, “I think I’m going to skip the beach today. Is that OK with you? I’ve been thinking about taking a nap instead.” Not once in all the years had Mary every turned down an invitation to go to the beach.

We locked eyes and in that instant we both knew what she had just said – our beach-buddy days were over. “Sure, that’s fine,” I said, with a heavy ache growing inside. “A nap sounds like a good idea.”

I sat down next to her in the yard, and we talked for a few more minutes. She chose the topic: her own funeral. She’d always been a realist, and her practical side was eager to sort out the details.

After 20 minutes or so, she stood up slowly and said, “Well… I’m pretty tired, so I think I’ll go lie down for a little. Greet the beach for me!”

But the beach didn’t factor into my afternoon either. It would have been no fun at all without my beach buddy. Instead I just went home and cried.

(…to be continued.)

“Cast your burden on the Lord, and he will sustain you.” (Psalm 55:22)

Missing a Sister

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TwinsiesMy sister Mary and I were unified in heart and mind from the very beginning. She wasn’t that far ahead of me in age, only a tottering toddler when I came along. Mom referred to those days as “playing house with my two little girls,” and we were blessed to be dearly loved.

From the beginning, Mom promoted a partnership between Mary and I, reinforcing it by dressing us in matching outfits. We had identical pinafores, coats, shoes, and dresses. But whether or not it was Mom’s doing, our sister-bond began early and lasted 71 years.

IMG_4252This week, a year and 5 months after Mary died, I’m feeling extra sad without her. I’ve been trying to put fresh fabric covers on my 8 dining room chairs, doing battle with a hard-to-squeeze staple gun and its frequent malfunctions. The deeper struggle, however, has been missing my sister.

The last time these chairs were covered was 7 years ago, and the two of us did them together. As always, it was fun and efficient to work as a team.

Our day of wrestling with upholstery fabric was punctuated with laughter over mistakes, lots of re-do’s, and a few staple-wounds. But there was serious talk too, as we lunched over Campbell’s tomato soup.

M and M upholsteringBy the end of that one day, we’d finished all 8 chairs. But the greater reward had been in getting to spend so many uninterrupted hours together. Doing the same job now hasn’t been satisfying at all, because of my strong longing to do it with Mary.

And that’s the most frustrating part of losing someone we love. The separation is complete and irrevocable. Though we know in our heads we can’t have even one extra minute with that person, we slip easily into fantasizing about how lovely it would be if we could. But reality always yanks us back and hits us with the words, “You can’t.”

I’ve had to work extra hard these last few days to listen to God’s advice about all this. And what he’s been whispering to me is, “I am your hope.”

He needed to tell me multiple times: “I will fill you with all kinds of joy as you look at Me. You’ll find yourself actually overflowing with hope, because of My Spirit’s power within you.” (Romans 15:13, loosely) After hearing it enough, I finally had to agree with him.

FriendsAs I’ve been hammering staples that refused to go all the way in, I’ve been thinking more than ever about life after death and the hope I have of spending not just one extra minute with Mary (and others) but of sharing unending time.

And I’ve learned that the hope God offers really does push out sadness. It also gives birth to gratitude – for a sister and for the Lord.

“The eye of the Lord is on those who fear him, on those who hope in his steadfast love.” (Psalm 33:18)