When death is coming

Posted on November 18, 2009 by Margaret

Death is coming to all of us. “It is appointed for man to die once” is a quote from Scripture (Hebrews 9:27), and every one of us will eventually succumb to something. To be aware of death’s timetable is to receive a gift, even though at the time it seems more like a curse.

When we know ahead of time, we have the chance to say loving words to the one who will be leaving us. We can also right wrongs. Although it doesn’t come easily to blame ourselves for anything, when a loved one is dying, we can quickly self-judge and desire to make things right.

This burst of good conscience and the apologies it prompts can be positive, but I believe it does more for the one seeking to make things right than the one who is dying. Coming to the death bed of someone we love with a list of “I’m sorry for this and sorry for that” can actually be selfish. We want to absolve ourselves of guilt. But to the one who is dying, such “dumping” might be overwhelming or even seem like too little too late.

During that first night after Nate and I learned he was infected with a rapidly growing stage 4 cancer, my mind flooded with regret. As he slept next to me in the deep fatigue of fatal disease, I lay in bed quietly weeping. Having always wanted to tweak this or that about him, I suddenly felt like a terrible wife. After nearly 40 years of marriage, I should have been long past such shallow thinking and far deeper into practicing unconditional love. Even focusing on myself that first night instead of on him was an indication of my selfishness. Nevertheless, I wanted to right all wrongs a.s.a.p.

When morning came, though, I saw the foolishness of listing my regrets to Nate. What could he say but, “Oh, that’s OK.” It was like fishing for a compliment. The only effective remedy would be to determine, from that moment on, to be the best wife I could be for as much time as we had left together.

I prayed God would control my thinking as Nate and I embarked on what we thought would be a six month journey. “What should I do about all my regrets, Lord?” I asked.

And God answered me. “Be to Nate what I created all wives to be: a helper. If you do that, you’ll please him and also me.” I didn’t have to be a perfect wife, just a helpful one. It was a massive relief, because I knew I could do that.

Beginning that day and every day thereafter, I looked for helping moments. If Nate was struggling to pick up something, I’d step forward with, “Let me help you with that.” (Easy.) If he didn’t have a drink next to his lazy-boy, I went for ice water. (Easy.) If he had trouble getting his shoes on, I kneeled to wiggle them on and tie my “magic bow.” (Easy.) If he was craving spaghetti for dinner, I aborted other plans and made spaghetti. (Easy.)

I don’t list these things to prove I was wonderful. I list them to show how easy God made it for me to finish our marriage without regrets. When doubt snuck in during the night telling me I wouldn’t be able to handle Nate’s increasing needs, I cried out to God, “I don’t think I can do this!”

He gently reminded me, “Remember, all you have to do is help him,” and I would calm down.

birthday cake smaller When it was all over, I had no regrets about my behavior during the six weeks of Nate’s illness. Simply being a helper was all that was required. Why couldn’t I have been a helper and only a helper (not a manipulator or a controller), throughout the 40 years we spent together? God’s way is always the better way.

“Then the Lord God said, ‘It is not good for the man to be alone; I will make him a helper suitable for him.’ ” (Genesis 2:18)

Back to the Cemetery

Posted on November 17, 2009 by Margaret

I’ve helped plan three funerals… so far… and at each one I’ve been surprised at how fast that day unfolds. Once the service begins, there is no time to talk to friends or even family. As the service ends, guests file past the casket, are ushered outdoors and are gone. Family members gather briefly for a last look, the casket is closed, and everyone fans out to the cars.

Once at the cemetery, protocol separates family members from others. At Nate’s graveside, we were able to focus briefly on the pastor’s words, but then the casket was quickly lowered from view and the event was over. There wasn’t time to think, much less process what had just occurred. On that day, November 7^th, as I sat in the center chair facing Nate’s casket, I knew I’d want to return to the cemetery soon, to collect my thoughts.

Today was the day.

After driving Hans, Katy and baby Nicholas from Michigan to O’Hare Airport in Chicago to begin their journey back to England, I drove across the city to Rose Hill Cemetery. Despite the curvy lanes between grave yard sections, finding Nate’s burial site was easy. Our family has come to this spot every Memorial Day for decades, sharing memories about the six people already buried in the family plot: my mom and dad, my grandfather and grandmother, my great uncle, and dad’s baby brother. After the cemetery visit, we always share a picnic and a baseball game.

memorialday09

Although most people shy away from trips to the cemetery, our family counts them among our most important traditions. Since toddlerhood, our kids have been taught that death is part of life and is not to be feared. I have a picture of Dad standing with his hand on the grave marker as he told us, “My father told me, as we buried my mother, that one day we would also bury him there. And we did. I can say the same about me. One day you’ll bury me here, too.” A few years later, we did.

Mom used to say, as she helped our pre-schoolers plant flowers around the big headstone, “Every day, we’re all one step closer to the grave, and I can’t wait, because that’ll mean I’ll be with Jesus.”

The day we buried Mom, her 15 grandkids cried hard, but they’d been prepped for that moment by Grandma herself. They were told ahead of time about her departure and all knew she had happily taken up residence in heaven. They’d heard it from her own mouth.

But what about Nate? Today, as I stood at the foot of his grave in a chilly wind, I couldn’t help having another moment of this-can’t-possibly-be-real. At my feet was a section of fresh sod four feet wide and nine feet long. Three urns of funeral flowers were lying on their sides next to the sod. Was it possible my husband was buried beneath my feet, lying there in his new grey suit? Hadn’t I just told him how good he looked in it, the first time he wore it to work? Hadn’t he been to court wearing it the day we learned of his cancer? How could he now be dead and buried in it?

I thought back to Memorial Day of this year when our family gathered again at that exact spot, 24 of us. In one of the pictures taken that day, Nate is sharing a memory while standing exactly over the spot where his body would soon be buried. Although none of us were thinking about the possibility of a 2009 death for him or anybody else as we stood at the cemetery that day, God had specific funeral plans for my husband, five months later. We can’t explain the Lord’s timing, and Nate’s burial was an agonizing family milestone, but to a certain extent, we’d been prepared. As we drove in behind the hearse that carried his casket, it was not creepy or scary. All of us were arriving at a familiar place of warm family memories. Besides, we knew the whole truth.

Cemeteries are all about death, and death is appalling. But one of the reasons we got through Nate’s burial fairly well was because of the years of stories about our relatives whose bodies are beneath the cemetery grass on which we’ve stood each Memorial Day. As we’ve remembered them each year, we’ve been sure their souls were not dead but were experiencing “joy unspeakable” (1 Peter 1:8) in heaven. Our rich Christian heritage has covered the horror of death with the scriptural promise of eternal life.

Today, as I shivered from the cold and the emotion of the moment, I got back into the car and started the engine to get some heat. A CD came to life playing my favorite hymn, “To God Be the Glory”:

“Great things He has taught us. Great things He has done,

And great our rejoicing through Jesus the Son,

But purer and higher and greater will be

Our wonder, our transport, when Jesus we see.”

The whole truth of Nate’s presence in the cemetery is that he isn’t really under that sod. His body-shell is there, inside his grey suit. But the real him has taken up residence elsewhere. The ugly reality of death has been gobbled up by victory through Jesus and his all-inclusive death on the cross.

“Just as there are natural bodies, there are also spiritual bodies. cemetery sod small When our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled: ‘Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?’ But thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.” (1 Corinthians 15:44, 54-55, 57)

My buddy and me

Posted on November 12, 2009 by Margaret

Man’s best friend may turn out to be woman’s best friend, too. Last night a group of us walked to the beach for the sunset: Linnea, Adam and Skylar, Katy, Hans and Nicholas, and me. The sky was spectacular with unusual brilliance for November, and it proved to be perfect for silhouette photos.

We played around with a camera before succeeding, and in the process of taking pictures, I had my first experience being odd-man-out. Nate had never insisted on doing life exclusively as a couple but had given me a great deal of freedom within our marriage. I loved that about him. He’d encouraged me to do many things independently. I’d even seen many sunsets at this same beach with mobs of children but without him, although he always endorsed our going. This time, though, I really missed him. Being only half of a couple made me feel empty and incomplete.

Our big lummox of a dog, Captain Jack, was at the beach last night with us. He has been true-blue to me throughout our ordeal with pancreatic cancer, finding me wherever I was in the house, plunking down at my feet. In the days immediately after we learned of Nate’s death sentence, before Nate was able to fully accept it or talk about it, Jack understood.

That first evening, September 22, after Nate had gone to sleep for the night, the finality of the diagnosis engulfed me. There was no cure, no treatment that promised to slow the cancer’s growth and no way to avoid death. I was alone and found myself sobbing with my hands over my face.

Just then Jack quietly walked over to my chair and whimpered. I opened my eyes and found him gazing up at me, lovingly coming to my aid. His whimper might simply have been a take-me-on-a-walk request, but I chose to think he was empathizing with me. I slid down onto the floor, put my arms around his thick neck and boo-hoo-ed like a woman without hope, spilling tears all over his black fur. Jack & Meg

A person can pour out her deepest disappointments and fears to a dog without inhibitions. Every secret, every doubt, every response to a crisis is safe with him. So after I had a long, blubbering cry, I cupped my hands around Jack’s handsome face and said, “If you could talk, I know you’d speak words of comfort and consolation, probably in a really low voice.”

Still looking right in my eyes, he gave a little wag as if to say, “That’s right.” Even though nothing had changed about Nate, I felt much better.

Last night at the sunset, it occurred to me that when all our family members have left Michigan and returned to their pre-cancer lives, I’ll be living alone for the first time since I was born. I’d been with my parents and siblings, then college roommates, apartment roommates, and finally marriage. At 64 years, it seemed late to be starting something so radically new, but God reminded me of something good. “You won’t be living alone. You’ll have Jack to talk to… and Me.”

As Nelson arrived at the beach with his camera phone, he happily took a picture of my buddy and me.
”A friend loves at all times.” (Proverbs 17:17)