Category Archives: Life’s disappointments

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)

Back to the Hospital

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Today I met with one of my friends in the Chicago area, Dr. Ross Abrams. Although Nate has been gone nearly eight months, my occasional conversations with his doctor have continued to be a blessing to me.

Dr. Abrams is a very busy guy, the number one man in radiation oncology at Rush University Medical Center, yet he graciously gave me a chunk of his day in an unhurried manner. This was a valuable gift.

We talked about how Nate fought with cancer but not against it, how he accepted his terminal diagnosis with remarkable calm. Dr. Abrams has watched every one of his pancreatic cancer patients die of this fatal disease, noting how some accept their “fate” early-on while others never do. We wondered aloud what happens within a person to make them ready to die, to be so sure of it they confidently refuse further treatment. He’s observed that a personal faith in God is usually present when someone peacefully accepts death’s imminence, saying, “I believe Nate was a man of strong faith.”

We also talked about our marriages and their great worth, mentioning the importance of this institution. We agreed that one of the keys to a long marriage is to determine up front that neither will look for an escape hatch when rough patches come but will work to resolve the problem. Sweet rewards await those who remain committed.

As Dr. Abrams put it, “Once we make any commitment, obligations quickly follow, but we learn there is great satisfaction in fulfilling our obligations to each other.” Amen to that.

He asked about our children, wondering how they were coping with losing their father, which led to a discussion of the differences between suffering and sadness. We decided suffering involved coping with continual pain or damage, enduring ongoing loss. Sadness, although just as real, is more about mood and is prone to improvement as emotional healing takes place. Dr. Abrams is an expert on both, having witnessed much of it in his patients and their families.

We talked of our grandchildren, his seven and my five, acknowledging the pleasure of this season, and he showed me a new family photo in which all 17 wore black and white. I called it “a treasure” because they were all there with no one missing. The last Nyman family photo didn’t include Micah, Thomas or Evelyn, yet unborn. Our next picture will include them but not Nate. Dr. Abrams nodded knowingly.

We continued our conversation, talking about trusting a God who sees our lives from beginning to end, all at once, desiring to bring good to each person. Because we as humans see only the past and the present, it’s difficult to trust there will be good in the future when “bad” (as in cancer) dominates the now. Dr. Abrams referenced an Old Testament verse and I quoted from the New Testament, but we agreed that this one God has said the same thing to both of us.

When it was time for the doctor to move back into his medical day, we left the office with a handshake and a promise to share another conversation down the road. Here’s a quote from the blog post he wrote for this site on April 19, 2010: “My internal definition of ‘being a doctor’ require(s) being regularly involved in caring for other human beings” (as opposed to lab work).

Today I was the recipient of some of that care and as a result have moved forward one more step in the healing process. Thank you, Dr. Abrams.

“Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you.” (James 1:27)