Category Archives: Saying Goodbye

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.

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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 (…conclusion)

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When Scripture describes the Lord as “God of all comfort,” what does it mean? Isn’t it true that when we need comforting, we can get it from many sources? It can come through friends, family members, sermons, books, magazines, a tasty meal, even just a good night’s sleep.

A more accurate way to think about the God of all comfort is to recognize he’s the only One with access to ALL comfort, i.e. all kinds of comfort. His soothing touch can come in a thousand ways, but there’s never any “Whoops. I should have tried something else.”

A case in point was when I was newly crushed after losing my long-term beach buddy, sister Mary (preceding post). Unbeknownst to me, it was several years earlier that God had set up gentle comfort for me during this time.

Beach walkwayBack in 2013, our home association began building a sturdy walkway and deck leading from a small, sandy parking lot to the beach.

As Mary and I arrived one day, workmen were digging deep, round holes to establish strong pilings that would hold up the walkway. After digging the holes, they put in plump, white pipe-like forms resembling giant versions of what’s under a kitchen sink. Each was 12″ in diameter.

Next they stood hefty wooden 6” X 6” posts inside the “pipes” and poured in concrete for stability. As Mary and I left the beach that day, the crew had just finished, and she couldn’t resist the wet concrete. “Hey,” she said, “let’s leave a fingerprint.”

Walkway supportMary bent over the first post and firmly pressed in her right thumb, making a mark that only she could.

In the weeks that followed, the walkway was completed, and neither of us mentioned “her impression” again. We actually forgot about it, but of course God didn’t. Instead he filed it under “All comfort,” saving it for use three years hence.

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Sunset buddies

 

The day finally came when Mary and I sat side-by-side at the beach for the last time. She talked about what was just ahead for her, with terminal cancer. “I hope I don’t die during the summer. That would be hard. September or October would be the best time.”

God gave her that wish. She died in September of 2016.

After that, it was difficult to think of being alone on the sand without my beach buddy, but eventually I did go back. Sitting in that peaceful place, though, where she and I had shared 70 summers, was painful.

A markThat was the moment when God dipped into his file of “All Comfort” and eased my grief with one sweet thought. He reminded me of Mary’s permanent mark on this cherished place, still there where she put it – a small thing, but it brought big comfort on that hard day.

Though God had access to all kinds of comfort-choices, he picked the one that worked.

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort.” (2 Corinthians 1:3)

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)