When death is coming

Posted on by

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 smallerWhen 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)

Two Weeks Ago

Posted on by

Today marks two weeks without Nate. He is all I think about, and I still let my mind meditate in detail on the moments of his last days. This seems odd, seeing as 14 days have passed, but trauma makes its mark, and I can’t think apart from it.

“Should I stop blogging about your father?” I asked several of our grown kids. “Will people get tired of hearing about his fight with cancer and his death?”

They all responded that losing my husband two weeks ago doesn’t constitute a reason to move on. I was thankful for their answer. It’s therapeutic for me to talk, write and think about Nate.

Today I was thinking back two Tuesdays ago to a few minutes after Nate died. All of us were at a loss as to what to do next. Life had increased in intensity from the day of his cancer diagnosis until his death, which was somewhat like the conclusion of a fast-paced drama. How do you follow that? And how do you avoid falling off an emotional cliff when it’s all over?

We had decided that night we’d do what Nate would want us to do and eat the Chinese carry-out food we’d just put on our plates the moment before he chose to move into eternity. Just before we began eating, each of us feeling subdued and strange, we needed a quick boost.

Earlier in the afternoon while Nate slept, I’d opened the day’s mail. In it was a letter to Nate written by a four-decades-long friend of ours, Lynn. As we sat with our dinner plates on our laps in the living room as we’d done when Nate was in his lazy-boy there, I decided to read from the letter:

“Nate, you are a fine example of running the good race, keeping a steady pace even when the ‘walls’ of life hit you hard. In keeping with this theme, we got an idea for the Chicago Marathon this month (Oct.). Tim, our son-in-law, a hematologist, ran for a leukemia/lymphoma research organization. He also ran for YOU as a symbolic gesture of support for the good race you have run, Nate. We sponsored Tim by donating cash we collected from creative ways to save. We hope you will accept this gift with all our love behind it. There were thousands who read the little banner on his back and prayed for you that day. And we are still cheering you on!”

Lynn enclosed a photo of her son-in-law’s running shirt with Nate’s name on it, and we passed it around the room. Also enclosed was a check for $328, an incredibly important gift because of what it represented. Just at the time when the head of our family passed away, another family was saying how important his life had been to them. The letter was also sprinkled with happy memories of Nate, along with a description of their high regard for him.

marathon smaller

On first glance, it seems like the letter had arrived too late. After all, it was addressed to Nate, and he died an hour after it arrived into our home. He was unable to open it or read it.

In hindsight, however, I believe the letter had a much loftier purpose by surfacing when it did. Exactly at the time Nate finished running his earthly race, we read from a letter describing that very image in reference to him. It was as if God put an exclamation point behind Nate’s life. After all, the race verses were his favorite in all of the Bible.

In addition to that, Lynn’s letter gave us the boost we needed at the lowest moment our family has ever experienced. I don’t doubt that God carefully orchestrated the whole thing. Just after Nate “disappeared” and we were struggling to focus on the truth of the unseen rather than the gaunt, cancer-ravaged reality we were looking at, Lynn’s letter provided visible evidence of a race well run. Her words highlighted Nate’s specific race and made us grateful he had crossed God’s finish line.

“We look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.” (2 Corinthians 4:18)

“Let us run with patience the race that is set before us.” (Hebrews 12:1b)

Back to the Cemetery

Posted on by

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 7th, 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 smallWhen 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)