Death | Grandma's Ramblings

Today I said goodbye to a dear friend. Strange that I would call her a dear friend as I only knew her a few months.

Carolyn became a friend when my pastor asked me if I would go with her to visit an elderly woman. Carolyn was in the final stages of a lung disease which was slowly taking her life. She had been battling the disease for a few years but now it had become advanced to the point that she was on oxygen 24/7. She was confined to her house and even to her recliner as the smallest task was too great for her.

After meeting Carolyn my pastor, Carolyn and I agreed that I would visit her on Fridays and take communion to her. Friday mornings found me at Carolyn’s house where I would have a cup of coffee with her, share a small devotion from God’s Word and we would take communion together.

My visits quickly became a highlight of my week. Carolyn was so alert, so intelligent and so interested in the world around her. We would share stories of our life. However, I think I shared more of my life as she would ask question after question. She was particularly interested in all the places I had lived. Since she had lived all her life in mid-Michigan, she seemed fascinated by my experiences in never staying in one place too long.

She loved QVC and more than once I carried in boxes from her front porch that Federal Express had left with her purchases from the network. A retired schoolteacher she had stories that made us laugh as she related of the antics of the students she taught.

After a visit with Carolyn, I always left feeling humbled. Here was a woman restricted to a chair or bed 24/7. She could not go to church, go to the store. She could not even walk out in her yard and see all the beautiful flowers planted there. She had to rely on others to fix her breakfast and help her get dressed. Yet she always had a sweet smile on her face and I never heard her once complain.

It was clear her family was of great importance to her and she often shared stories of her grandchildren. I never left without hearing her speak of how wonderful her son, her daughter and her son-in-law were; how much she appreciated the care they gave her.

At the last visit I had with Carolyn I realized she would not be with us much longer. She looked so tired. Hospice was now coming every week. Still, with little energy and no doubt the understanding that her life was slowly ending, she had a smile on her face. Her son was there and she wanted me to tell him about all the places I had lived. Still focused on others rather than herself.

Last Friday I was getting ready to visit her when her daughter texted me not to come. Her Mom had been in bed the last four days, and it was clear she was not going to live much longer. On Saturday I got the call that she was gone.

Today at the funeral as I could not hold back the tears, I again asked myself how I could grieve so much over someone I barely knew.

But that was the kind of person Carolyn was. She made me feel important, interesting and a person of worth. She made our visits interesting as she was curious about everything.

Tomorrow, I will miss getting in my car and driving to Carolyn’s house. I will miss our sharing of our lives. But I have hope.

Someday I will see Carolyn again. And we can continue the friendship we started here.

The Sailing Ship by Bishop Charles Henry Brent

This song from the 70’s is special to me. My first husband played this song every day for weeks before he was killed in an accident. I had it sung at his funeral. It’s a comfort to know he is “home where he belongs.”

I look forward to the day when I join him and I’ll be “home where I belong.”

Speak of Christmas and we think of bright lights, beautiful decorations, parties, carols and family gatherings. We sing about joy, peace and a silent night where all is calm, all is bright. (But was it?)

https://barblaneblog.com/2023/12/15/was-it-a-silent-night/ 

Christmas can be a sad, difficult time for some. There is grief for loved ones who are no longer with us. Perhaps they are deceased, or just simply too far away to be home for Christmas. 

Perhaps this year they are homeless. For them, no decorated tree, no presents. The year may have brought illness or divorce or unemployment.

As a Christian even in these difficult situations, we have reason to rejoice. We know that God is with us. We know that there is hope for the future because of the hope of eternal life.

Still, we feel sadness or pain. 

For those in troubled times, Christmas can be the longest night. Sadly, we often do not allow those hurting to be able to express their pain. They are forced to put on a happy face and pretend all is well. 

I found myself in this position the first Christmas after my husband died. My extended family gathered for a meal and there was laughter and joy. I kept waiting for someone to mention that they missed my husband or ask me and my daughters how we were. But no one said a word. It was as if my husband had never existed. At one point one of my sisters apparently saw my sad face and asked me, “What’s wrong?” I wanted to scream, “I’m hurting.” But I just smiled and said there was nothing wrong. I was just fine.

To give credit to my family, my older sister later told me they had all agreed not to mention my husband or his death because they thought it would be easier for me if they did not talk about him or acknowledge his absence. 

Thankfully my pastor (who is also my daughter and understands dealing with pain at Christmas) offered a service this week to those who find themselves struggling this year with pain. She offered them a place to be allowed to feel their sorrow, their grief, maybe even their anger. In the midst of that time, she also reminded them that Christmas means God is with us. We can find in Him the strength we need to go on. We can find in Him the hope that this too will pass. We were invited to take a candle, share our pain with Him and as we blew out the candle, commit it all into His hands.

Although it has been years since my first husband died and I have been happily married again for almost 40 years, it was good to take time to remember this dear man with whom I shared two beautiful daughters. There were people there who had lost their mother this year and this gave them a moment to acknowledge their grief.

The message of Christmas – “God with us” – is cause to rejoice and be glad. But I encourage my readers if you are dealing with a difficult time, it is okay to express that sorrow. That is the whole point of Christmas. Jesus said, “Come unto me all you who labor and are weary, and I will give you rest.” But to receive that rest, we need to be able to acknowledge that we are weary. Take your sorrow, your grief, even your anger to the one who truly understands and loves you.

If you have a family member who is going through a tough time this season, I encourage you to be sensitive to them. To allow them to share their pain if they need to. Allow them to not share their pain if they choose that. Be aware of others and not condemn those who may not be “jolly and bright” this year.

Remember: ”Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.” Psalms 30:5

The last part of March is full of memories for me.

It was March 29 I married my first sweetheart. Lonnie had just come home from a journey of duty as a Marine in Vietnam. We were married and quickly headed out to the USMC base in Quantico, Virginia. We were blessed with almost thirteen years of marriage and given two beautiful daughters, Rebekah Rose and Jessica Lynn. This March 29th we would have celebrated 54 years.

Happy times!

Tragically on March 24, just days before our thirteenth anniversary my beloved husband was killed in an accident. He had told me he had a special evening planned for our anniversary. I often wonder what it would have been.

Sad times!

Three years ago, on March 22 my second husband had emergency surgery for a brain bleed. That was one of the longest days in my life as I wondered if he would live – and if he lived, would his brain be injured beyond repair.

Scarcy times!

So thankful he recovered and is fine now. I tease him that if he had to pick a time to be seriously injured and facing possible death, he could have picked a better date than two days before I lost my first husband.

So – this time of year as I reflect on what March has brought me – good and bad – one thing stands out in my mind. Through it all, the joy and thankfulness that God brought Lonnie home safe from Vietnam and allowed me to be his wife; the sorrow and pain of his death; the fear of losing another husband; the joy and thankfulness that Paul’s life was spared – through it all – God has been there. He has given me the strength in all circumstances.

So March makes me thankful that I am His child! It reminds me that no matter what life may bring my way, with God at my side, I am victorious!

What a week this has been!  Sunday evening my husband was rushed into emergency surgery for a subdural hematoma.  Because of the coronavirus I could not go to the hospital with him.  At 3:30 that afternoon the surgeon’s assistant called me and told me they were doing emergency surgery and without the surgery my husband would not live.  They promised to call me when the surgery was over.  But hours later I still did not have a call.

I finally located ICU and found out that he had come out of surgery and was in a room in their Critical Care Unit.  They assured me they would have the doctor call me.

It was not until 11 PM that a doctor called.

The week has been the most challenging I have ever experienced.  Knowing my husband was in critical condition was bad enough but the fear that he might die without me present kept me awake.

However, I truly believe in the power of God when His people pray.

The earnest prayer of a righteous man has great power and produces wonderful results.  James 5:16

Through my family, my church family and FB the word was put out there and prayers began all around the country.

Sunday evening he was near death’s door.  Today – Friday he is out of ICU and in rehab.  It is clear we have a ways to go – probably one or two more weeks in rehab and then work at home.  But I am rejoicing – his speech is now slow but he can speak and he clearly understands.  His right side is weak and he needs a walker but he can walk.  With more prayers of God’s people and this therapy I’m believing for a complete and total recovery.

However, I realize that for a few weeks or months I will have to carry the burden of keeping our home going and will need to devote more time to him and his recovery.

Therefore, I will give up my blog.  I don’t know if this will be a temporary thing or if I will resume later.

I want to thank all my followers for your kind comments and I have enjoyed many of your blogs also.

God bless you all!

Here’s my song for this time and season.

There seem to be so many articles out there on the web and in sermons today on the importance of believing in God when we pray….the importance of our words.

The Bible is clear that we need to believe in God when we express our petitions to Him.  Even science tells us that what we think – what we speak does affect us.  It is true that constant negativity will lead to depression and discouragement.

Having said that, I think we can take this “faith” issue to an extreme.  A friend once told me to never say I was sick or depressed or worried.  To her that displayed a lack of faith in God.

To me that is just a mind game.

I’m sick, I’m depressed, I’m worried, but if I don’t say it, if I don’t acknowledge I have some doubt, God will never know.  He will answer my prayer because He will think what great faith I have.  NOT!

If God is our Father, then isn’t it better to have a honest, open relationship with Him?  A loving father would be one to whom we could express our deepest feelings and one who would love us and do what He could to help us with those feelings that are not good for us.

I’m so thankful that I believe God loves me not because I am such a great woman of faith, but because I am his daughter.

In the Bible a father brought his child to Jesus to be healed.  When Jesus responded that all things were possible to one who believed, the man’s answer is one I have often prayed.  “Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief.”

I think of the early church that was gathered in prayer when Peter was put in prison.  In answer to their prayers, an angel came and rescued Peter.  Hurrying to the place where the church was meeting, when Peter knocked at the door and a servant girl told those praying that Peter was at the door, they did not believe her.

Obviously they were praying with a lot of doubt.  One could not really blame them.  Just a few days earlier the disciple James had been put in prison and then beheaded.  They had to be in fear that Peter also would suffer the same fate.  In spite of doubts, they prayed and God answered.

Sometimes I pray with great faith fully expecting God to grant my request.  Sometimes I pray with great doubt, afraid.  But in both circumstances I pray.

I think perhaps that is the greatest faith.  To pray to God and to trust that He in His wisdom will do what is best.  To realize I don’t always have the answers and my ways may not be what is best.

Years ago when I met my oncologist for the first time and he told me the odds were not in my favor, the words from Psalm 23 went through my mind.  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for you are with me.”

When God brought that verse to my memory at that moment I wondered:

• Was He saying I was going to beat this disease, going to walk through the valley to more years of a cancer-free life?
• Was He saying I was going to walk through this valley by dying and receiving that hope of eternal life?

I did not know which alternative He had for me, but what I did know was the verse told me I did not need to fear for He would be with me.

So – when I pray, I pray with trust that He is in control and that He will do what is best for me – and that I may not always know what is best.  So – I pray and leave the results to Him.

My confidence, my faith is in who He is – not in how strong a believer I am.

Thirty-eight years ago my beloved husband and father of my two daughters was killed in an accident.  Only those who have suffered the loss of a loved one know what sorrow I felt.

In that first moment when I realized I was a widow at 33 with two little girls to raise, the first thing I did was cry out to God.  Since a small girl I have based my life on my faith in Jesus Christ so it was only natural that my first thoughts were “God help me!”

Immediately a verse from the Bible came to my mind.

“I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

In the days and weeks ahead God gave me the strength and courage I needed to make so many decisions.

Things I had never thought about:

• What funeral home do I use?
• Where do I bury him?
• Will I have enough money for the expenses?
• How will I provide for my girls on my one income?
• How far will his life insurance go?
• Since I have to keep working, who will watch my girls before/after school?
• Do I continue to live where I am or move closer to family for support?
• What do I do with all his clothes, his guns, his personal stuff?

But the biggest decision was “how do I get through a day without him?”

While everyone talked about how strong I was, only God knew how many times I fell to my knees and cried out for strength.  One of my friends had recently recorded this song, “Praise the Lord,” and when I felt I could not go on, I would play this song and as I began praising the Lord, peace would come once again.

But slowly, as the months, then the years went by the burden of my grief became almost more than I could bear.  While the love for my husband did not diminish, I confess I became very lonely.  The idea of all the years stretching ahead of me with no one to share them with me became almost overwhelming.

I began to entertain the thought of finding a new love.  Yet, I felt so terrible even thinking such a thing.

One Sunday in service the speaker sang an old song “Take My Hand Precious Lord.”  The lyrics expressed exactly how I felt.

“Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand.  I am tired, I am weak, I am worn.”

After the song was finished, the speaker invited anyone who was struggling with a burden to come to the altar for a joint prayer with the church.  While I definitely wanted prayer, I did not want to walk to the front of the church – too embarrassing.  As I sat in my seat debating what to do, a old friend of the family who was sitting in the very front of the church got up, walked back to me, held out his hand and invited me to walk to the front with him.  How could I say no when my heart was crying out for relief of this burden of grief?

At the altar I quietly asked God to please take this burden of grief from me.  I could not go on year after year like this.  It suddenly came to me that God could give me peace, but I had to be willing to let go of my grief.  Like a light bulb going off, I realized that I was holding tight to my sorrow because I felt that was all I had left of my husband.  To be willing to stop grieving, to be willing to laugh and love again, I had to “let it go.”

Praying to God to help me, I felt as if a heavy load had been lifted from my shoulders.

I felt the peace of God that passes understanding fill my heart.

Did I quit missing my husband?  Of course not.  Even today I cannot see a young man fishing without seeing my husband with his fishing pole slung over his shoulder.  I cannot see a police officer without seeing my husband in his uniform as a prison guard.

Did I quit loving my husband?  Of course not.  I treasure his memory and look forward to seeing him again some day in the next life.

But I was able to finally understand that constantly grieving, being filled with sorrow was not how he would have wanted me to live.  He would want his memory to bring a smile and he would want me to live and laugh again.

I let my pain go – and accepted the peace Jesus offered me.

Another song I now love to hear that says it so well:

“And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you were never left alone ‘Cause you can always count on Jesus’ name.  And if there’s one thing I pray it’s that Jesus helps you find a way to make a change and listen to your heart.  God will take away your pain if you choose to let it go, if there’s one thing I know.”

By this post I do not mean to sound like Pollyanna and to those who are suffering unbearable grief, I know it is not an easy thing.  But I do hope you will seek the peace of God and allow Him to help you.

My mother, Fern, and me, Barbara Fern

In the last years of my mother’s life she lived in southern Illinois while I lived over 300 miles away in northern Illinois.  I worked a Monday-Friday job and my husband was a pastor which meant his job required work on the weekends.  Thus, it was hard to have a chance to get away for a few days to visit her.

We took some vacation time and made a visit three or four times a year.  When we drove in the driveway she was always standing at the door anticipating our arrival.  Every time we left she would stand on the porch and wave until we were out of sight.

Becoming interested in doing genealogy research on my family I began asking Mom and Dad to tell me more about their childhood.  On one of our last visits, they took my husband and I to the cemeteries where grandparents were buried, to the place where my mother grew up, to the school my dad attended as a small boy.  My husband took a videotape of our adventures that day.

In February 2006 my husband retired and I was so excited as that meant we would have weekends free to visit my parents.  Now I could visit more and begin writing down their stories and take pictures of places from their childhood.

So, early in April we sat out to visit my parents.  I knew Mother would be so happy to hear that I was going to be able to start coming down more and that I wanted to hear more about her childhood and her family.

My excitement soon turned to worry.  When we arrived I found my Mother in great pain.  She had made a doctor’s appointment for that afternoon.  I took her to the doctor expecting to hear that she had some “bug” that would require some medicine and rest.  All prepared to stay and help her recover, I was shocked when the doctor admitted her to the hospital for tests.

The first couple of days seem pretty routine and we had some great visits in her hospital room – just the two of us talking.  On the third day Mom took a turn for the worse and I called my two sisters to come.  Something was wrong – much more than routine.

Mom quickly went downhill as the days passed and it became clear she was not going to make it.  The time came when we had to make that dreaded decision.  Do we continue to do treatments that were clearly painful or do we let her die with dignity and in peace?  A tough decision.

A few days later Mom was gone.

Gone – before I got to write down those stories.

Gone – before I got to spend more time with her.

It has now been thirteen years since Mom left.  As I age myself I begin to understand her more.  I find myself doing and saying things to my children that she once did and said to me.  Often I see that my comments are not welcome.  I’m being bossy, old-fashion, interfering.  All the things I once thought about my mother.  Now I realize while she may have been (and I certainly am) bossy, old-fashion and interfering, her motives were one of love.

Gone – before I could say, “Mom I understand you now.”

Gone – before I could say, “Mom, I’m sorry.”

Yesterday it was 37 years since my first husband was killed in an accident.  He died when the car he was working on fell on top of him and crushed him.  My two young daughters came home from school and found him there.  Needless to say, it was quite a traumatic experience for them.

All of the events surrounding that day are forever entrenched in my mind.  But one memory that still haunts me occurred about six weeks after the funeral.

At the time of his death as I tried to comfort my daughters, my youngest daughter seemed not to really be upset or need any comforting.  As family and friends came in for the funeral she enjoyed playing with cousins and friends and appeared to have no sorrow for her father’s death.

At first I thought it was just shock but after the funeral was over and weeks began to pass she still shown no sign of any trauma or sorrow.

I began wondering what kind of daughter I was raising.

Finally, about six weeks later she came to me and asked a question I will never forget.

“Mommy, when will Daddy stop being dead and come home?”

Oh my!!!

It was then I realized what she had been thinking all this time.

A few months before his death he had injured his back and was in the hospital for almost two weeks.  At that time the hospital did not allow young children in the rooms so when I went to see him I would have them stand in the yard just outside his window.  He would come to the window and wave at them.

When he was discharged from the hospital we had a party!  The girls made a sign “Welcome home Daddy” and we hung it just over the door to the kitchen.  We had cake and ice cream and celebrated that Daddy was home with us once again.

At that moment, I realized my young daughter did not understand what “dead” meant.  She had apparently thought it was just another injury and that Daddy would be coming home again.

That moment was one of the hardest times of my life.

I sat her down and sadly had to tell her:

“Daddy is dead,  Dead means he will never come home again.”

I still remember her face!

Tears swelled up in her eyes and she fell into my arms and cried.  Clearly her heart was broken.

No one can measure the trauma and pain both my daughters experienced because of their father’s accidental death.  Or the pain I felt seeing them hurting and feeling so inadequate for the task of helping them in this difficult time.

But one thing I learned – and I trust they did too.

Although death – or sometimes divorce or abandonment by a father – can leave us fatherless, we still have a heavenly father who loves and cares for us.

In the months and years ahead I have both experienced that heavenly father’s protection and love for me but also seen His help to my daughters.

I do not pretend to know why my daughters lost their earthly father but I thank God that we have a heavenly father who cares and who helps us when we walk through that valley of the shadow of death – or any other difficult time.

And I praise God that He has given both my daughters a family of their own to love and to have their love.

I also praise God that as a Christian I believe although that little girl’s daddy could not come back home to her – some day she will join him in the new home God has made for them both.

What a great reunion!