Yearly Archives: 2009

The Ties that Bind

Posted on by

Nate was big on holidays. Our firstborn was 11 months old on his first Christmas, and we bought the little guy 17 presents. It was a classic case of overkill, and as any experienced parent could have predicted, he was crying with frustration by the end of the unwrapping session. All he wanted was the first gift, the one we ripped out of his hands so we could put the second gift into them, then the third, etc.

Last Christmas, our 36th with children, we each drew one name from a hat and bought one gift for that person. Whew… a much wiser, calmer Christmas morning. That’s not to say, however, we still didn’t lean toward extremes now and then. Take Nate’s approach to holiday neck ties. He loved receiving a new tie, and every year under the tree there was sure to be a long, flat box foretelling he was about to receive another one. Tie-buying children thought he would be disappointed with such a humble gift, but Nate lovingly wore his ties to the frayed stage, bragging about which child had purchased which one.

Christmas ties

Altogether he had over 100 neckties, and I accused him of tie-gluttony. More than 40 of them had holiday themes. He wore candy hearts on Valentine’s Day, shamrocks on St. Patrick’s Day, purple plaid on Easter, flags on the 4th of July, pilgrims on Thanksgiving, and balloons on New Year’s Day. But the category with the greatest abundance was Christmas.

Nate had enough Christmas ties not to have to repeat even once during the holiday season. Although he had snowmen, Santas, nativity scenes, Snoopy and Christmas trees, his favorite was a red tie with big candy canes on it. That was also the one with the most salad dressing stains, the price it paid for peak popularity.

Nate’s ties became legendary at the office, or should I say comical. His last day at work was September 23, and we returned once after that, ostensibly to say goodbye. That last visit was bittersweet for Nate and also for his office mates, some who had tears in their eyes. Hugs were plentiful, and although no one said it with words, we all knew each was the last. That kind of goodbye must rank among life’s most painful experiences.

Nate’s co-workers knew he was coming that day and prepared a loving gesture that touched us both deeply. They wore holiday neckties and jewelry, even though it was October. Nate got the joke right away and appreciated their effort. I wondered as the twenty or so of us sat in the conference room if he let his thoughts travel to the coming Christmas season and his own tie wardrobe, wondering if he might make it that far. Knowing he knew it was unlikely is a grievous thought.

A couple of weeks ago, I brought the holiday ties out of their storage basket where they’d been rolled neatly since last January. We spread them on the dining room table, and all of us enjoyed handling these remembrances of Nate. “Oh, I remember this one most of all,” Birgitta said. “This reminds me so much of Papa.”

“I want to keep this one,” Louisa said.

“And I want that one,” someone else chimed in.

We sent a few ties to friends we knew would take pleasure in having them and bundled the rest into a box to send to the office. Some could be worn. Others could be used as decorations. All would be appropriate reminders of a guy who dearly loved each of his co-workers.

Our church hymnal has a song entitled “Blest Be the Tie that Binds.” Written in the late 1700’s, it refers to the sweet bond of friendship, a “fellowship of kindred minds” and says, “Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one.” The last verse talks about Nate’s final visit to the office: “When we asunder part, it gives us inward pain; but we shall still be joined in heart, and hope to meet again.”

May Nate’s Christmas ties be the “tie that binds.”

“Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.” (Romans 12:15)




Record – keeping Mania

Posted on by

After a husband dies, his wife is automatically enrolled in Record-keeping 101. The struggles we‘ve heard about for new widows are legendary, stories of husbands never having told their wives about their income or bank accounts, and wives having to rely on guesswork to unravel the mysteries.

Although Nate was a lawyer and knew the importance of keeping records, he wasn’t good at gathering them to a central location. At work he stacked manila folders atop file cabinets, credenzas, chairs, on the floor around his desk and in the foot well. Although he could put his finger on a specific sheet of paper at a moment’s notice, no one else could find a thing. And since he died, that’s been the dilemma facing all of us.

When someone we love is terminally ill, we push “terminal” to the back of our minds and focus on “today”. Asking a sick person to give us information we’ll need after they’ve died is a touchy task. How do you sit with a clipboard voicing one question after another without tipping your hand that you’re thinking past his demise?

I have a dear friend who is 84 years old, whose husband of 60 years died last August. While visiting, I found her in the middle of transferring accounts from his name to hers. The task had become a mountain to climb, despite her having excellent business savvy and flawless records. “I work on it a little at a time,” she told me, “but then have to put it away. It’s exhausting.”

As we talked, I noticed multiple piles of manila folders on the floor around her favorite chair. She knew what was in each one, just as Nate knew. The only difference was her piles were two inches tall, and Nate’s were two feet.

At that time in late August, Nate and I knew nothing of his cancer. My heart went out to this friend having to struggle so long and hard with the paperwork of widowhood. At the end of our conversation, she showed me a stapled set of three papers entitled “Estate Administration Information Checklist.” It was all about deeds, trusts, contracts, wills, insurance policies, stocks, bank accounts, loans, titles, pensions, taxes and other documents. There were 69 items on the checklist.

It occurred to me that if anything happened to Nate, I wasn’t equipped to handle such a list. My friend then gave it to me. “You can have it,” she said. “It’s an extra copy.”

I took it with me and put it in a dresser drawer, planning to study it later. But in three weeks I’d been told my husband, too, was going to die. I knew I needed to pull out the list and ask Nate the hard questions, so I tucked it into my journal and saw its edge protruding every day, pressuring me to talk to him. My instinct, however, told me to enjoy each moment rather than spoil our time together with cold-hearted quizzing. After the first three of our six weeks had gone by, Nate wouldn’t have been able to answer the questions anyway.

Today I slipped into discouragement trying to make a chart of Nate’s doctors, their addresses, phone numbers, the dates of his appointments and what occurred there, over three years of time. All of a sudden, at a low moment, Nate sent me a message. Actually, he sent two.

Cupid's heart Post-its 2

Paging through old calendars looking for scheduling clues, I found one of his Post-it notes clinging to the month of May. He’d drawn a heart with a Cupid’s arrow on green paper. I’d seen his Post-it hearts before and recognized this as his “I love you” to me. Five calendar pages later, there was a second one, this time on a yellow Post-it. They were just the boost I needed to continue my hunt for information, and by the end of the day, Nate’s doctor list was complete.

“The Lord will guide you continually, giving you water when you are dry and restoring your strength. You will be like a well-watered garden, like an ever-flowing spring.” (Isaiah 58:11)

Being Chosen

Posted on by

Tension escalated in gym class when the PE teacher picked two captains and asked them to select their teams. Some kids waved their arms, shouting “Pick me! Pick me!” The rest of us stood in a lump of wanna-be-picked, wearing the best expression of pleading we could muster. No one doubted the physically coordinated would be chosen first, but once they were in place behind their captains, those of us who were left felt our palms begin to sweat and our egos begin to bruise.

Being left until the very end, the last-man-standing, was about as humiliating as it could get for a young school kid. We all wanted to be picked before it came to that. Anything but that!

But what if we’re picked for something we don’t want? When Nate and I first learned about his cancer, it took a few days for the harsh truth to sink in. We were stunned, saddened, shocked. We went home and googled for facts about the disease and immediately thereafter began treatment.

Hearing it, researching it, treating it. Boom, boom, boom.

While we were focused on jumping through those hoops of misery, Nate received a letter from a close friend: “We love you and want to encourage you during these difficult days. At the same time, we know the Lord makes no mistakes. Nate, it’s hard for me to say this, but I feel he has selected you to be his testimony to many…”

Selected. Chosen. Picked… to experience terminal pancreatic cancer. None of us wants to be singled out for this team. All of us would rather be the last-man-standing.

Tom, Hans, Nate Oct 25

His letter knocked us flat, but as we talked about Nate’s friend’s words, it dawned on us he was probably right. God doesn’t afflict people with diseases just for the fun of it. There’s only one reason he would allow such anguish to take over a life and eventually take that life, and it would be to bring about something valuable as a result.

The more I think about the letter and the author’s statement that Nate was “selected” to suffer cancer and die as an example to many, the more I’m amazed at God. He chose Nate, and he chose well, because Nate was an excellent example of how to live through affliction. He didn’t fall apart even when he knew death was near. There was no railing against God, no angry “why me?” and no giving way to despair. He was a superb model of how to suffer and die, and he finished well.

The letter continued: “You can be God’s testimony to our and your children, those you work with, and Sunday school kids you have taught. We are praying your testimony will honor the Lord, even when you are weak and in pain.”

That friend’s prayers were answered. Nate never thought of himself as an example while he was busy tackling one day at a time, but already we’ve seen good things happen as a result of his life and death. People have been encouraged to persevere through their own conflicts and struggles, citing him as the oomph behind their willingness to keep trying. Some have begun the difficult process of pondering their own mortality. Others have taken a new look at God and his ways.

Nate’s being chosen to suffer in front of the rest of us as an example was, in a way, a privilege. That’s because the Lord considered him able to handle it. And because Nate accepted it as God’s will and took on the challenge with courage, the cancer’s power to devastate and destroy was negated. I’m sure the enemy’s anger was fierce as Nate’s foundation didn’t wobble under the worst possible stress. And the credit for that goes to God,who had prepared him ahead of time by setting his feet firmly on the Rock.

“[The Lord] set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along. Many will see what he has done and be amazed. They will put their trust in the Lord.” (Psalm 40:2b-3)