Monthly Archives: November 2010

Remembering the Wake

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A year ago today, our family got dressed in black and assembled in a Chicago funeral home for Nate’s wake, a difficult day that began rushing toward us the moment he died. Thinking back, I remember with a shudder how I felt as we drove the old mini-van from Michigan to Chicago. Nelson was at the wheel, others were in the back, and my mind was swirling with a thousand details. Had we covered all the bases? Were we factoring in the time change from EST to CST? Did we bring the programs? Would we be able to bear what this day would bring?

But God was ready with a special something to calm my fears and bring a measure of peace. As we drove, my cell rang, and I heard the unmistakable Scottish accent of Colin Smith, our former pastor. He would be doing Nate’s service and was calling to reassure me. Reminding me Nate was  in the presence of Christ on this day, he pulled my attention toward eternal positives and brought welcome relief to my spirit.

I also remember walking into the funeral home, greeted warmly by the personnel there, on a day when my frame of mind was freezing cold. The low point of the day came as I stepped into the room where Nate’s casket was positioned at the far end, wondering if my knees would buckle.

Seeing him there was a more powerful confirmation of his death than seeing him at home in the hospital bed immediately after he died. Lying in the bed he looked exactly as we’d expected at the conclusion of terminal, stage 4, pancreatic cancer. At the funeral home, in a casket, dressed in a business suit and wearing make-up, he looked out of place and awful. It was hard to look at his face, because that wasn’t my Nate.

Today I’m remembering with gratitude the long line of sympathizers who made the effort to attend that wake, who greeted me with memories of Nate and words of reassurance. As I hugged people, without realizing it I gradually inched away from Nate’s casket toward the back of the room. Several good friends tapped me on the shoulder and said, “You ought to move back toward Nate.” But I was far more composed half-a-room away.

In thinking back to Nate’s wake, my wish is that I could watch a video replay of each attendee and listen to our conversations again. So much of it was blurred because of the strain of that day. But I do remember the warmth that flowed over me as I received people, a stark contrast to the trembling cold I felt while looking at Nate’s body.

My family and I are still in the land of the living, which makes standing next to the dead an alien experience. But by God’s design, one day all of us will again stand next to Nate, who will be very much alive and well. That joyful truth will be the grand finale of his sad earthly wake. As rough as that day was, it wasn’t God’s final word.

There will be much more to the story.

”We will not be spirits without bodies. While we live in these earthly bodies, we groan and sigh… We want to put on our new bodies so that these dying bodies will be swallowed up by life.” (2 Corinthians 5:3-4)

Surfing the Waves

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In our family history, last November 5 was a quiet day, the lull before the storm, so to speak. It was a day wedged between Nate’s death and his funeral, a period of calm after six weeks of running hard, being sad, worrying continually, losing sleep and getting tossed by the emotional waves of disease and death.

This web site, www.GettingThroughThis.com, has a picture of a giant, crashing wave as its banner. It depicts what surfers call a “tunnel” inside of rolling water so powerful it could easily overwhelm and destroy. There’s only one way to avoid being swamped, and that’s to progress through the tunnel, but with one critical condition: to keep moving forward.

Fifteen months ago we started this site with the hope it would encourage readers who were “going through” difficulties. No two of us are dealing with the same struggles, but all of us struggle. As I began posting blogs, I had no idea Nate’s cancer would soon be the white water pounding all around us. By the name “getting through this” I’d been thinking of universal frustrations such as trying to sell a house in an unstable market or coping with financial difficulty. My husband’s death? Unthinkable!

And yet that’s what our family has been “getting through” during this last 12 months. Although we’ve been trying to keep moving forward, once in a while we’ve been caught in a whirlpool, swirling round and round in the same sad place. Because of God’s involvement, however, our “getting through this” has gradually moved forward the way an expert surfer moves through the tunnel of a monster-size wave.

“Getting through” life’s challenges can feel much like surfing. Trying to sell a house might be like managing a gentle swell, while financial difficulties could be a rougher wave-ride. But when a family member dies, we feel threatened with an overhead crash. Nevertheless, the principle of survival remains the same: keep moving forward.

But can we do it without firm footing? The technical description of how a wave is formed hints at the answer:”Wind transfers some of its energy to the water by way of friction between the air molecules and water molecules.”

Waves gain energy from friction, and so can we. When life becomes abrasive, we know God is willing to provide adequate energy right behind it. He’s willing to blow a wind of vigor and endurance into our lives more powerful than any surfing wave, so potent that not even geyser-high troubles can engulf us.

Our family has asked God for that energy and endurance a thousand times during this last year, and God never said, “Not this time.”

Instead he’s delivered and “gotten us through” our tunnel of sorrow and change, one section at a time, always ahead of a swamping crash. He’s been the one who’s kept us from going under by reestablishing firm footing on biblical truth every time we felt our feet swept out from under us. But why not? We’re children of the God who has complete control over wind and waves… both water waves and waves of trouble.

Without him, though, we would surely have drowned.

“He calmed the storm to a whisper and stilled the waves. What a blessing was that stillness as he brought them safely into harbor!” (Psalm 107:29-30)

Carved in Stone

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Last year at this time our thoughts were reeling as we worked through a long to-do list of planning Nate’s wake and funeral. This morning as I woke to the music of rain on my roof, I was thankful not to be planning a funeral.

In remembering that chaotic time, I recall that none of us gave a thought to a cemetery gravestone. As it turned out, the job didn’t get done for a year. Today, however, I followed the instructions given by the Rosehill representative and emailed our choices to him, surprised at how difficult that chore turned out to be.

Nelson had sketched a rough drawing of the stone we wanted, adding the capital letters of Nate’s names (and mine), along with dates. Having decided to match my father’s family headstone nearby, our choices weren’t difficult to make. But it was very hard tapping out the email. I made one mistake after another, and my fingers acted like they’d never touched a keyboard. My hands were shaking, and it was almost more than I could accomplish.

Creating a gravestone is serious business. I’m sure that’s where the expression “carved in stone” originated, a description of something that can’t be changed. And as headstones go, that’s true. Once the letters and numbers have been carved into granite, that’s it.

I checked and rechecked my short email to the cemetery, making endless corrections. Digging out the photo of Dad’s family headstone, I studied it with new eyes and unexpectedly felt a strong connection to the carved list of long-buried relatives. Except for my parents, I’d not met any of them.

Dad was only 12 when his father bought this Rosehill plot of graves  in 1911. Twenty-month old William had died of pneumonia, necessitating the purchase. Years ago Dad described that sad funeral, telling how he’d visited the cemetery a few days later, hunting in the snow for the yet-unmarked grave of his little brother. How excruciating must the pain have been for Dad’s parents as they sketched out the headstone for this child?

When the baby’s mother, my grandmother, died 14 months later at 43, Dad and his remaining family were forced back to Rosehill, suffering new sorrow as they buried another loved one. Dad’s father, suddenly a widower, must have felt unbearable pain as he requested his wife’s name be carved into their headstone.

In thinking of these relatives, I had a new reason to be thankful: Nate didn’t have to choose my headstone. Because of his incredible devotion to me, this task would have been nearly impossible for him. Widowhood isn’t easy, but Nate becoming a widower would have been much worse.

Tonight the Lord reminded me that one day this headstone business will all be over. Although I don’t understand it, Scripture says every grave will burst open and give up its dead.

And when this happens, carving names into granite will have finally come to a permanent end.

“Christians who have died will rise from their graves… We who are still alive… will be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. Then we will be with the Lord forever. So encourage each other with these words.” (1 Thessalonians 4:16b-18)