She Left One Year Ago Today - I Still Miss Her

She was known as Grandma Gloria to the neighborhood children, as Mom to her own children, as Gloria to her friends, but I knew her as Aunt Gloria - a safe place, an adult I could count on. I remember her as kind and caring and her home as a welcoming, familiar place. Second in familiarity only to my own home and the homes of my siblings. As I pause on this day, the first anniversary of her passing, to remember her, many memories come to mind, many pictures of her stored in my mental scrapbook. A few stand out as representative of the woman I knew her to be.

One day when I was in Kindergarten, I got off the bus, as usual, but something not usual at all faced me. I couldn't find any of my family at home. Being the youngest of 6 children living on a dairy farm, our house was rarely empty, so it was a surprise to come home and find it so. The first person to come to mind, the first safe place to go besides my own home, was Aunt Gloria's. Her phone number and my own were only one digit different, so I memorized her number almost as soon as I knew my own. I used the green, rotary wall phone in our kitchen and called her. I explained my predicament and she told me to come right over. She would watch me from her kitchen window as I crossed the road and walked to her house, making sure I arrived safely. I did arrive safely and there I stayed until my parents came home.

She was also my Primary Class Sunday School teacher. I sat at the wooden table in a metal folding chair while she taught us stories from the Bible and lessons about God and life. She had a habit while she was teaching of twisting the pieces of her pen back and forth - tip out, tip in, tip out, tip in. With each turn you could hear a little click. This was part of Sunday School in her class. To this day, when I twist a pen open or closed, I think of her. Funny the little things that stick in our memories and bring a person back to us as clearly as if they are still right there with us in the room.

Often for school we had fundraisers that required us to go door to door selling one thing or another.  In middle school and high school, it was chocolate bars. I hated this ritual of going door to door selling things. Somehow to me it felt like begging and I hated the rejection of people saying, "No." But Aunt Gloria never said no to whatever I was forced to sell, she was always a sure sale and not only to me, but to other kids in the neighborhood. As a kid, I appreciated that sure sale, that generosity, that kindness that made doing something I hated a little less painful.

Another time as a young adult, I had two friends over for homemade pizza. We had the pizza assembled and ready to pop in the oven when we discovered that the element had gone bad and the oven that was supposed to have been preheating was stone cold. Once again I dialed that ever familiar number. Sure, we could use her oven. What temperature did we need to have it set at? Off we traipsed across the road, carrying our pizzas, across the lawn, up her front steps, through the living room, and into the kitchen to bake our lunch - catastrophe averted.

She was just that kind of person - warm, welcoming, generous, and hard-working. Although she had a house to run, food to preserve, lawn to mow, a farm to help her husband run, 5 children to raise, and church functions to attend, her home was clean and tidy any time I visited and despite her many activities she always had time for people.

A couple of months before she passed away, I went to her home to borrow some photos for my mother's memorial service. We had a lovely time reminiscing about the past, hearing stories of her earlier days. When it came time for me to leave, she told me to come again and not to wait so long next time. Sadly, I wouldn't have many more opportunities to visit her and the next time I came it was to help her daughter care for her as she faced her final days.

She was a lovely, gracious lady - a safe and welcoming place for many youngsters and friends alike.  She is loved and missed.

Alzheimer's - Another Face of Grief

Grief wears many faces. The person standing in the unemployment line. A family that lost a home and pets in a fire. The mother who lost a child. The father who receives the news that his child has a serious birth defect. The woman who has to have her leg amputated. The husband who has to bury his bride. The young surgeon who receives a diagnosis of terminal cancer. The grandparents who know their granddaughter died at the hands of a drunk driver. The person who receives news of a life-changing chronic illness. The family who loses a beloved pet. Alzheimer's Disease (AD) is yet another face of grief.

AD takes away a loved one little by little. A once active, well-spoken woman who raised 6 children, ran a home, mentored young women, loved her husband, sewed clothes, sang at weddings begins to change. At 82 she watches the home she designed and her husband built for her burn to the ground. Her family notices that she is defensive, angry, having difficulty understanding some important factors of her husband's diabetes. Is it the beginning of Alzheimer's or the trauma of losing her home and having to start again in her early 80s? She and her husband move into their new home and she seems to become more like herself, yet there are still small changes.

Then her husband dies. After 65 years of marriage, a huge loss. A loss that would send anyone reeling. She adapts to living alone, but slowly changes become more apparent. She is unable to fill her own pill case, then she is unable to remember to take her pills. Her meals become more and more simple until she is having trouble even operating the microwave. She begins to have trouble remembering people. Eventually she is unsure of who people are and how they are related to her.

Slowly, over the months and years her family loses her, while she is still with them. Sometimes she remembers them and other times not. Her speech becomes garbled and communication becomes difficult as she struggles to find the words to express her thoughts. Social ques are missed and behaviors are often inappropriate.

Her body is still there, becoming more and more frail. She, a once vibrant, active, hard-working, talented woman becomes trapped inside a frail body and a confused mind. Still there are vestiges of the woman that once was - a clinging to her faith as she recites John 3:16 like she is holding fast to a lifesaver in a treacherous sea; her love for music as she plays the piano at 2 a.m. or watches Lawrence Welk over and over; her dislike of clutter and desire for order. Somewhere under the disease, inside the frail body, occasionally peeking out of the traitorous brain is the essence of the woman that once was.

Her family grieves. Lost is the opportunity to taste her cooking. Gone is the ability to carry on an adult conversation with her. Left behind are excursions to museums, parks, zoos, berry picking, gardening, and shopping. Recipes and memories that have not been written down may become extinct. Yet in the midst of all the losses, of what was that will never be again, there is an opportunity to keep recreating the relationship. Where we used to go shopping, now we watch episodes of Lawrence Welk. Where once we watched movies together, now we read children's books or look at photo albums. Our activities change, but while she remains there is the chance to love her, to minister to her, to enter into her world and connect however we can. There is the chance to hear her voice and to hear her play the piano, the opportunity to hug her gently, to comb her hair, to take her for a ride or to church. Every moment is filled both with grief and with the opportunity to seize every chance to cherish her presence while she is still here.

Each of the stories in this series, is the story of one or more persons who touched my heart, who left a footprint on the path of my life. For a time we shared the journey, we walked together, and then they were gone and emptiness settled where they had been.

How can a person cope in the face of profound loss? Life goes on when it feels like it should stop. Our world as we know it has ended, yet the earth keeps spinning on its axis. The sun continues to rise and set. Yet, it seems like it should stop. But, it doesn’t and we too must carry on. But how?

Each person will grieve in their own way.

I journal. I write about the pain, about the memories, about the joy that was and the sorrow that is and in time the hope of what might be someday. I look back at old journals, reminding myself of where I have been, of the obstacles God has brought me over, the trials He has brought me through. I meet myself as I was in younger years. I am reminded of forgotten little intimacies with loved ones. I tell our story and look at it from a variety of perspectives and I wrestle with questions and doubts.

In time, I come to a time and place where I am ready to do the work of “Making Meaning.”

“Making Meaning?” What’s that? We long for the life of our loved one to matter – to be remembered, to have value, to have made a difference. We long for our relationship with them to have mattered, to have made a difference. Making Meaning is our process of discovering how their life mattered and what we can do to remember it and to share it with others.

I’ve broken this final “Making Meaning” section into three parts: Remembering, Impact, and Helping.

This first part is “Remembering.” What can we do to help ourselves and others remember our loved one and the ways his or her life mattered?

Create a scrapbook. Share your favorite memories of the person or create an overview of their life. Preserve letters to them now of things you'd like to tell them if you could. Describe memories of a specific trip or event you participated in together along with pictures and memorabilia. 

A memorial website. Last Memories is one site that allows you to create a page in memory of your loved one. Pictures can be posted. Articles or letters about your loved one, your feelings, your processing can be written. People can respond with memories or words of comfort of their own.

Tattoo the person’s face or name on your body.

Facebook. Maintain the person’s already existing account or create a page in their honor. Here friends and family of your loved one can continue to post messages, memories, and updates.

A garden. Set aside a space for a garden as a memorial to your loved one. It might be one that incorporates some of their favorite flowers or a small pool or waterfall – a place of beauty as a reminder of the beauty of their life.

A special gravestone. A gravestone that has a meaningful picture etched on it. One family chose to have a picture of the family farm etched on the patriarch’s stone. Another who lost a young child had her picture etched on the stone. Other’s have the stone shaped in a unique image.

Plant a tree. Planting a tree is a living reminder of your loved one and is especially appropriate for someone who loved the outdoors or who was concerned about the environment.

Write a letter. Write a letter to your loved one. You might want to save them in a special box or scrapbook to be reread periodically. If you prefer to write privately and intimately, you may want to destroy the letter once it is written. The act of writing the letter can free thoughts and emotions that might otherwise be trapped inside. When you are wrestling with an issue that you would have discussed with them, writing a letter might help you to see from their perspective as you think about how they would have responded. 

A Christmas ornament. Whether you choose one special ornament to lovingly hang year after year or to add an ornament in their memory each year, this can be a way to continue to include a loved one in your Christmas traditions.

A piece of jewelry. You may want to have a piece of their jewelry reset or redesigned as a wearable reminder. Origami Owl and Keep Collective both offer custom made jewelry so that you can design your own memory piece.

Repurpose their clothes. I have heard of both pillows and stuffed animals being made from a loved one’s clothes. Often clothes retain the most powerful of all memory triggers – the scent of a person. These huggable items can bring the person close both visually and through fragrance. 

This is only a few ideas for remembering a loved one. 

I'd love for you to join the conversation and tell us other ideas for remembering a loved one.

I am not compensated in any way for the links provided in this post. 

Yeah, Though I Walk: Strength in Loss (My Pastor's Son)

A slight man with blonde hair stood at the end of a lightly yellowed pine pew near the front of the plain country-creamery-turned-church. His face was set in a solemn pose, filled with sadness and yet with peace. The lines that often crinkled at his eyes and the smile that picked up the corners of his mouth were not evident that day. A line of people snaked out the sanctuary doors into the foyer. Most people found a place to stand inside on the March 9, 1977. Person after person stopped and shook the slight man’s hand and spoke words meant to comfort and assuage his grief. Yet so often he was the one offering comfort, hope, and strength.

After they stopped to speak to the man, the people moved forward to stand beside the casket. Inside the casket lay the body of a thirteen year old boy. A framed picture of him rested against the inside of the open casket lid. My Pastor’s Son.

My Pastor’s Son was seven months older than I. He was born on November 11, 1963. He was the only son of My Pastor and his wife, the only biological son they would ever have. Although we knew each other when we were in upper elementary grades, we didn’t hang out much. He was a grade ahead of me and he was a boy . . . and at that age, boys had cooties.

When he was 12, he was diagnosed with leukemia. His parents did all they could to get treatment for their son seeking help from both medical and holistic sources.  I don’t remember seeing him much after he was diagnosed, but his dad continued to preach and shepherd our congregation.  I remember three things about his dad during this time.  

I remember My Pastor telling us several times that he would give his life for his son, that he would gladly die so that his son could live . . . if only he could.

To this day I cannot read 1 John 5:13 without thinking of My Pastor’s Son. My Pastor talked about his son’s imminent death and the normal questions about what would happen after he died. My Pastor’s Son had underlined this verse in his Bible: “These things have I written unto you that believe on the name of the Son of God; that ye may know that ye have eternal life, and that ye may believe on the name of the Son of God” (1 John 5:13 KJV). Not only had My Pastor’s Son underlined this verse, but he had circled the word KNOW over and over again. This was the confidence that My Pastor’s Son had regarding what would happen after he died.

The last thing I remember about My Pastor was the obvious depth of his pain and his great strength and faith in the face of that pain. His pain was so stark, so unrelenting, and so all-encompassing and yet his faith was stronger. In the face of his loss and pain, he clung to God with unswerving faith and taught me that in the worst, most terrible losses of life, God is there and able to comfort, strengthen, and provide – even when He chooses not to heal.

Have you had someone in your life that taught you about facing profound loss?

What was he or she like? What did she or he teach you?

Yeah, Though I Walk: Why a Series about Grief?

Why a series about grief? In a few words, to create a safe place to share our stories by first sharing mine, and to invite you to share your story of loss.

Grief has touched my life in many ways and far too often. Too many people I know have lost a loved one, lost a home, gone through a divorce, or suffered another type of loss and experienced deep, profound grief. I too have experienced painful losses.

I became aware of this pattern of grief as my church experienced a season of untimely deaths. Later while working on a timeline of my life for a spiritual formation class, I realized that grief was not only a theme in my church, but in my own life as well. As I processed this with our pastor, he challenged me in two ways:

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First, he challenged me to complete grief-work of my own that had been left undone.

Second, he challenged me that working with people who are grieving is delicate work that needs to be done with skill as well as love and compassion.

His challenge started me on a journey to work through my own unresolved grief and then to learn how to help others walking through the intense pain of loss.

Since then, I have read and studied, listened and learned about grief and how it impacts us. We never "get over" grief, but we can assimilate it into the narrative of our life in a way that allows us to both love the one lost and to live again ourselves. One of the key tasks of working through grief is to share our stories, to be able to put our loss into words and know that it is heard.

So, this series is about me sharing my story and inviting you to share your story of loss, about us coming together to comfort and encourage one another, to share experiences and hope, to share what helped us through, and to strengthen one another in this place called mourning, grief, and bereavement.

If you feel comfortable to share your story in a comment, I would be delighted to hear it. 

If you would rather contact me privately, you may send me a private e-mail. 

Yeah, Though I Walk: Chaos and Fear

Ouch!! I looked down at the soft flesh on my inner forearm at the line of red that began to appear. Summer on the farm brings a plethora of kittens and this one was a little wild and not willing to be held. The scratch on my arm was evidence of her displeasure at my attempts to catch her. That scratch left a scar that can still be seen today, a physical scar that reminds me of the scars left on many lives later that night.

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I emerged from the hayloft with my bleeding arm and in need of some tending. In the driveway in front of our green farmhouse, adults and teens milled around as cars arrived. Laughter and conversation filled the air as teens chose seats. One high school girl invited her younger sister to ride in the car near her, a choice that she would be grateful for the rest of her days. Before long the cars were loaded with laughing, excited youth, eager to be on the road for their evening trip to an area amusement park. One by one the cars pulled out of the driveway and headed south.

Mom tended my arm and she, Dad, and I went about our evening activities. We had supper and then watched tv. A peaceful, normal evening. The green phone hanging on the wall in the kitchen shrilled and the peace turned to chaos. At first the details were confused and the information scant, but as the evening wore on the details became more clear, an accident with serious injuries had occurred.

My Uncle, driving a large Suburban, filled with teens in the days before seatbelts were law and long before the 55 MPH speed limit or even 65 MPH speed limit, had had an accident. One of the tires had blown. He was able to keep the vehicle upright and able to take it to the shoulder where the real mishap occurred. A large road sign had been upended and he was unable to avoid hitting the concrete base, the car rolled. A young woman, sitting in the middle of the front bench seat was thrown from the car and killed instantly. She was a junior in high school. Another young woman’s hand was crushed when the car rolled. A young man had a concussion. My Uncle was lucid and mobile immediately after the accident, able to talk to rescue workers, however he too had suffered a significant head wound and was taken to the hospital in Scranton.

In the days to come I was upset and frightened by the chaos and sadness around me. I was just 8 years old. My parents went to the hospital to be with my Dad’s brother and his family and I slept with my two sisters in their room. They talked about the accident and spelled words I shouldn't hear that described the scene. My sister and her boyfriend went to the funeral of the young woman who was killed. They were somber and very sad. There was so much I didn’t understand, but I felt the fear and the sadness in the adults around me.

We went to church one morning, My Uncle had been in a coma and his life had been hanging in the balance. The call came that the family should come. Most of us attended the same church – my father and all three of his brothers, my siblings, and many cousins. The brothers all left and church felt a little empty that day.  

I don’t remember just which day My Uncle died, whether it was that Sunday or soon after, but he did die. A man only in his forties, his first grandchildren just toddlers or infants, some of his children married, some still at home. His passing left a huge hole in our church, in our extended family, and in his immediate family.

I remember the day of the funeral, August 17, 1972 – the day my first niece was born and the day of his son’s birthday. I think it was the first funeral I attended. So much sadness, his body in the casket at the front of the church. The trip to the cemetery where he would be laid to rest near other family members who had gone before him.

At that age I did not understand death or grief. I understood that the adults around me, including my older siblings, were sad. I felt the chaos of sudden death and trauma, the heart wrenching pain of abrupt loss. I felt fear.

A short while after My Uncle died, I was on the front porch of our house and fell and hit my head on something. As head wounds do from even a small cut, it bled heavily. I was terrified. I didn’t understand about brain injuries or head trauma or concussions. I understood that My Uncle had hit his head and that he died. I was certain that I was going to die too. I ran screaming into the house and into my mother's arms, a place of comfort and solace. 

As a young child, sudden death meant chaos and fear to me.

Day 5: Why? An Answer

Yesterday, I shared a brief history of what led me ask the question, "Why do bad things happen to good people?" I have read and heard many answers to this question, some helpful, some . . . not so much.

What I am going to share is AN answer to this question. Although it is an answer that has given me peace through many losses, I also want to say that I know this is not THE ultimate answer, there are pieces missing still. I'm okay with that for now because I am still on the journey. What I have to offer is what I have learned in the face of my own loss and heartache.

The other thing I hope is that my conclusion does not seem overly simplistic, because I don't believe there IS a simple answer. I recognize that this question is usually asked with great anguish and turmoil and that finding peace and resolution is a hard fought journey that takes time.

The foundation of my answer came in the realization that God is good. G.O.O.D. Often we think of good as well-behaved, pleasant, nice, beautiful or high quality. However, God is so much more than that. With God, good refers to his moral character. He is holy and righteous, absolutely without evil. There is no evil in Him and He has not been tainted by evil in any way. He is good and all He does is good.


How did evil enter this world? God created a perfect heaven and a perfect earth. He created angelic beings to serve Him and human beings to enjoy the Earth and to experience intimate relationship with Him. One angel led a rebellion and declared himself equal to God. This angel was cast out of heaven with one third of the angels. He is the being known today as the devil. This same angelic-being-gone-bad influenced the first man and woman to disobey God. With that choice to disobey, evil, death, and destruction entered the human experience. The world and all that is in it was contaminated by sin. God has been at work ever since to redeem what is and to restore what was lost.

The second key factor is that God gave human beings the gift of choice. God did not create evil, nor does He cause evil or sin. Sin entered the world when Adam and Eve chose to disobey God. Because sin entered the world, so did disease and death and many other horrible things.

The one question I want to ask God when I reach heaven is, "Why was it so important for us to be able to choose? You knew all that would happen, all the pain and destruction, yet it was so very important to You that we be able to choose. Why?" I have heard answers. The most compelling to me is that God didn't want robots or puppets, but creatures like Himself who could choose - choose to love, choose right, choose good. Still, I long to hear from God Himself the answer to this question.

Human beings and all that dwell on planet Earth ARE bent and broken, tainted by sin. Our noblest motives, our most altruistic actions, our best relationships are all tainted by the evil that entered this world so many centuries ago. (C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy helped me to understand this in a vivid way. Great reading by the way!)

Sometimes bad things happen as a result of human choice. A person chooses to drive while "under the influence" or while texting and a tragic accident happens. People engage in dangerous activities and a rope breaks, a tree gets in the way, a tire blows and life is irrevocably altered. Government officials make poor political choices and an entire country suffers because of it. 

Sometimes bad things happen as a result of disease that entered the world as a consequence of sin. People battle illness and sometimes the battle is won and sometimes it is lost, each the result of a myriad of interwoven factors such as physical condition, treatment options available, the patient's will to fight, the severity of the disease, and the skill of the doctors.

Sometimes bad things happen because all of creation is under the curse of sin. A tsunami or earthquake destroys property and claims lives, a drought causes crops to fail leading to hunger and malnutrition. Even these "acts of nature" are not what God created the world to be, but what it has become because of the damage of sin.

Bad things happening is the expected outcome of living in a world bent and broken by sin.

Our HOPE is that God will make good out of the bad. He is good. He can only produce good. Bad things will happen in life because of sin. But God promises to work those bad things into something good for those who love Him.

One of my favorite authors, George MacDonald (contemporary of Charles Dickens and admired by C.S. Lewis), has a theme flowing through his writings - that God wants to make us good. I think that perhaps too often we look outside ourselves for the good that we would like God to bring about, when He desires to bring about good IN us, to make us good. 

One of the good things God brings about is building our character as we learn to respond to bad things in ways that reflect Christ. Another good God produces is to strengthen our faith and to help us come to know Him better. God may also work good by helping people to know Christ, by bringing truth to light so that health can be found, by giving a deeper appreciation for life and loved ones, by teaching lessons that change the course of life in a positive direction. The possibilities are endless for what God can do to bring good out of the bad things that happen.

Our other hope is heaven, that one day we will live in a place where mourning and tears are wiped away, where bad things no longer happen. We have the hope that we will forever dwell with God in a perfect place and in unity with God and mankind. In heaven we will see the final redemption of what has been lost and restoration to what was intended to be.

May you find hope and peace on your journey and may you have vision to see the good that God is bringing about.

What are your thoughts about all this?

What good things have you seen come out of bad situations?

Day 4: Why? The Question

Throughout my life I have repeatedly been asked, "Why? Why did this happen? Why did God allow this to happen?"

Four specific untimely deaths led me to ask these questions myself as a young adult.

When I was eight my uncle was killed in a tragic car accident. He and a teenage passenger were killed while he was driving a vehicle full of young people to an amusement park for a church youth group trip. He was serving God. Why did God let him die?

When I was 12 nearly 13 our Pastor's son (just six months older than I) lost his battle with leukemia. His father was a faithful, godly man. The boy was a good boy. Why did God let him die?

While my cousin and his wife were in language school preparing to be missionaries, he was diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease). The disease ravaged his body and slowly incapacitated him and then his wife was a widow and his young sons were fatherless. WHY did God let him die?

The year I was a freshman in college another cousin's very young daughter lost her battle with leukemia. Chemotherapy, bone marrow transplant, every effort had been made to save her precious life, but in the end nothing could be done. WHY, oh why, did God let this little child die?

Why? Why did God take those who were serving Him? Why did tragedy, trauma, and such profound grief fall on those who were following His call, serving Him with their lives? It seemed so unfair, so upside down for a just and loving God. These questions along with feelings of disappointment (God hadn't protected His own children), sadness as I saw others in such deep pain of loss, and at times anger (How could God allow this?!) swirled around in my head and heart for nearly a decade and a half. At first the thoughts and questions were often in my mind. As time passed, they receded and I came to something of a fatalistic acceptance, but no true resolution.

Then I was faced with a loss of my own and all these questions bubbled to the surface neatly summed up by Rabbi Kushner in the title of his book, Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People? For several months after my loss I wrestled with this question and slowly I found an answer that made sense to me.

Tune in tomorrow for the answer that made sense to me.

At some point in life, most of us ponder this question, "Why Do Bad Things Happen?" 

What answers have you found to this question?

Day 3: Oops! Where Did the Rug Go?

Did you ever feel like life pulled the rug out from under you and you're not sure what to do, where to go. It's even worse when it seems that God is the one who has pulled out the rug and left us confused, lost and alone. Getting our bearings and sense of direction again can be difficult.

Convinced that I was to be a career missionary overseas, I spent 7 weeks in Peru as a missionary apprentice in the summer of 1987. I returned excited, starry-eyed, and ready to pursue my dream, what I believed to be God's call on my life.

During the following school year, I wrote a letter seeking advice to the mission agency I had worked with the previous summer and that I hoped to work with as a career missionary. The response I received pulled the rug out from under me and, at that time, seemed to close the door to the career I had believed I was to follow. My college major, trips I had taken, activities I was involved in all were to prepare me for this career. This letter, arriving in the midst of a series of difficult events, pulled the rug out. I felt lost, confused, directionless. I asked why over and over as I tried to make sense of this sudden and unexpected change.

This letter, combined with the series of unfortunate events changed the course of my life from a focus primarily on overseas ministry to ministry in the USA and even more specifically in the church. However this shift took time and only came after a dark night of the soul.

During this dark night of the soul, I doubted the character of God. What kind of God would do this to me? I withdrew from church, feeling deeply hurt and wounded by the treatment I had received at the hands of those IN the church. Eventually I wrestled through my questions about God's character and came to a place of peace, but that is another story for another day.

Have you ever felt like the rug was pulled out from under you? 

What advice would you give to someone in that circumstance?