I had a grim reminder today about the busy-ness of life. Actually, it's been a few days in the making. But let me set the stage for you:
Our next door neighbor, Wanda, has been battling cancer. She has been living next door with her daughter, Glenda, and family. We have been casual acquaintances with our neighbors, bumping into each other occasionally: at the mailbox, over a gopher mound between our houses, at soccer games, etc. We've even shared a meal at their house together. Wanda is delightful - always working in the yard, or playing golf, or flashing her beautiful crooked smile at you.
I visited with Wanda about a month ago in her living room. She had lost her hair and was very clearly struggling with pain and lack of energy. But she still welcomed me and visited for a few minutes. I knew that she didn't have much longer in this present struggle.
Over Thanksgiving, Rick and I commented on how busy the neighbor's household appeared. Lots of cars, people coming and going... We looked at each other and wondered "Has Wanda passed away?" No, couldn't be. They're just having lots of family in for Thanksgiving.
We continued on with our life.
Five days ago, Rick opened up the mail and was reading the newsletter published by the Country Club. He showed me the box that said "In Memory of Wanda Gregory." Again, we looked at each other and thought "Has Wanda passed away?" No, couldn't be. We would know if that had happened. This must be a typo... they meant "In honor of Wanda Gregory."
But it got us thinking. I combed the newspaper and the internet website of the local papers, looking for an obituary. Didn't find one. And it was too late to call next door and ask...
So the next morning we climbed into our car and journeyed back to the busy life we live. Every day this week it has lingered in the back of my mind. We really need to call next door. And did I? No... Everytime I thought about it, it was too late, or too early, or not convenient.
This morning... 5 days after reading the "In Memory of" note, I googled Wanda's name. It led me to a Caringbridge website. Wow - I wish I had known this existed! Glenda had been updating it daily for quite some time.
And as I read the entries, it hit me. Wanda passed away the Saturday BEFORE Thanksgiving.
With tears, I read of her struggle, of the family's acceptance of the disease, and of their belief in the greatest healing of all. Here is an exerpt I took from Glenda's update. I don't think she would mind me sharing it:
Mom took her last breath on earth and her first breath in heaven at 10:35 p.m. Saturday, Nov. 22. I was talking to her about the journal entry I had just posted. We were listening to Dottie Rambo. I suddenly said, "Hey Mom, if you go on, you could worship God on Sunday in Heaven standing next to Dottie Rambo! She grinned, breathed her last breath, and flew away.
Wow. That's beautiful.
And as I pulled out of the driveway this morning, I noticed that their house looked empty. At 8:30am, everyone was either at work or school for the day. And so, one more day begins without my reaching out to our neighbors.
I'm hit with the fact that our life has been so busy, we didn't even know that 2 weeks had gone by since Wanda's passing. Sure, I can try and sluff off the guilt by saying "No one told me!" But in my heart, I know that I'm the one that's too busy, caught up in getting from one place to the next, neglecting the little urges I had to call, or simply walk next door.
Right now, I'm thinking about how important relationships are. More important than the rushing around that I do. It feels like I'm always rushing about from one thing to the next, neglecting to take a moment to consider the relationships around me.
Today is Friday. I've got the fixings for a Chicken Pot Pie ready... Tonight we'll walk next door and hug our neighbors. We'll remind ourselves of the important things.
Above: Wanda cheering on her grandson Eric at the football field.
Last night we had a great evening out here in our new town. We met up with my folks at the Henderson County Performing Arts Center for a play called “The Cemetery Club.” It was well written, featured a small cast of 5, and truly made me laugh and cry. That’s surely the sign of a good movie, book, or play!
We all agreed that Oaklawn Memorial Park should have sponsored this particular play… and we each appreciated some of the humor involved. But the main point of the story echoed what we see every day at the Park. The spouse left behind facing life with choices ahead of them. “Do you just read over the old chapters of your life, or do you go and write new ones?” That was the real question of the evening. And these actors skillfully wove the different perspectives into each character allowing the audience to examine the consequences and appreciate each path taken. And in the end, they each made the choice that was right for them.
It got me thinking about death, as I frequently do. To clarify… not death per say. But rather, life and choices surrounding a death. Morbid, I know. Guess it just comes with the territory of my business.
I attended a funeral last Saturday of a man that was dear to my folks. They have “adopted” a sweet elderly couple through the “Home Care Ministry” at their church. Over the past couple of years, my parents have invested themselves in the lives of Boyce and Esther. They have no children themselves to care for them – this is the Church being the Church. (Not the Sunday morning sit in pews and sing songs, shaking hands and feeling good about yourself Church. But the nitty gritty, caring for others, even when it doesn’t fit your schedule kind of Church.)
A while back, Boyce had to go to the nursing home, and Esther to an assisted living facility. They were separated from each other. That was sad. My folks continued to visit them, go to the doctor with them, buy birthday cards for them to send each other…
And then last week, Boyce died. The funeral was a celebration of life, and a gift to Esther. Sitting in her wheelchair at the front of the chapel, she had no idea who all was in the pews behind her honoring her husband. During the middle of the service her chair was turned around to face everyone, and it was clear how overwhelmed she was. I can’t really describe what happened, but as Esther called out and began naming people she saw…thanking them for being here… well, my tears finally found their release.
As my dad officiated the service, Esther became not an observer, but an active participant. Her dialogue to friends in the pews, her comments during the course of the service, and the way she chimed in and talked back during the message… all of that wove itself into the creation of a unique, one of a kind, beautiful memorial service.
During the service, two uniformed Army men stood watch. Perfectly still, silent, waiting. The presentation of the flag was to be an important part of the service for Esther, because Boyce took such pride in his service to our Country. (He was, in fact, well known for the stories he would tell, over and over and over again.)
The men removed the flag from its draped position over the casket and slowly, in their precise military way, snapped it tight and perfect. Esther watched with an eagle eye as they perfected each fold.
And as they presented it to her, I saw the glimmer of a tear in the young man’s eye. His voice trembled a bit as he knelt beside Esther and thanked her for the service that her husband had given. And I found myself amazed and enchanted that a stranger, a soldier that had probably presented a flag a hundred times at funerals, was tender enough to be touched by this moment, this memorial, this unique old school marm who so unabashedly cried out her gratefulness for the moment.
.jpg)
Some might say that “beautiful funeral” is an oxymoron. But I say “beautiful funeral” is just perfect. And that is what it was.
So now, Esther continues. She is old and frail. But she is incredibly sharp. And she will now choose to either read and re-read the chapters of their life together, or she will write new ones. Either way, she’ll choose what is right for her.
