January 5, 2005
While my parents were napping, I slipped outside to the front porch to sit in a cozy rocker with my book in hand. I was soon pleasantly distracted by the amazing bird activity in the natural surroundings of the log home. My father has several bird feeders and a birdbath. And all locales were busy and humming with great hustle and bustle. I counted at least three cardinal families. What a beautiful majestic bird! I noticed other birds seemed to give the cardinal reverence. Anytime the cardinal flew onto the bird feeder, the other birds would retreat. A sparrow was busily enjoying a rambunctious splashing in the birdbath but hastily exited when the cardinal came to call. How interesting to see the bird kingdom has class recognition.
Personally, as beautiful as I find the bright red cardinal, I am drawn to the plain little brown sparrow. Ever since Ethel Waters sang the song, His Eye is on the Sparrow, I have been fascinated with the sparrow.
On my birthday, my youngest daughter gave me a china figurine of two sparrows sitting on a base with the nameplate with the engraving, “His Eye Is On The Sparrow” for my birthday. And it plays the song as well. One of the sparrows is a ‘mommy’ and one appears to be the ‘baby bird.’ It is an exceptionally special gift as it signifies a sentimental bond between my daughter and me and that she found a gift that has one of my favorite songs. The song encourages me so because it reminds me that as the Lord has His eye on the sparrow, I know he watches me too. If a seemingly insignificant little sparrow is important to God, then even more so are we. We were created in His image and He loves and cares for us through all of life trials and times.
Wednesday, January 5, 2005
Monday, October 25, 2004
The princess bride is my piggy tailed girl.
October 25, 2004
Here comes the bride. The sunny skies were a perfect backdrop for outdoor bridal portrait shots. Our youngest daughter the bride looked like the beautiful princess she always wanted to be as a little girl. She attracted approving glances from admiring bystanders and received numerous verbal compliments. A small private school outing of senior high girls from out of town asked to pose with the princess bride. A little girl with her daddy stopped in her tracks, awestruck to encounter a real life princess. I was reminded of how this is when it begins, the childhood yearning to be a princess bride.
The afternoon of bridal poses ended at our park, a park just a mile from our home. Our park, where we have many family memories beginning when our firstborn had her first swing on its swing set as a toddler. Our park, the place of our traditional summertime birthday parties since our daughter’s second birthday. Our park where we have had family picnics, reunions, and even a Thanksgiving dinner. Our park that my girls and I walked to as a little outing. Our park, where the girls delighted in feeding the ducks our leftover stale bread. Our park, where we rescued an Easter discard, a little yellow duck that became our grand white duck Daisy. Our park, where we now lap the pond for exercise at a brisk walking pace. Our park, where our grandchildren are learning the magic of its playground and pond.
Yes, it is our park and today another memory is added. I will always remember the visions of my grown up girl twirling round and round in her stunning wedding dress, posing for the photographer, as the essence of her dreams is captured on film.
I pray the Lord will grant all her hopes and dreams with a long life and countless blessings. And in my heart, she’ll always be my little piggy tailed girl.
Here comes the bride. The sunny skies were a perfect backdrop for outdoor bridal portrait shots. Our youngest daughter the bride looked like the beautiful princess she always wanted to be as a little girl. She attracted approving glances from admiring bystanders and received numerous verbal compliments. A small private school outing of senior high girls from out of town asked to pose with the princess bride. A little girl with her daddy stopped in her tracks, awestruck to encounter a real life princess. I was reminded of how this is when it begins, the childhood yearning to be a princess bride.
The afternoon of bridal poses ended at our park, a park just a mile from our home. Our park, where we have many family memories beginning when our firstborn had her first swing on its swing set as a toddler. Our park, the place of our traditional summertime birthday parties since our daughter’s second birthday. Our park where we have had family picnics, reunions, and even a Thanksgiving dinner. Our park that my girls and I walked to as a little outing. Our park, where the girls delighted in feeding the ducks our leftover stale bread. Our park, where we rescued an Easter discard, a little yellow duck that became our grand white duck Daisy. Our park, where we now lap the pond for exercise at a brisk walking pace. Our park, where our grandchildren are learning the magic of its playground and pond.
Yes, it is our park and today another memory is added. I will always remember the visions of my grown up girl twirling round and round in her stunning wedding dress, posing for the photographer, as the essence of her dreams is captured on film.
I pray the Lord will grant all her hopes and dreams with a long life and countless blessings. And in my heart, she’ll always be my little piggy tailed girl.
Friday, October 8, 2004
The bald lady talks
October 8, 2004
Being bald has changed my life in more ways than one. I have added a new routine when I come home. First thing I always do when I come in the door is I always kick my shoes off because I dislike wearing shoes in the house. I am a barefoot or slipper girl. Now besides kicking off my shoes, I have added the new routine of flipping my wig off. I dislike wearing it in the house if I don’t have to because it is like wearing a hat and I am not a hat girl.
One day I flipped my wig off and it happened to land on the nearest surface which was the dining room table. I forgot about it and went on about my business. Upon re-entering the dining room later, I was shocked to see our cat, Sam lying on my nicely decorated autumn theme dining room table. The nerve of that cat, I thought. I indignantly yelled, “Sam!” I felt very foolish when I realized it was my wig. So the dining room table isn’t the best place to flip my wig. I tried roosting it on the two-shelf unit above the commode in our bathroom. But then I realized as frequently as the lid is left up, I’d hate to retrieve and wear a wig that had landed in the toilet bowl. I’ve decided the bedpost might be a safer place.
Not having to fix my hair in the morning is a real time saver. Being bald is also a money saver because I don’t need any hair spray, mousse, shampoo and conditioner in the quantities as before. Also avoiding looking in the mirror is a new habit I am acquiring. This morning I forgot and glanced in the mirror, expecting to see my usual morning rooster hair. I was surprised again by my new look.
It helps me that my husband has a great attitude about my baldness. If he had an attitude like he couldn’t wait till it grows back in, I would feel even more miserable. He rubs my head affectionately and complimented me on my nicely shaped small head. I was sure he was going to think it was huge because the starkness of the baldness makes it seem big to me.
My Top Ten List Why Being Bald Ain’t All Bad
10• My hair isn’t in my way when I am putting on my make up.
9. Not having to fix my hair saves time.
8. My hair curlers are not cluttering the countertop anymore.
7• I don’t need to brush stray hairs off my shoulders.
6• I am saving a fortune on hair spray, shampoo, conditioner and mousse.
5• I don’t have to blow dry my hair after a shower.
4. I don’t have morning hair when I get up in the morning.
3. I am not inhaling hair spray on a daily basis.
2. Bad hair days are a thing of the past.
1• I can flip my wig anytime I want to.
A sense of humor helps me get through this difficult time. My wig is exceptionally nice and most people don’t realize it is a wig until I mention it. I am naturally conscious of it being a wig because I feel it sitting on my head like a hat. That is why I like it off as soon as I get home. It is true that your heat goes out your head. Sometimes my head gets very cold and I feel chilled to my bones. Then I put on a soft chenille hat and warm myself up. I am less shy about other people seeing me my baldness in my home but I am not thinking about going out in public without my wig. The other day someone was about to compliment me on my ‘highlights’ and couldn’t believe it was my wig. So I flipped it off and showed her. Even my doctor didn’t realize I had lost all of my hair until I told him. So I am thankful to have an alternative plan that makes me feel as normal as possible when I go out. I calculated it would be about a year from now before I have a normal head of hair again. It seems like forever to me.
January 26, 2005
I went to work since all I have to do is sit at a desk. I felt so bad though that I didn’t bother to wear my wig. I didn’t feel like coping with it too, so I just wore my chenille hat. I ended up taking that off since my head got too hot. Today I just didn’t care about the baldness factor.
When I went to get lunch, I was sitting in the drive-thru when an unkempt man in a wheel chair rolled up to each of the cars waiting in line and begged for money. When he reached my car, he addressed me as SIR, due to my bald head I presume. Amazingly, that did not devastate me.
This incident just shows me how much I have changed from my initial response concerning going bald. I was never going to go out without my wig. I even wondered at first if I really wanted my family to see me bald. I changed my idea about that really quickly. I sure wouldn’t want to wear my wig around the house twenty-four seven.
On our trip to Florida, I traveled with my chenille hat rather than my wig. It is much softer and more comfortable than my wig. We stopped to eat lunch at Shoney’s and it was the first time I had worn my chenille hat into a restaurant. But soon my head became too hot so I took of my hat. My husband was surprised since I had always been so adamant about hiding my baldness from the view of others. I didn’t want people seeing me as cancer patient. But being out of town gave me a cushion of comfort. I didn’t know any of these people and wouldn’t see them again so I didn’t really care if they saw me bald.
My friends too, have seen me bald on several occasions. I even took my wig off after a fellowship at church last week. It was a spontaneous moment and I don’t know what possessed me. I was talking to a soldier that had just come home from a year in Iraq. I told him my hair was much shorter then his and suddenly just flipped off my wig to show him. Many people at church remark about how good I look, maybe meaning how I don’t look like I am going through cancer treatment. Standing there with my bald head must have brought a dose of reality to a few people, because I became the recipient of several hugs. Hugs are always nice though for whatever reason.
April 7, 2005
I stepped even further out of my comfort zone. I made an unexpected lunch date with a good friend and since I had left the house without my wig, I went to Applebee’s with my ultra short-cropped hair. I mean I am talking about the shortest buzz cut possible. I felt quite conspicuous as I arrived first and walked to our table alone. When my friend arrived and was looking for me, the hostess asked her if her friend was the one with the short hair. Well, that is better than bald.
April 20, 2005
Since the weather got warmer, I am not wearing my chenille hats anymore. I mainly wear my wig only on Sundays now. The hair growth I have is sufficient enough to give me more guts to go out in public without my wig. I remember the first time I drove my car without my wig. I felt totally conspicuous. Now I feel less and less conspicuous. The list is growing of all the places I have gone without my wig. I marvel at how I have changed about this hair issue. I didn’t want to stand out with my cancer slash chemo look. I have been trying to figure out if my attitude is healthier, braver or I don’t care anymore because I am just plain worn out. Maybe it is all of the above.
Being bald has changed my life in more ways than one. I have added a new routine when I come home. First thing I always do when I come in the door is I always kick my shoes off because I dislike wearing shoes in the house. I am a barefoot or slipper girl. Now besides kicking off my shoes, I have added the new routine of flipping my wig off. I dislike wearing it in the house if I don’t have to because it is like wearing a hat and I am not a hat girl.
One day I flipped my wig off and it happened to land on the nearest surface which was the dining room table. I forgot about it and went on about my business. Upon re-entering the dining room later, I was shocked to see our cat, Sam lying on my nicely decorated autumn theme dining room table. The nerve of that cat, I thought. I indignantly yelled, “Sam!” I felt very foolish when I realized it was my wig. So the dining room table isn’t the best place to flip my wig. I tried roosting it on the two-shelf unit above the commode in our bathroom. But then I realized as frequently as the lid is left up, I’d hate to retrieve and wear a wig that had landed in the toilet bowl. I’ve decided the bedpost might be a safer place.
Not having to fix my hair in the morning is a real time saver. Being bald is also a money saver because I don’t need any hair spray, mousse, shampoo and conditioner in the quantities as before. Also avoiding looking in the mirror is a new habit I am acquiring. This morning I forgot and glanced in the mirror, expecting to see my usual morning rooster hair. I was surprised again by my new look.
It helps me that my husband has a great attitude about my baldness. If he had an attitude like he couldn’t wait till it grows back in, I would feel even more miserable. He rubs my head affectionately and complimented me on my nicely shaped small head. I was sure he was going to think it was huge because the starkness of the baldness makes it seem big to me.
My Top Ten List Why Being Bald Ain’t All Bad
10• My hair isn’t in my way when I am putting on my make up.
9. Not having to fix my hair saves time.
8. My hair curlers are not cluttering the countertop anymore.
7• I don’t need to brush stray hairs off my shoulders.
6• I am saving a fortune on hair spray, shampoo, conditioner and mousse.
5• I don’t have to blow dry my hair after a shower.
4. I don’t have morning hair when I get up in the morning.
3. I am not inhaling hair spray on a daily basis.
2. Bad hair days are a thing of the past.
1• I can flip my wig anytime I want to.
A sense of humor helps me get through this difficult time. My wig is exceptionally nice and most people don’t realize it is a wig until I mention it. I am naturally conscious of it being a wig because I feel it sitting on my head like a hat. That is why I like it off as soon as I get home. It is true that your heat goes out your head. Sometimes my head gets very cold and I feel chilled to my bones. Then I put on a soft chenille hat and warm myself up. I am less shy about other people seeing me my baldness in my home but I am not thinking about going out in public without my wig. The other day someone was about to compliment me on my ‘highlights’ and couldn’t believe it was my wig. So I flipped it off and showed her. Even my doctor didn’t realize I had lost all of my hair until I told him. So I am thankful to have an alternative plan that makes me feel as normal as possible when I go out. I calculated it would be about a year from now before I have a normal head of hair again. It seems like forever to me.
January 26, 2005
I went to work since all I have to do is sit at a desk. I felt so bad though that I didn’t bother to wear my wig. I didn’t feel like coping with it too, so I just wore my chenille hat. I ended up taking that off since my head got too hot. Today I just didn’t care about the baldness factor.
When I went to get lunch, I was sitting in the drive-thru when an unkempt man in a wheel chair rolled up to each of the cars waiting in line and begged for money. When he reached my car, he addressed me as SIR, due to my bald head I presume. Amazingly, that did not devastate me.
This incident just shows me how much I have changed from my initial response concerning going bald. I was never going to go out without my wig. I even wondered at first if I really wanted my family to see me bald. I changed my idea about that really quickly. I sure wouldn’t want to wear my wig around the house twenty-four seven.
On our trip to Florida, I traveled with my chenille hat rather than my wig. It is much softer and more comfortable than my wig. We stopped to eat lunch at Shoney’s and it was the first time I had worn my chenille hat into a restaurant. But soon my head became too hot so I took of my hat. My husband was surprised since I had always been so adamant about hiding my baldness from the view of others. I didn’t want people seeing me as cancer patient. But being out of town gave me a cushion of comfort. I didn’t know any of these people and wouldn’t see them again so I didn’t really care if they saw me bald.
My friends too, have seen me bald on several occasions. I even took my wig off after a fellowship at church last week. It was a spontaneous moment and I don’t know what possessed me. I was talking to a soldier that had just come home from a year in Iraq. I told him my hair was much shorter then his and suddenly just flipped off my wig to show him. Many people at church remark about how good I look, maybe meaning how I don’t look like I am going through cancer treatment. Standing there with my bald head must have brought a dose of reality to a few people, because I became the recipient of several hugs. Hugs are always nice though for whatever reason.
April 7, 2005
I stepped even further out of my comfort zone. I made an unexpected lunch date with a good friend and since I had left the house without my wig, I went to Applebee’s with my ultra short-cropped hair. I mean I am talking about the shortest buzz cut possible. I felt quite conspicuous as I arrived first and walked to our table alone. When my friend arrived and was looking for me, the hostess asked her if her friend was the one with the short hair. Well, that is better than bald.
April 20, 2005
Since the weather got warmer, I am not wearing my chenille hats anymore. I mainly wear my wig only on Sundays now. The hair growth I have is sufficient enough to give me more guts to go out in public without my wig. I remember the first time I drove my car without my wig. I felt totally conspicuous. Now I feel less and less conspicuous. The list is growing of all the places I have gone without my wig. I marvel at how I have changed about this hair issue. I didn’t want to stand out with my cancer slash chemo look. I have been trying to figure out if my attitude is healthier, braver or I don’t care anymore because I am just plain worn out. Maybe it is all of the above.
Monday, October 4, 2004
Becoming a teacup
October 4, 2004
Tonight my youngest daughter read me a devotional from her book, 15 Minute Devotions for Couples by Bob and Emilie Barnes. The title of the devotional, “Not Yet” sparked her interest and ended up touching both of our hearts. I will never see a teacup again without thinking of this lesson.
James 1:2-4 Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.
“Not Yet"
There was a couple who used to go to England to shop in the beautiful stores. This was their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. They both liked antiques and pottery and especially teacups. One day in this beautiful shop they saw a beautiful teacup. They said, “May we see that? We’ve never seen one quite so beautiful.” As the lady handed it to them, suddenly the teacup spoke. “You don’t understand,” it said. “I haven’t always been a teacup. There was a time when I was red and I was clay. My master took me and rolled me and patted me over and over and I yelled out, “let me alone.’ But he only smiled, ‘Not yet.’
“Then I was placed on a spinning wheel,” the teacup said, “and suddenly I was spun around and around. ‘Stop it! I’m getting dizzy!” I screamed. But the master only nodded and said, “Not yet.”
Then he put me in the oven. I never felt such heat. I wondered why he wanted to burn me, and I yelled, and I knocked at that door. I could see him through the opening and I could read his lips as he shook his head, ‘Not yet."
Finally the door opened, he put me on the shelf, and I began to cool. “There, that’s better,” I said. And he brushed and painted me all over. The fumes were horrible. I thought I would gag. “Stop it, stop it!’ I cried. He only nodded, ‘Not yet.’
Then suddenly he put me back into the oven, not like the first one. This was twice as hot and I knew I would suffocate. I begged. I pleaded. I screamed. I cried. All the time I could see him through the opening nodding his head, saying, ‘Not yet.’
“Then I knew there wasn’t any hope. I would never make it. I was ready to give up. But the door opened and he took me out and placed me on the shelf. One hour later he handed me a mirror and said, ‘Look at you.’ And I did. I said, “That’s not me; that couldn’t be me. It’s beautiful. I’m beautiful.”
“I want you to remember, then," he said, “I know it hurt to be rolled and patted, but if I just left you, you’d have dried up. I know it made you dizzy to spin around on the wheel, but if I had stopped, you would have crumbled. I know it hurt and it was hot and disagreeable in the oven, but if I hadn’t put you there, you would have cracked. I know the fumes were bad when I brushed and painted you all over, but if I hadn’t done that, you never would have hardened. You would not have had any color in your life, and if I hadn’t put you back in that second oven, you wouldn’t survive for very long because the hardness would not have held. Now you are a finished product. You are what I had in mind when I first began with you.’”
Lord, thank you for the trials you bring to our life because we know it is for our ultimate good. Even when we feel like screaming or rebelling, may we always be reminded you are in control and be able to see the greater beauty in the teacup of our life.
Tonight my youngest daughter read me a devotional from her book, 15 Minute Devotions for Couples by Bob and Emilie Barnes. The title of the devotional, “Not Yet” sparked her interest and ended up touching both of our hearts. I will never see a teacup again without thinking of this lesson.
James 1:2-4 Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.
“Not Yet"
There was a couple who used to go to England to shop in the beautiful stores. This was their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. They both liked antiques and pottery and especially teacups. One day in this beautiful shop they saw a beautiful teacup. They said, “May we see that? We’ve never seen one quite so beautiful.” As the lady handed it to them, suddenly the teacup spoke. “You don’t understand,” it said. “I haven’t always been a teacup. There was a time when I was red and I was clay. My master took me and rolled me and patted me over and over and I yelled out, “let me alone.’ But he only smiled, ‘Not yet.’
“Then I was placed on a spinning wheel,” the teacup said, “and suddenly I was spun around and around. ‘Stop it! I’m getting dizzy!” I screamed. But the master only nodded and said, “Not yet.”
Then he put me in the oven. I never felt such heat. I wondered why he wanted to burn me, and I yelled, and I knocked at that door. I could see him through the opening and I could read his lips as he shook his head, ‘Not yet."
Finally the door opened, he put me on the shelf, and I began to cool. “There, that’s better,” I said. And he brushed and painted me all over. The fumes were horrible. I thought I would gag. “Stop it, stop it!’ I cried. He only nodded, ‘Not yet.’
Then suddenly he put me back into the oven, not like the first one. This was twice as hot and I knew I would suffocate. I begged. I pleaded. I screamed. I cried. All the time I could see him through the opening nodding his head, saying, ‘Not yet.’
“Then I knew there wasn’t any hope. I would never make it. I was ready to give up. But the door opened and he took me out and placed me on the shelf. One hour later he handed me a mirror and said, ‘Look at you.’ And I did. I said, “That’s not me; that couldn’t be me. It’s beautiful. I’m beautiful.”
“I want you to remember, then," he said, “I know it hurt to be rolled and patted, but if I just left you, you’d have dried up. I know it made you dizzy to spin around on the wheel, but if I had stopped, you would have crumbled. I know it hurt and it was hot and disagreeable in the oven, but if I hadn’t put you there, you would have cracked. I know the fumes were bad when I brushed and painted you all over, but if I hadn’t done that, you never would have hardened. You would not have had any color in your life, and if I hadn’t put you back in that second oven, you wouldn’t survive for very long because the hardness would not have held. Now you are a finished product. You are what I had in mind when I first began with you.’”
Lord, thank you for the trials you bring to our life because we know it is for our ultimate good. Even when we feel like screaming or rebelling, may we always be reminded you are in control and be able to see the greater beauty in the teacup of our life.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Good-bye Hair.....I miss you.
September 28, 2004
Today is the day that I decided to let my hair go. I managed to make it through to the weekend. I only combed it once every morning for a week and sprayed it liberally to keep it in place. There was no way that I could wash it because I am quite certain it would have fallen out in drastic clumps.
I drove my car over the ridge to my daughter’s home with the sunroof and windows open, letting my hair blow in the breeze, one more time. Her mother-in-law, who so graciously cut and styled my hair in a shorter version last week, once again graciously, helped me. She buzzed the remainder of my hair off. There is no describing the feeling of hearing that buzzing noise coming to remove your crowning glory. Afterwards, she kindly asked if I would like to see how it looked in a mirror or just put my wig on. I opted for the wig. I figured I would rather mourn alone.
Now I look like a bona fide cancer patient. It is one thing to know you are one, to be medically treated as one but it is one difficult thing on the psychic to look like one. Yes, I know and have been reminded that being bald and sporting a ‘concentration camp do’ is temporary. But it is several months temporary. And I miss my hair.
Today is the day that I decided to let my hair go. I managed to make it through to the weekend. I only combed it once every morning for a week and sprayed it liberally to keep it in place. There was no way that I could wash it because I am quite certain it would have fallen out in drastic clumps.
I drove my car over the ridge to my daughter’s home with the sunroof and windows open, letting my hair blow in the breeze, one more time. Her mother-in-law, who so graciously cut and styled my hair in a shorter version last week, once again graciously, helped me. She buzzed the remainder of my hair off. There is no describing the feeling of hearing that buzzing noise coming to remove your crowning glory. Afterwards, she kindly asked if I would like to see how it looked in a mirror or just put my wig on. I opted for the wig. I figured I would rather mourn alone.
Now I look like a bona fide cancer patient. It is one thing to know you are one, to be medically treated as one but it is one difficult thing on the psychic to look like one. Yes, I know and have been reminded that being bald and sporting a ‘concentration camp do’ is temporary. But it is several months temporary. And I miss my hair.
Monday, August 9, 2004
Growing in the journey
Monday, August 9, 2004
I spent an evening with my recently widowed friend. We had dinner and went to a lighthearted chick flick. On the way home the conversation grew serious as we talked about why hard things happen, like the suffering and death of a husband to cancer. I told her that I know why suffering and trials happen. The only purpose is to glorify the Lord. She began to cry and said I sounded just like her husband. I was sorry to have upset her. Later when I thought back to that part of the conversation, I was amazed. I hadn’t even realized I had reached this point in my journey. I have accepted this trial, surrendered to it, and have determined that I will allow the Lord to work through me for His ultimate purpose and glory.
I spent an evening with my recently widowed friend. We had dinner and went to a lighthearted chick flick. On the way home the conversation grew serious as we talked about why hard things happen, like the suffering and death of a husband to cancer. I told her that I know why suffering and trials happen. The only purpose is to glorify the Lord. She began to cry and said I sounded just like her husband. I was sorry to have upset her. Later when I thought back to that part of the conversation, I was amazed. I hadn’t even realized I had reached this point in my journey. I have accepted this trial, surrendered to it, and have determined that I will allow the Lord to work through me for His ultimate purpose and glory.
Thursday, August 5, 2004
Losing our dear friend
August 5, 2004 almost dawn
During the break in my journaling, I attended two funerals. One was a former church member we didn’t know as well but we admired the family. He found out he had cancer and was gone within a few weeks. It was a shock. His wife always a quiet shy individual bravely stood at the back of the church to shake hands and give hugs to everyone who came to her husband’s funeral. It was a touching gesture of thanks on her part.
At this same time we were also dealing with our dear friend of twenty years that was living with terminal colon and liver cancer. Each time we visited him we were shocked at the effects the cancer was having on his appearance but amazed at his spiritual journey.
One time when he was hospitalized we went to visit him. We hadn’t seen him for over a month. We easily found his room number and knocked quietly. Someone said come in. I opened the door slowly and immediately saw a patient in bed. I looked back quickly for the room number to see if we had gotten the wrong room because I didn’t recognize the patient or his visitor. I was certain we had made a mistake. I was ready to apologize for my intrusion but before I could, I recognized a family member in the background. This was our friend. Each time we saw him he looked older and thinner. He was wasting away. The only recognizable character about him was his voice and his personality. It broke our hearts to see his steady decline. As each visit progressed, we would recover from our initial shocked reaction and focus on the aspects of the dear friend we knew so well.
He was hospitalized only a few times during his seven-month battle with cancer. We were with his wife and family when he went to surgery for a blockage in his colon. The doctor came out to inform the family that the liver was encased in cancer and predicted only a matter of a couple of weeks left. This news and the pain it was costing the family devastated us. His wife had been partnering with her husband in a nutritional approach coupled with spiritual emphasis and believing in faith for healing. It broke our hearts to see his elderly parents who never imagined their son would be so seriously ill but were facing it bravely nonetheless. Watching their son and daughter with their young babies and realizing these grandchildren were going to miss out on knowing a wonderful grandfather was also heart wrenching. We watched his sister and her daughter filling in the needed places of comfort in the family.
But that bleak moment was replaced by a new memory the next day. We went back to the hospital to visit and our patient was doing surprising well. His spirits were up. He was sitting in bed eating breakfast. He had an IV with pain medication readily available whenever needed. He had IV fluids going throughout his body to hydrate him well. It was the best condition we had seen him in a long time.
I stopped in his room the next day too, since I had a doctor’s appointment in the same hospital. This time I was able to walk the halls with both of our friends. It gave me a little bit of time to reminisce about some of the funny things that had happened over the years. All of us always enjoyed joking around with each other. I really wanted to go further and tell him how much he meant to us. But it would sound too much like a statement of finality. Besides, I think he knew how much he meant to us without us saying it out loud. This hospital visit was the best connection I had since the diagnosis of his illness. His personality seemed like it had completely returned and it almost made me think the doctor could be wrong about his prognosis.
Our friend outlived the doctor’s prognosis of time left on earth by a few extra weeks and then our dear friend went to be with the Lord. He began declining after a couple of weeks of perked up health. He suffered in pain the last two weeks of his life. And especially the last two days were very painful for him and those that loved him so.
My heart felt like it was wrenched out of my chest when my daughter told me our friend had died. She had called me at work and asked me if I was going to stop over at her house on my way home. It was one of the few times I have declined and said I would go home because I had been feeling unexplainably depressed all afternoon. She said she had something to tell me but not over the phone. I immediately sensed what it was and did not ask any questions. I said I would come right over. I cried all the way over to her house. I knew what she was going to tell me. When she saw the obvious signs that I had been crying, she asked me if someone one had called me with the news. I asked what news. She said, “Ken died this afternoon.” I sat down on her front porch step and sobs from the depths of my being wracked my body. I was grieving the loss of our friend, all the times we would never have with him again, and the unbearable loud silence his absence would make in the lives of those who loved him.
My husband and our other long time friend were two of the pallbearer’s. It was certainly a privilege to be asked to share in the last moments of honoring the well-spent life of a friend. It was also very sad to see my husband carrying the casket of his friend. The last earthly deed he would do for his friend. Very sobering.
I stood as close as I could to the canopied seating area that sheltered the family from the hot sunshine at the graveside. I wanted to be as near as possible to my friend, the grieving widow. She was thin and frail looking. She must have been near physical exhaustion from the many months of short nights of sleep and all the energy it took emotionally and physically as the main caretaker. She gave him excellent care, support and was such a faithful blessing to him. The only time I ever heard him choke up with emotion after he found out he had cancer was when he told me some nights he would wake up and see his wife praying for him. He said she was the Biblical example of the virtuous woman.
We miss our friend but know he is with the Lord and pain free. His missing place in the family unit is painful to see. And the grief and loneliness that his wife and family are experiencing makes us feel helpless. We can’t take the pain away. It is a process that only time can lessen and a process they must go through. Only our prayers for comfort and healing will avail much.
So now I will say the final goodbye I wished I could have said to Ken. Ken, we will miss you so much. I think of you whenever I see a corvette. I remember our funniest outing when we were cracking up laughing at Gula’s like a foursome of crazy teenagers. You had a quick wit and I loved your one-liners. I remember how you gave Vance the perfect gadget gift one Christmas, The Clapper. Everyone knows he loves gadgets and The Clapper was a big hit. I thought the two of you would wear it out in the first hour after he opened it. I remember when you encouraged Vance to get into some ‘cool duds’ to go out on our outings. You gifted him with a pair of khaki shorts and a nice polo shirt. Your family was one of the few families we ever took trips with besides our own family. Our trip to Chicago was one of the most memorable in Vance’s newly acquired Chevy suburban. You nicknamed it the Wally World Mobile. I later changed it to the Green Machine. The trip to the Biltmore house for the weekend was a blast. Especially since we were in two cars and we followed you around turn for turn while you got us lost. And all the time we were filming you and making comments. Later we made you a videotape of our trip and you enjoyed a good laugh off our comments. You were so persnickety about your vehicles and kept them up so well. But the irony of it was one of your cats wet in our car when it was parked in your driveway. We had stopped to pick you and Carolyn up to go to a Brave’s game and we’d left our car door open for a short interval. We all suffered smelling a good dose of cat pee most of the trip. We teased you about setting us up with that cat of yours as payback for the hamster we gave you that ended up with only one eye after you got it home. We still insist that it left our house with two eyes intact. How about the time we followed the church bus Vance was driving for the youth to a camp in Mentone Alabama? We traveled the dusty bumpy road back to camp about 5 miles an hour, trying to keep a great distance to keep from choking on the dust the bus was stirring up and not rattling your car too pieces. We did all this just to eat at the charming little restaurant in town and of course, to bring Vance back home and leave the bus at the camp for a week. We enjoyed our Awana outings with you and Carolyn too. All those overnight camping trips in the cave we did. You were always particular about your hair and fussed as much over your hair the next morning as all of us women did.
I respected your spiritual victories and the evidence of it in your life. You were always a faithful friend. When we were not attending the same church anymore and fell into the habit of getting together less often, we still knew our friendship was solid. You were only a phone call away, always a friend who could be counted on.
We desire to be friends that can be counted on for your wife, your children and the parents you left behind as they adjust to your absence. Who would have ever thought, you, the health nut of the four of us would be the first one to go? It still doesn’t seem real. But we can look forward to a reunion with you someday. You just got there a little ahead of us. See you later, Ken.
During the break in my journaling, I attended two funerals. One was a former church member we didn’t know as well but we admired the family. He found out he had cancer and was gone within a few weeks. It was a shock. His wife always a quiet shy individual bravely stood at the back of the church to shake hands and give hugs to everyone who came to her husband’s funeral. It was a touching gesture of thanks on her part.
At this same time we were also dealing with our dear friend of twenty years that was living with terminal colon and liver cancer. Each time we visited him we were shocked at the effects the cancer was having on his appearance but amazed at his spiritual journey.
One time when he was hospitalized we went to visit him. We hadn’t seen him for over a month. We easily found his room number and knocked quietly. Someone said come in. I opened the door slowly and immediately saw a patient in bed. I looked back quickly for the room number to see if we had gotten the wrong room because I didn’t recognize the patient or his visitor. I was certain we had made a mistake. I was ready to apologize for my intrusion but before I could, I recognized a family member in the background. This was our friend. Each time we saw him he looked older and thinner. He was wasting away. The only recognizable character about him was his voice and his personality. It broke our hearts to see his steady decline. As each visit progressed, we would recover from our initial shocked reaction and focus on the aspects of the dear friend we knew so well.
He was hospitalized only a few times during his seven-month battle with cancer. We were with his wife and family when he went to surgery for a blockage in his colon. The doctor came out to inform the family that the liver was encased in cancer and predicted only a matter of a couple of weeks left. This news and the pain it was costing the family devastated us. His wife had been partnering with her husband in a nutritional approach coupled with spiritual emphasis and believing in faith for healing. It broke our hearts to see his elderly parents who never imagined their son would be so seriously ill but were facing it bravely nonetheless. Watching their son and daughter with their young babies and realizing these grandchildren were going to miss out on knowing a wonderful grandfather was also heart wrenching. We watched his sister and her daughter filling in the needed places of comfort in the family.
But that bleak moment was replaced by a new memory the next day. We went back to the hospital to visit and our patient was doing surprising well. His spirits were up. He was sitting in bed eating breakfast. He had an IV with pain medication readily available whenever needed. He had IV fluids going throughout his body to hydrate him well. It was the best condition we had seen him in a long time.
I stopped in his room the next day too, since I had a doctor’s appointment in the same hospital. This time I was able to walk the halls with both of our friends. It gave me a little bit of time to reminisce about some of the funny things that had happened over the years. All of us always enjoyed joking around with each other. I really wanted to go further and tell him how much he meant to us. But it would sound too much like a statement of finality. Besides, I think he knew how much he meant to us without us saying it out loud. This hospital visit was the best connection I had since the diagnosis of his illness. His personality seemed like it had completely returned and it almost made me think the doctor could be wrong about his prognosis.
Our friend outlived the doctor’s prognosis of time left on earth by a few extra weeks and then our dear friend went to be with the Lord. He began declining after a couple of weeks of perked up health. He suffered in pain the last two weeks of his life. And especially the last two days were very painful for him and those that loved him so.
My heart felt like it was wrenched out of my chest when my daughter told me our friend had died. She had called me at work and asked me if I was going to stop over at her house on my way home. It was one of the few times I have declined and said I would go home because I had been feeling unexplainably depressed all afternoon. She said she had something to tell me but not over the phone. I immediately sensed what it was and did not ask any questions. I said I would come right over. I cried all the way over to her house. I knew what she was going to tell me. When she saw the obvious signs that I had been crying, she asked me if someone one had called me with the news. I asked what news. She said, “Ken died this afternoon.” I sat down on her front porch step and sobs from the depths of my being wracked my body. I was grieving the loss of our friend, all the times we would never have with him again, and the unbearable loud silence his absence would make in the lives of those who loved him.
My husband and our other long time friend were two of the pallbearer’s. It was certainly a privilege to be asked to share in the last moments of honoring the well-spent life of a friend. It was also very sad to see my husband carrying the casket of his friend. The last earthly deed he would do for his friend. Very sobering.
I stood as close as I could to the canopied seating area that sheltered the family from the hot sunshine at the graveside. I wanted to be as near as possible to my friend, the grieving widow. She was thin and frail looking. She must have been near physical exhaustion from the many months of short nights of sleep and all the energy it took emotionally and physically as the main caretaker. She gave him excellent care, support and was such a faithful blessing to him. The only time I ever heard him choke up with emotion after he found out he had cancer was when he told me some nights he would wake up and see his wife praying for him. He said she was the Biblical example of the virtuous woman.
We miss our friend but know he is with the Lord and pain free. His missing place in the family unit is painful to see. And the grief and loneliness that his wife and family are experiencing makes us feel helpless. We can’t take the pain away. It is a process that only time can lessen and a process they must go through. Only our prayers for comfort and healing will avail much.
So now I will say the final goodbye I wished I could have said to Ken. Ken, we will miss you so much. I think of you whenever I see a corvette. I remember our funniest outing when we were cracking up laughing at Gula’s like a foursome of crazy teenagers. You had a quick wit and I loved your one-liners. I remember how you gave Vance the perfect gadget gift one Christmas, The Clapper. Everyone knows he loves gadgets and The Clapper was a big hit. I thought the two of you would wear it out in the first hour after he opened it. I remember when you encouraged Vance to get into some ‘cool duds’ to go out on our outings. You gifted him with a pair of khaki shorts and a nice polo shirt. Your family was one of the few families we ever took trips with besides our own family. Our trip to Chicago was one of the most memorable in Vance’s newly acquired Chevy suburban. You nicknamed it the Wally World Mobile. I later changed it to the Green Machine. The trip to the Biltmore house for the weekend was a blast. Especially since we were in two cars and we followed you around turn for turn while you got us lost. And all the time we were filming you and making comments. Later we made you a videotape of our trip and you enjoyed a good laugh off our comments. You were so persnickety about your vehicles and kept them up so well. But the irony of it was one of your cats wet in our car when it was parked in your driveway. We had stopped to pick you and Carolyn up to go to a Brave’s game and we’d left our car door open for a short interval. We all suffered smelling a good dose of cat pee most of the trip. We teased you about setting us up with that cat of yours as payback for the hamster we gave you that ended up with only one eye after you got it home. We still insist that it left our house with two eyes intact. How about the time we followed the church bus Vance was driving for the youth to a camp in Mentone Alabama? We traveled the dusty bumpy road back to camp about 5 miles an hour, trying to keep a great distance to keep from choking on the dust the bus was stirring up and not rattling your car too pieces. We did all this just to eat at the charming little restaurant in town and of course, to bring Vance back home and leave the bus at the camp for a week. We enjoyed our Awana outings with you and Carolyn too. All those overnight camping trips in the cave we did. You were always particular about your hair and fussed as much over your hair the next morning as all of us women did.
I respected your spiritual victories and the evidence of it in your life. You were always a faithful friend. When we were not attending the same church anymore and fell into the habit of getting together less often, we still knew our friendship was solid. You were only a phone call away, always a friend who could be counted on.
We desire to be friends that can be counted on for your wife, your children and the parents you left behind as they adjust to your absence. Who would have ever thought, you, the health nut of the four of us would be the first one to go? It still doesn’t seem real. But we can look forward to a reunion with you someday. You just got there a little ahead of us. See you later, Ken.
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