Loss and Grief

This evening is my first journal post after learning of my Mother's passing Saturday morning. Our beloved physician told my brother, Jim and his wife, Linda, it was time to put Mom in “End of Life Care.” Mom died the next day. I am not surprised because Dr Cerna, was blindsided by Mom “return from the dead” after the physician said she had done all she could. Her clinical assessment in September of 2018 was to keep her comfortable and wait for the end. Mom rallied and made liars of us all.

So Mom died. Really, it should probably be said, “And Mom died.” So Anna and I raced to San Angelo to help my oldest brother and his wife make the funeral arrangements. Jim and Linda Chancellor have led their family to make sure Mom wanted for nothing. They are an incredible family—incredible love, empathy, and dependability. Mom was well served by the attention of my older brother's family. More than that, Linda, an in-law to Mom could not have loved a woman more. Linda is a woman of virtue.

So driving home from the funeral planning meeting and after suggesting to the funeral director who was also the owner that this family should get a discount because we are fun to work with, he laughed. Funeral Directors know of which I speak. Some families should be worked with boxing gloves on.

Most pastors will rarely claim it, but if they have been a pastor for any time at all they are both expert and student. It is a part of the calling. My records show over 500 funerals across 33 years, and thousands of grieving members. It is the nature of the work.

Coming home today, I was thinking of grief as being both mystery and art. Mystery and art. Mystery because we cannot know or predict how deeply influential a person is until they have died. Anna and I often joke about the inscription on so many gravestones, “Gone but not forgotten.” It could be understood positively or negatively. However, we do not really know until the person has died. That is the mystery of grief. It is seductive because we can be unaware of how this person has poured life and joy into our hearts. Only when they are gone, can we truly get a sense of how influential the person was in our life. They could be a steadfast anchor for the living of these days, or a faulty reference point of where we go off track.

Art describes for me the mosaic each person weaves from their individual life and experiences. Today, one of the nieces posted on the family page one of those rare relationships with Mom—of which I had no clue but I could not help but swell with pride—not for anything I had done, but what Mom had done. Art is good description for the way a person chooses to live their life. It is a great metaphor for how folks take difficult experiences and push ahead, believing God and knowing one can literally walk with God.

Art is what we make with our lives. I seemed to always been attracted to the art of stained glass windows. For me it is a visual of what God does when he takes the brokenness within us and then makes them into something of beauty.

Mom was not saint. She struggled when my dad was diagnosed with cancer of the larynx in 1979. It was the most difficult time in her life. She and Dad loved each other and losing him almost dragged her into death. Upon her death, sadly, she had live more years without him, than with him. However, I have not doubt they will be together again.

Thanks for all the encouragement and prayers The next few days will challenge us all.

Wash your hands, wear a mast because that is what neighbors do, and be kind