1 year, 11 months, 11 days

you're together again.  you're home. 

got a call today. my friend, michelle, went by to visit you. she told me she was going to. said that she wanted to tell you how much she loves your family and how much they (me, mom, kelley) have meant to her. and that means the world to me. i hope you could hear her. she said that when she said my name and mom's name, your mouth twitched a little. i hope you know how much you mean to so many people. people you've never met before. stories have been told, prayers have been said, hugs have been given. your legacy lives far beyond your reach.

michelle called to say that the nurse was there and said you probably wouldn't make it through the night. i had a feeling that would be the case. today i pray for release. i pray for comfort (as always). and i pray for our family.

and i rejoice. i drove down the interstate, listening to hymns and praise songs. the sun was bright, the air was warm and the clouds were deep. that kind of depth that hypnotizes me, makes me think that if i stared hard enough and long enough, i'd be able to see far enough. i imagined you leaving. well, really, i imagined you arriving. reuniting. humbly bowing.

how great thou art
‎when Christ shall come with shouts of acclamation
and take me home what joy shall fill my heart
then i shall bow in humble adoration
and there proclaim, "my God how great Thou art!"

i just got word that you had told someone at the nursing home that Poppy had visited you and that he said you would be together soon. it's been nearly 2 years since Poppy passed away and i know you (like me) must feel his presence often. for that, i am grateful. and for your sake, i hope Poppy was right. i know you are ready to go. you have been for some time. you are a strong woman. strong, but not hard. and i love you.

i went to dinner with some friends the other night. we sat on the back patio of a restaurant, overlooking the railroad tracks where i had played as a child. it was the second set of tracks - farthest from the backyard. the ones that bordered the area where we got our Christmas trees. where Poppy took us to fly kites. where memories were made. my memories are likely distorted (as is prone to happen between ages 8 and 32), but they're mine and i'll take them and hold on to them for as long as i'm allowed. for many years i've wanted to wander back through those woods and over those tracks. i do it so often in my mind.

i pray that when you go walking through the days and years of your past, you find happiness and love and laughter and contentment. i pray that you are able to let go of the bad and rejoice in the good.

that your dreams are perfectly skewed.

it's been entirely too long since i've posted anything here, but a lack of writing does not mean a lapse in prayers.

i pray for you often. for your comfort, your peace, your health, your happiness. one thing i have not thought to pray for is your faith. i recently read the below. katherine reminds me of you.

from thighs and offerings:

During the work week, I serve Care Initiatives Hospice as a Spiritual Care and Bereavement Counselor. Eligibility for hospice depends on a physician's certification that an individual's life expectancy is six months or less if the illness runs its normal course. That being the case, a big part of my role as chaplain is to accompany patients and their families as they wait. For the last several months, I have met with a woman who we will call Katherine. Katherine is nearly blind, nearly deaf, and confined to her bed and her wheelchair. Each time I visit her, she assures me that she is ready. “I pray every morning and every night, I pray every time I lie down to just go to sleep and not wake up. I know I’m going to Heaven and I’m ready to go to Heaven. So why,” she asks, again and again, “Why won’t God take me?”

There is little that I can say to that. Even the nurses, much more attuned to the physical signs and symptoms of end of life, find it hard to give our patients much in the way of specifics.

I can, though, affirm her faith. I can remind her of the faithful who have gone before her, who have cried out to God day and night. I can read her the promises of a faithful God, putting this time of perceived silence into the context of a God who speaks, who responds, and who is just. And when Katherine finds it nearly impossible to pray once more for herself, I can pray for her.

Indeed, the life of faith is a long and often brutal race. More often than not, we find ourselves fed up and worn down, unconvinced than we are capable of continuing on the road before us. As Christians, though, we must continue. And we can. For though it is often difficult, lonely, and downright terrifying, Christ assures us that it is a just judge who accompanies us, who hears us, and who will respond.

i know that you're ready. you've told me that for quite some time. but today, i offer up a prayer of thanks for your love of a gracious God and your faith in Him. i pray that in the moments of your darkest fears and deepest pain, you will continue to know Him and find comfort & encouragement in His promises to us.

i was sitting upstairs at church today, by myself. a string from a balloon was hanging from one of the rafters in front of me. the pastor was talking about finances. both of those things made me think about Poppy. it's been hard lately. i prayed for some kind of sign. just something to comfort me.

and i forgot that i'd even asked until a few hours later when i saw something AP posted online. one of Poppy's famous one-liners. and i'm reminded of the song that urges us to "Cry Out to Jesus" because "He'll meet you wherever you are."
even on facebook.

to everyone who's lost someone they love
long before it was their time
you feel like the days you had were not enough
when you said goodbye

and to all of the people with burdens and pains
keeping you back from your life
you believe that there's nothing and there is no one
who can make it right

chorus
there is hope for the helpless
rest for the weary
love for the broken heart
there is grace and forgiveness
mercy and healing
He'll meet you wherever you are
cry out to Jesus, cry out to Jesus

for the marriage that's struggling just to hang on
they lost all of their faith and love
they've done all they can to make it right again
ttill it's not enough

for the ones who can't break the addictions and chains
you try to give up but you come back again
just remember that you're not alone in your shame
and your suffering

chorus

when your lonely (when you're lonely)
and it feels like the whole world is falling on you
you just reach out, you just cry out to Jesus
cry to Jesus

to the widow who suffers from being alone
wiping the tears from her eyes
for the children around the world without a home
say a prayer tonight

chorus

"cry out to Jesus" by third day

i think about him often and miss him immensely.
and every time i do, i think of you, and how it must be so much harder for you. you had twice as much time to get to know him - to love him - than i did.

i'm still praying for your peace.

i thank God for 31 years with you and Poppy.

when i got to your apartment that day, you were sitting in your armchair. i sat on the sofa beside you and we just held hands & cried together. i couldn't bear to look at the birthday and anniversary cards - from Poppy's 94th birthday and your 65th wedding anniversary - that were scattered around the room. on the entertainment center shelf, on the ottoman, the floor. i gathered them up and put them in a plastic bag along with his glasses and two magazines that were beside his bed. i even took the instructions for his daily exercises. i don't know what i was thinking. i guess i wanted to hold onto the last thing he'd been reading. and those glasses - those big, thick, brown glasses were just, so, Poppy. smudged & dirty lenses. they have some glitter on them. from the cards, i guess. but knowing Poppy, there's really no telling where the glitter came from. i used to clean his glasses a few times a day. now i want to keep them just as they are. i'm going to put them in a shadow box.

i don't know why i'm writing about this. admitting it. it's a little embarrassing, but something brought me here and made me start telling this story.

i sat down last night to go through the cards and stick them to cardstock for your notebook. i was especially moved by the note from Aunt Martie. for Poppy's 94th birthday, this is what his 90 year old sister had to say:

Dear Arthur,
I'm so sorry you and Lillie missed my big "90" birthday. All my family gave me a beautiful party in Synodical Hall.
Can't believe we are now in the 90's - what happened to all those years. ??? God has been good to us. I send you, my "favorite brother," love, hugs, prayers and joy. May God hold you very close.
A big hug for Lillie.
"Your sweetest sister -" Martie

i turned the card over and there's a Bible verse on the back. i didn't glue the card all the way down, because i want you to be able to read the back.

"for i know the plans i have for you," declares the Lord,
"plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
jer 29:11


i pray that you find comfort in knowing that Poppy's passing was all in God's plan. i pray you're reminded that even though we weren't expecting it on that day, at that time, it was all a part of the plan and that God has given Poppy a great & glorious future. just as He said He would.

may God hold you very close.

i went to see you today at healthcare. you looked great. i expected you to look sick - seem sick, but you don't. you looked rested and healthy. the first thing you said to me was, "i miss Poppy so much." "i know, so do i. i think about him all the time," was all i could say before the tears welled up. and you said, "he used to come check on me. i miss him checking on me."

i do, too. i know he would be checking on you if he were here, but i like to think that he's around in some way. you might not see him or hear him, but i hope you feel him.

i walked out into the fall night air and saw a gray cat on the sidewalk. i reached out to pet it and barely brushed it's back before it walked away. it wouldn't let me get close enough to touch it again. i wonder if that was Poppy's way of letting me know he's near.


i believe he is, Maunga. i pray that in in moments of deepest sorrow and in times of sweet nostalgia, you believe he's still near.

i know that if Poppy were here he'd be worried about you. after your hip surgery, when you were living at "headquarters" in the nursing care area, he missed you so much. i know he's looking over you right now. he doesn't have to get up, get dressed and wait for someone to take him to see you. he's there with you now.


i pray that you are able to rest. i pray that you get well quickly so you can get back home where you can be more comfortable. i pray that you know that Poppy is looking after you. and that we all love you dearly.

[i also hope that i get well soon from my sniffles so i can come see you!]

last week i sat upstairs at church. something about the message at the end of the service made me think of Poppy. i think the person was talking about salvation. or redemption. something that made me think of Heaven and Poppy in Heaven. i got lost in my own thoughts during the announcements and as everyone else bowed for prayer, i just stared off into space, thinking about how much i miss him.

and then i noticed a black balloon floating along the ceiling.

the balloon dipped down.
the string tickled the air just above people's heads.
the balloon bounced and the string danced.
i held my breath, waiting to see if the string would make contact or where the balloon would land.
i barely held in my laughter.
it moved along the air - floating, but falling at the same time.

it made its way to the front row and brushed against our pastor's arm. he lifted his head and reach out for the string and anchored the balloon with a Bible.


Maunga, i hope you hear him when he speaks to you. i hope he can still make you laugh. he always loved to make us laugh, even when (maybe) we shouldn't.

our current sermon series is called one. it's about the oneness in marriage. this week we were given a list of things that 'promote' oneness. things like grace, trust, prayer, thinking together about family, laughter. and then were given another list of things that 'destroy' oneness such as unwillingness to forgive, win-lose conflict, escapism, and failure to love your spouse.

at the end of my small group discussion tonight i started crying, looking at the two lists. in all my life i never knew Poppy to do any of the things that destroy oneness. i only saw him promote the bond that the two of you share. i'm sure that somewhere in your 65 years of marriage there were moments when one, if not both, of you were weary, or didn't resolve conflict, or did something else that can mar oneness. you're human. but i never saw it. i have only seen the two of you love each other dearly and clearly. even in frustration or anger, i saw you love.


may God continue to bless you with the love of a man who loved God so greatly. your marriage was and continues to be an inspiration to many and in that, continues to glorify Him.

though i have no proof, i know Poppy wasn't a perfect man. but i do know that he was a perfect Poppy.

i just pray for you tonight. all of you. for everything you are - perfect or not.

today i read a story that, like most stories about growing old or being a child forever, made me think of Poppy.

here is the story:

When he was very young, he waved his arms, snapped his massive jaws, and tromped around the house so that dishes trembled in the china cabinet. "Oh, for goodness' sake," his mother said. "You are not a dinosaur! You are a human being!" Since he was not a dinosaur, he thought for a time that he might be a pirate. "Seriously," his father said to him after school one day, "what do you want to be?" A fireman, maybe. Or a policeman. Or a soldier. Some kind of hero.

But in high school they gave him tests and told him he was good with numbers. Perhaps he'd like to be a math teacher? Or a tax accountant? He could make a lot of money doing that. It seemed a good idea to make money, what with falling in love and thinking about raising a family. So he became a tax accountant, even though he sometimes regretted it, because it made him feel, well, small. And he fell even smaller when he was no longer a tax accountant, but a retired tax accountant. Still worse: a retired tax accountant who forgot things. He forgot to take the garbage to the curb, to take his pill, to turn his hearing aid on. Every day it seemed he forgot more things, important things, like where his children lived and which of them were married or divorced.

Then one day, when he was out for a walk by the lake, he forgot what his mother had told him. He forgot that he was not a dinosaur. He stood blinking his dinosaur eyes in the bright sunlight, feeling its familiar warmth on his dinosaur skin, watching dragonflies flitting among the horsetails at the water's edge.

by Bruce Holland Rogers

and it made me wonder, did Poppy like his job? was he glad to be a salesmen and touch the lives he touched? i know he didn't like his boss, but did he like the people he worked with?


my prayer for you today is that you don't lament the questions you might not have asked. that you relish and appreciate the things you knew about Poppy and the things you did ask. that you don't think of any regret & what you "should have done" before he left us.

i miss him. i can't remember his voice as clearly as i want to. i lie in bed and i remember so many things about him. mostly from my childhood. oddly, the more recent things are blurrier than the very old. but his voice, i just can't remember it. i long to hear him tell the jokes and stories that we always loved to hear. we joked about how often he told us the same things, but we loved to hear them. i don't have a single bad memory of Poppy.


i pray your memories are clear and happy.

years ago i started spending a lot more time with Patty and Randy, going to spend weekends (even weeks) in Atlanta with them. it was then i came to recognize Uncle Randy's wonderful manners. always checking to see if his guest was comfortable. if there was anything he could do for someone else - a neighbor, co-worker, parent, friend. opening the car door. opening any door.

on the day of Poppy's funeral i saw Uncle Randy folding up your walker to put in the back of Mom's car and i was overwhelmed with memories of Poppy doing the same. i thought back to a time when the three of us went to eat in Asheville (2003) and before i could even get the car in park and out of my seat, Poppy was headed to the trunk to get your walker out.

he loved to care for you. no matter how old & weak he was becoming, he took pride in looking after you. opening the car door, putting your walker away, and later, pushing your "chariot" to the elevator to go downstairs for meals. i admired him for always thinking of you and your comfort first.


Maunga, i pray that you know how far reaching yours and Poppy's influence has been. i know you're proud of your children, but i pray that you know how proud your children's children (or nieces) are of them, too. Poppy raised a man who clearly and dearly loved & respected him. a man who carries on the lessons Poppy taught him of how to be a true man and how to treat others. i pray that you are proud of yourself for the children you raised.

today doesn't hurt as much. or, rather, it hurts differently. i worry about you constantly. i don't want to bother you, because you've never been one to want to be bothered by people wanting to know how you are. i get that from you. i'd rather be alone and deal with things on my own than have to tell someone what i need or how i'm feeling. i just want to feel it and be done with it.


today i pray that you'll ask. that whether you need company or help or food or more soft kleenex, i pray that you'll find the strength to be humble and ask those of us who love you very much. i hope that you'll ask God for the peace that you so deserve. you are such a strong woman - have been all my life - and i pray that you'll continue to be strong, but will know that it's okay to be weak - to be scared and sad and mad - too.

i woke up this morning with you on my mind. i wondered how you slept. if you slept. how it was, sleeping in your bed, knowing that he wasn't in the room beside you. a friend of mine sent me an email and said that after his grandfather passed his grandmother swore her husband would talk to her. that she could feel him on the end of her bed. i think about how Poppy would come into your room and watch you checking your email while he looked through the paper. or you would look through the paper together. those moment were so sweet to me. he loved to be near you and i know that he's near you - near all of us - now, too.


i pray that you will always feel his presence (and His presence!) in your time of sorrow. i pray that you'll remember how amazingly loved you were (and are!) by your wonderful husband and the family he made with you.

when i first got to you i couldn't pray. not because i was mad at God or because i didn't want to. i just couldn't. i sat on the sofa beside you and the only thing my mind would do was think of my pain or your pain or poppy. when we moved into the other room and you, senter and i sat together - you in the chair, senter and i on the hard twin bed, i kept wanting to ask him to say a prayer for us. for you. but i couldn't bring myself to do it. i didn't want to put him on the spot and i knew i couldn't say the words. there was just too much crying to be done. but i guess, in some way all of my wishes and wants for prayer were prayers of their own. i can't imagine what you're going through and i want nothing but peace in your heart. i love you and i know without a doubt that poppy loves you. he never did anything to make me doubt that and that's one of the reasons i think he was so amazing.