A Mournful Nightmare, Part 3 of 3

Dreams are strange constructs to try to break down. They are sometimes more fanciful & imaginative than anything in the conscious world. And trying to translate them into a conscious stream of thought can sometimes make you sound like you belong in the loony bin. Nevertheless, dreams are revealing, and that's why I've spent time trying to break some of them down here.

The most recent dream I had related to my Mom & her death happened a couple of months ago. And it wasn't really a dream; it was more like a nightmare. I woke up from this nightmare at about 4:00 AM on a Friday morning with tears streaming down my cheeks. It was so shocking to me & emotionally jolting that I could not simply fall back to sleep. That was it -- I was up for the day.

I can't remember enough of the dream to script it out entirely, but I remember enough. The dream involved my Mother and my grandmother (my Dad's deceased mother, or my Mom's deceased mother-in-law) laying side-by-side each on their death beds. It was a large room, and there was lots of white. The room had the feel of an old-timey hospital where they would open the windows & let the breeze flow through the room.

Anyway, there lay my Mom & Grandma. Both on their death beds. Both seemingly in the final hours of their "life," but essentially lifeless. It was the day of their death for both of them. Their faces showed pained expressions -- they were uncomfortable, weak, and their faces were shriveled. They were about to die. It was not a pleasant scene. In fact, it was a horrific scene.

Then the nightmare takes a turn for the weird. This is where you'll have to bear with me. All of a sudden, this dream begins to take the form of me kind of watching a movie trailer. All of a sudden, I'm sort of seeing my mourning portrayed on the silver screen, and I'm watching a preview of an upcoming movie about my experience.

And who is the star of this upcoming feature? None other than Dane Cook. (It's okay -- go ahead and laugh. I know I did.) The one scene I can recall is Dane Cook sort of staring off into the distance as he tries to capture the words & emotions of what I'm feeling about seeing my Mom and Grandma on their death beds. I can almost here a majestic musical score cresting in the background.

And that's all I remember.

Complete Moron

Okay, first, the Dane Cook thing. The only thing I can think is that my mind was so overwhelmed with the horror of death that I needed a comedic release. I personally think that Dane Cook is one of the worst actors & comedians of all time. I don't find him remotely funny. I don't think his movies have any redeeming value. However, the thought of Dane Cook trying to establish some acting "bona fides" by playing a serious role where he tries to convey my emotions on the big screen is hilarious. It's like I was lampooning Dane Cook's anticipated career arc in the middle of my nightmare. And I'm kinda impressed that my subconscious came up with that.

Okay, enough with the comic relief. Back to the real subject matter.

I think that at least one thing people who haven't experienced loss need to understand about it is how utterly horrific is the experience of the death of a love one. It is a terrorizing, haunting experience. I don't say that to scare anyone. But it is a traumatic experience.

People who are unfamiliar with death need to understand this. I know that I did not understand it before this experience. I'd hear people talk about violence on TV, and I didn't understand what the big deal was. I'd heard people mention how soldiers coming back from war sometimes experienced PTSD. Even though I was aware of that, I couldn't quite grasp the mechanics of it. But now I understand it better. There is something so horrific about death -- so exceedingly heavy for our minds to bear -- that our mind is programmed against becoming comfortable with death.

With a loss like this, you come to understand the meaning behind a well-worn phrase like "the sanctity of life." Life is precious. After going through this, I have a whole new perspective on a myriad of issues related to life: murder, war, grave illness, etc. With this nightmare, I think that my subconscious was trying to cope with or process through the horror & trauma of that experience somehow.

I don't know if I'll have more dreams that include Mom in the future. I imagine that I will. But the ones I have had have already helped me recognize so much already. I'm grateful that they've been impressionable enough for me to remember them when I've woken up.

I encourage you to try to pay attention to your own dreams. If they're impressionable enough that you remember them the morning after, write or type them down. Meditate on them. I imagine that there are some thoughts in them that will help you discover more about yourself or about the subject matter your dreams explore.

An Emotionally Disturbing Dream, Part 2 of 3

It's high time I pick up with describing some of the strange dreams I've had recently as I've been mourning the loss of my Mom. If you missed the first part of this series, you can read it here.

A fair warning: there's some real personal stuff in here. If you're uneasy with people getting sort of "emotionally naked," then you might just wanna stop reading now and move on to something else.

It's been awhile since I dreamed this dream. Anyhow, here's a summary from my previous entry about the major events of this dream:

I had this dream where Mom was coming to visit me for a week. She was coming down from Alabama with her mother & her sister. The first day she came, she and I reconnected in affectionate ways that are normal for mothers & their sons (and as was normal for us). I always enjoyed it when Mom scratched my head & played with my hair; so I would oftentimes lean against her shoulder & let her play with my hair. In this dream, Mom & I were doing this on our first day together. I didn't have an awareness of the strangeness of this encounter because of Mom's death; I was simply enjoying the rich, full amount of time we had together after recognizing that we had been apart for some time. The best way to describe this part of the dream was that Mom & I were reconnecting both physically and emotionally.

This was a very comforting experience for me. But what happened next was an emotional jolt of another kind.

Within the dream, the very next day, Mom surprised me with the news that she, her sister, and her mother were going to cut their visit with me short & head up to Atlanta, GA for some shopping. They had to go abruptly, seemingly after having planned to spend time with me for a week.

My immediate reaction? First shock (What?! Why? Why NOW?), and then anger. But it wasn't an enraged anger; it was a calm, thoughtful anger, if such a thing exists.

Before I describe what happened next, I have to provide some context. My Mom left our family in the middle of my Senior year in high school. She met another man who flattered her. She didn't have any improper relations with him while still with my Dad. But she felt that her relationship with Dad had grown cold, and she was eager to experience the warmth of love again.

This is going to sound odd -- because it was -- but Mom actually consulted me on her decision to leave us & move away to Alabama. I specifically remember how in early December 1998 Mom told me that she had rekindled a friendship with an old pal, she didn't know if it would ever become anything more, but that she felt trapped & wanted to be set free to pursue a better relationship with him or whoever else might come along. She asked me what I thought about that. So, I told her that I thought that was her choice. I calmly, rationally told her that I wanted her to stay with Dad, but I understood how she felt & appreciated her desire to be happy. I explained that I thought her decision wouldn't much affect me, because I would in just 9 months time be moving away for college. But I urged her to consider my sister, who was just entering adolescence.

Mom made the decision to go pretty quickly after that conversation. The month between that conversation & the day she left was one of the dreariest, depressing periods of my life. I kind of chuckle about it now, but I literally sat in my room and listened to Simon & Garfunkel that whole month. That's how sad *I* was! ;)

I didn't think Mom's leaving our family would affect me that much, but it did. I don't think I ever really expressed it to Mom, either, because part of her decision to leave was based on me saying, "I think I'll be alright."

So back to the dream. Mom has up & decided she's going to cut her visit (and MY time) short to go off on some flighty, selfish shopping journey. And so I tried to rationally explain to Mom why I didn't appreciate it. I started to explain how she wasn't considering me, and how this was hurting my feelings. I remember saying repetitively, "Mom... ... You KNOW why I'm upset about this." With this line of conversation, I was connecting her cutting her visit short with her leaving the family a decade ago. I was turning the screws to try to get her to stay. And she'd act dumb, and I'd interrupt saying, "MOM -- I know you KNOW why I'm upset."

And that was it. That's when I woke up. So comforting, and yet so disturbing.

For the first time, I think, I've realized how much Mom's departure from my family actually did affect me. Like the stereotypical "hero child," I wanted to pretend that I was above mere feelings -- that I was an impregnable fortress that couldn't be touched by pain or hurt. And yet I was still feeling it all. And here I am NOW -- almost TEN years later -- STILL feeling it because I never really dealt with it.

You wanna know what song I listened to most during that dreadful "Simon & Garfunkel" period? It's called "I Am a Rock." Until just a few weeks ago, right after I dreamed this dream, I hadn't realized how much this song conditioned my response to those events in my life until I randomly heard this song on the radio -- the first time I'd given it a listen almost TEN years.



The first & last lines are so revealing...

"A winter's day
In a deep & dark December
I am alone..."

"...And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries."

Dreams can shake us up because sometimes they make us deal with emotional issues that we've tried to sweep under the rug. For me, my response to the intense emotional turmoil in my life at that time was to retreat into myself & shut others out of my life. To this day, my personality still resonates with figures & characters who can be strong, self-reliant people without the need of supporting friends or family.

Listen to something I wrote but never published on the blog when I was trying to clear my mind about an infatuation with a particular girl a couple of years ago. I was pontificating about my own romance with being like a cowboy:

Cowboys don't need girls -- it's just them, their horse, & the frontier. It's what I love about the movie "Jeremiah Johnson."

And yet still he learned to settle down with his wife & adopted boy.

[Sigh]

So part of me likes the independence of singleness. The cowboy-esque "I'm satisfied on my own" attitude that doesn't need anyone else.

You know, it didn't take long for God to figure out in Scripture that "it is not good for man to be alone." We were not created to be Christian Cowboys wild & roaming the frontier all by ourselves. I wasn't created for that. I, and we all, were created for community.

I suppose I'm writing this for the benefit of my friends, or for anyone who might stumble across this while doing a Google Search. In life, there are going to be unique times where we face intense grief or disappointment. It's not a matter of if, but when. When you do, I encourage you to do the courageous thing and face your grief or disappointment head-on. You will not be able to put it off forever. Someday your feelings will find you; perhaps long after it's too late to deal with the person who helped produce those feelings.

A Comforting Dream, Part 1 of 3

Ever had a dream that felt like more than a dream?

I feel like I'm taking a chance writing this in public. For one thing, any narrative that one seeks to describe out of a dream always makes you sound kooky. But also, some of the assumptions I make about dreams in general based on this dream might make me sound like a wacko to you. I guess I should just start by describing the dream.

It's been a couple of weeks now, but I had this dream where Mom was coming to visit me for a week. She was coming down from Alabama with her mother & her sister. The first day she came, she and I reconnected in affectionate ways that are normal for mothers & their sons (and as was normal for us). I always enjoyed it when Mom scratched my head & played with my hair; so I would oftentimes lean against her shoulder & let her play with my hair. In this dream, Mom & I were doing this on our first day together. I didn't have an awareness of the strangeness of this encounter because of Mom's death; I was simply enjoying the rich, full amount of time we had together after recognizing that we had been apart for some time. The best way to describe this part of the dream was that Mom & I were reconnecting both physically and emotionally.

I'll get more into this next part of the dream in another upcoming entry, but the very next day Mom surprised me with the news that she, her sister, and her mother were going to cut their trip short. They had to go abruptly, seemingly after having planned to spend time with me for a week. I was upset, we had a conversation about it, and then all of a sudden I woke up.

When I woke up, I remembered every detail of this dream. In fact, the dream stayed with me & sort of dominated my thoughts the whole day.

I'm not a dreams expert. I haven't read a whole lot about dreams. But my Mom (who had a Masters in Social Work) did, and she passed a lot of what she knew on to me. I recognize that a lot of what happens in dreams is the subconscious element of the mind working out & dealing with matters that haven't been resolved consciously. And, really, it seems that there is a whole lot more that we do NOT know about dreams than what we do know. With that in mind, I wonder if it is possible that what I dreamed was in some way Mom, in the spirit realm, reaching out to comfort me.

I know that sounds nutty. I usually don't believe in that kind of stuff. In fact, if it weren't so insensitive to do so, I'd probably often burst people's bubbles when they voice stuff like that. But what if it's possible? We have stories in Scripture where God seems to use dreams from time to time, from Jacob's ladder to Paul's Man of Macedonia. What if it's possible that God let Mom interact with me in my subconscious-controlled state? What if he let us have a moment together because I miss her & she missed me? Just because the experience was so rich and there were so many parts that felt so real, I almost think that that is what happened.

Even if it that's not what happened, I was comforted. There are a couple other elements of these dreams that have been anything but comforting, though. I'll be addressing those soon.

The Sky Angel Cowboy

What an emotionally moving story!

That really hit me hard. I first saw this on Monday. The day before, I'd just preached the Lazarus resurrection story out of John 11 & the very notable verse, "Jesus wept." The main point I emphasized was that even when we experience hard times -- even when we wonder, like the disciples did, if God even cares -- God absolutely does care for us. And, of course, I wouldn't have done that sermon justice if I hadn't faced my own grief when I considered the grief of Mary & Martha. So when I play this clip & listen to this kid lend perspective about death, it gets a little "dusty" over here. :)

God does care.

Mourning Through "The First's"

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Last September, Alabama was hosting Arkansas for an annual game that usually ends up being a "tell" game for how well each team is probably going to fare for the rest of the season. It was the primetime game on ESPN.

We had just moved Mom home a couple months prior to that. The cancer had spread to her brain, and she hadn't been doing too well. August was a particularly somber month, because we had been expecting that she might die very soon. We were very concerned. But with the coming of September her health & strength had started to improve some. So on a mid-September evening, she stayed up late with me to root on her Alma Mater against the Hogs.

It was an exciting game. Alabama came out of the gate hot, and amassed an early 3-touchdown lead. But the Razorbacks had two dynamic running backs. And between those two guys & a couple of big mistakes by Alabama, Arkansas came roaring back to take the lead.

There were only a couple minutes left in the game, and Alabama had to drive the length of the field to win the game. QB John Parker Wilson led the Tide all the way down the field. And then this play happened...



It was one of those moments where, as a fan, you lose all sense of sanity & decorum. I jumped up like a maniac, started slapping the ottoman with both hands, and as the kids say, I went ape. I started screaming at the top of my lungs, "HE CAUGHT THAT BALL!! HE CAUGHT THAT BALL! OH MY GOSH, HE CAUGHT THAT BALL!!!"

Mama just started laughing. She thought it was so funny how excited I got over that play. But she had her moments in that game, too, as well as other games. Mom would always get excited when the little guy would bust free for a big play. She wouldn't go ape like I would, she would just sort of ball up & let out an excited squeal. This play especially, from last year's LSU game, with the fan reaction in the background, reminds me of how Mom got excited over big plays:



That's a warm memory. But it's one that makes me cry as I typed it out because Mom's not with me anymore. You see, football is a big deal to our family. It starts with my mother's mother -- Mama Jean. She is simply a fanatic. Most grandmothers, when you call them want to know who you're dating & what's happening in your life. Mine? She wants to talk about the quarterback situation up in Tide Town. At one time, it was such a joke among my friends that our fantasy baseball league was named, "Philip's Gramma Loves Bama." All of my cousins are gigantic Alabama fans. It unites us even more than religion. Literally. They're all Mormon. Football is a big part of our life.

Folks always say that the first time to experience things without a loved one are difficult. I think that's true, but it's different for different folks. Some of my friends were really kind in wanting to take my sister & I out for dinner on what was recently my Mom's birthday, September 4th. But that wasn't that big of a deal to me. That was Mom's day, not my day. So it wasn't that upsetting a day on the calendar for me.

My sister had a nostalgic time last weekend. A well-connected & wealthy friend of our's has luxury box season tickets to Alabama home games, and he gave them to us for the Western Kentucky game this past weekend (just because he didn't care to go). As Katie & I drove into Tuscaloosa, Katie marveled as we drove past The McFarland Blvd Mall. She remembered out loud shopping in those stores with Mom & eating at the Morrison's there with her. When we got on campus, she wanted to make a point to think about Mom. When we passed by some of the business & accounting buildings, we talked about how Mom had had some classes in there. Everything in T-Town reminded her of Mom, but it really didn't have the same affect for me. I've been to plenty of 'Bama games without Mom; Katie, however, was usually there with Mom. And while my Mom's relationship to the school played an integral part in developing my fanhood, it wasn't as personal of an experience for me as it was for Katie.

However, the fact that Alabama is traveling to play Arkansas this weekend seems significant to me for the fact that we shared that great moment together last year. I know that they're going to replay that play at some point during the game. Just thinking about the fact that I'm going through a football season without Mom makes me sort of sad. Mainly just because that I won't ever get to hear that excited squeal again.

They say the Holiday's & the Birthday's are tough. That'll probably be true. But just watching a ballgame this Saturday -- something that is normally nothing more than a simple pleasure -- will hold a lot more meaning to me this year.

Where Do Dead People Go?

I don't just not know where the angels sleep. I also don't know what happens to a soul when someone dies. I do however wonder and let my mind wander about what happens.

There are sort of two major views from Scripture. The first view is that people go to a place of pre-judged Judgment. Jesus tells a parable in Luke 16 about the Rich Man and Lazarus. The Rich Man is in "Hades" (not necessarily Hell), whereas Lazarus is in "Paradise" (not necessarily Heaven). And all of this is taking place in a timeline that pre-dates the Day of Judgment.

The second view is that the dead simply sleep. Paul seems to use that language in his letters quite often. Check out 1st Thessalonians 4:13-18 (NIV):

¹³Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. ¹⁴We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. ¹⁵According to the Lord's own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. ¹⁶For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. ¹⁷After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. ¹⁸Therefore encourage each other with these words.

Lots of references to sleep in there. There are other places where Paul also talks about sleep, or "rest."

It's sort of an interesting debate. I like what I heard F. LaGard Smith say about it once. It's a debate where people can tend to get impassioned about their view. And usually you don't reach resolution if you encounter someone who doesn't share your view. And no matter what view you hold, whatever actually happens is going to happen irregardless of whatever we so passionately think or believe.

I've wondered about this debate in only an intellectual sense before. But now I have more of an emotional investment in the topic. Because now I wonder where my Mom is.

If she's in a place of pre-judged judgment, then she might be able to see what's going on. It certainly seems like the Rich Man had an awareness that his brothers still needed to repent.

If this is true, then it's sort of like when you're playing that game "Mafia." If you've ever played, if you get killed or voted out, you still get to watch what happens even though you can't participate. If you get killed or voted out early (as often happens to me), it's fun to have other people join the club & to watch their reaction to finding out who the mafia really is. Usually it is some level of shock or just a matter of fact nod in a way of thinking, "I knew it..."

I wonder if Mom is in Paradise with a front-row seat of everything that's going on. Rooting me on when I succeed; hoping desperately for me to do better when I fail. If so, she'll have so much to share with me whenever I get to speak with her again.

But, if Mom is merely asleep, then she doesn't see anything that's going on. She's at rest. I could imagine spending the first few hours of the next life with her anxiously asking me, "What happened? How did it all go without me?" And I will try to fill her in on the more salient details of my life. I could imagine us spending the next few years together with me occasionally bringing up stories that I just hadn't gotten around to telling her yet, trying to fill in the blanks & share important parts of my life with her.

I can even imagine that scenario happening with people who have already died. I could imagine Ben Franklin waking up & wanting to know, "That little 'America' experiment of our's... how did it all turn out?" I could imagine long suffering Red Sox fans -- the poor souls who died before October 2004 -- waking up eagerly wanting to know, "How did it all end? Did we ever stick it to the Yankees?" And gleefully being able to fill them in -- telling the story of the 2004 ALCS with ALL the giddy details, including Dave Roberts' steal, Curt Schilling's bloody sock, and the emergence of a legend we now call "Big Papi."

But I don't know which scenario is true. Either way it'll be fun. Either way, in between all the time we spend worshiping God, I imagine that we will gregariously enjoy regaling one another with stories from the days of yore.

Everybody Doesn't Need To Be a Doctor

I think Rubel Shelly had it right when he first said that our churches should not be country clubs -- they are to be battleships and hospitals. There is especially a contrast with that last image. I was a part of a young adults Bible discussion on Tuesday where we discussed Rob Bell's first Nooma video on "Rain." In a country club church sub-culture, we bottle up our hurt & pretend it doesn't exist -- that everything in our lives is "good" or "fine." But in a hospital church sub-culture, we deal with our hurts.

That said, there can be something reckless & painful about a church hospital sub-culture if we're not careful.

I have some friends in ministry named Carlos & Gina. They're a married couple, and Carlos is a youth minister. When my Mom died, Carlos & Gina went to extraordinary lengths to show love and compassion to myself and my sister. However, while Gina was trying to go the extra mile, my sister began to feel like her feelings were being invaded. I had to go have a conversation with Gina about 6-8 weeks ago about this issue -- to ask her to back off of Katie just a little bit -- and here's how I explained it to her:

You know, it's like if you've got this big wound right up underneath your shirt -- a sensitive area on your body. And, with everyone knowing about this wound, its like everyone you're around wants to pull up your shirt and say, "Well, let me check on this wound today. How're we doing?"

That can feel invasive.

You know, one of the things about hospitals that people really hate are how impersonal they can be. Doctors, nurses, and technicians can come in to treat a wound or to check whatever it is they have to check, but in treating the wound they forget about the person.

Ironically, as it were, Gina lost her mother just a few weeks ago to cancer. I haven't had much of a chance to talk with her, but I'd imagine that she's had a rough go of it. I've talked with her husband Carlos, who was there when I explained to Gina about Katie & about the analogy. I asked him if they understood now, and he said, "Bro... totally."

Carlos went on to tell me how Gina felt like she wanted to sneak into church a little late & duck out before the closing prayer so she wouldn't be overwhelmed. What does that say about church if when we're hurting that is one of the last places we want to be?

We don't all have to try to play doctor with hurting people. That's sort of what Job's friends were trying to do when they explained to him how he just needed to repent. They really had it right when they spent that first week with him in silence. We do well when we just focus on loving on hurting people -- calling them up (if only for a couple minutes to relieve their loneliness), bringing the occasional gift (if only a small token), or whatever we do to love those around us.

A few months ago, I already shared the wisdom of John Mark Hicks with you about "How to Comfort the Suffering." This is sort of an expansion of that last thought where he said "Don't Pry." Sometimes, there's something about constantly bringing up a hurtful issue that folks begin to feel like a project. And nobody wants to be a project.

If hurt people knew they were going to get more hugs & less questions when they came to church, I think they'd be there in a heartbeat. I think that's the kind of people we ought to be.

It'll Jump Up and Bite You

There's really no dignified way to grieve except in private. And yet it appears there's no healthy way to cope except in community. So in the interest of being as respectable & authentic as I can, here I am.

It will have been three months this Friday that Mom passed (which was, incidentally, on a Friday). I mark that thought not because it is meaningful to me, but because it isn't so much. I won't plan on being an emotional basket-case this coming Friday. You don't plan your crying fits when in mourning. They come upon you.

And so it was this evening as I laid down that my thoughts drifted to Mom. And the tears welled up, the thoughts & emotions strengthened, and then the dam broke. I had to get up and have a good cry.

This doesn't happen too often -- maybe 2-3 times a month? At least it hasn't been an everyday occurrence for me. Others may cry more. But it does appear to be an important release from time to time to let myself cry.

Most of the time it is short & I don't really lose my composure. For example, there have been a couple of times where I was reading something that reminded me of Mom, and so I let a few tears stream down my face. But I wiped them off and then continued on with my day as if everything was normal.

Other times, though less often, a longer cry is necessary. Tonight was one of those nights. I lost a little sleep, I meditated on the void, and I let the emotions out. I miss her very much. And even though my emotions aren't as strong as they were immediately following her passing, it seems that as time passes I realize that I miss her even more than I thought I would, or thought I did originally.

Anyway, I chronicle this here for my own posterity and for those of you who've never had to deal with loss. If you're interested in some of my thoughts/feelings at other points in the last few months, just click on the label below.

Mourning Mom: 2 months out...

Its been a little over two months now since my Mom died. Here are some thoughts...

• It has gotten a little easier to reflect on & talk about her in public. There are still some sensitive topics that bring a hard lump to my throat. I still have a difficult time thinking about my grandmother, and how difficult a time she must have coping with the loss. That's a topic I can never get very far with.

Also, when I think of the suffering Mom endured (over the course of her 17 months fighting cancer, and especially in that week she spent in the Hospital after her seizure) it breaks my heart. Having cancer forces people to fight for their lives. You fight & suffer, and fight & suffer -- and sometimes you still come out on the short end. Sometimes it feels unjust.

• Mama had a cat that she brought with her from Alabama. It is literally impossible to see that now orphan cat without thinking about Mama. In a way, that cat is a personification of Mom's presence & the void she left all at the same time.

• I've always known about it, but I've recently rediscovered the musical genre of the dirge. And now I understand all the lyrics. They've been comforting to me.

• The other day I went through some old personal E-mails that Mom had sent me. I've kept most of the E-mails that I've received over the last 4-5 years, so I have a bunch of E-mails from Mom still sitting in my Inbox. Most of them are messages with her very wacky sense of political fanaticism (she was one of those "George W. Bush engineered 9/11" weirdo's). But it's still neat to have something to go to & read from her.

• Mostly I miss sharing life with her. Mom & I grew close in her final months. We'd never been terribly close before for a lot of reasons, but we were sure buddies toward the end. Things happen in my life that I just want to call her up and tell her all about it. All my life up until recently, anything that happened I could call her up to tell her about it. And like all Mom's, she'd be attentive & eager to hear every word. That is so precious I can't even begin to explain. There just aren't any other relationships like that in life.

Some Lessons Learned From Death

Paul begins his second (or fourth) letter to the Corinthians with a very incisive observation:

³Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, ⁴who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.

With our superficial perspective, we can sometimes reason that suffering is "bad." It certainly doesn't feel "good" -- we know that much! But as it is with many concepts in the Kingdom of God, the spiritual reality is often counter-intuitive from our limited perceptions of what is "good" or "bad." Paul says that that is not true that suffering is "bad." He says that suffering is didactic. Among the host of things we can learn during such an experience, suffering teaches about the comfort of God & how to comfort those around us.

In Job 42:5, Job remarks that "My ears had heard [...] but now my eyes have seen." Before this season of my life, there were some things that I had known about suffering in an intellectual sense, or had learned by vicarious observation. And since my parents got divorced during my Senior year of high school, I had even grieved then & knew some things about suffering. But this experience has been entirely more educational than anything I could have read, heard, or experienced before.

In many ways, my mother's death will make me a better minister. If you missed it last month, I shared some insights about how to comfort the suffering. Those weren't my original thoughts, but they ring so true about what to do (and ESPECIALLY what NOT to do) when you are with someone who is grieving and/or suffering.

One other part of this grieving experience that stands out to me is how much more in tune I am with suffering in my community & throughout the rest of the world. There was a story that hit the news today that just makes my heart ache -- Army suicides are at their highest all-time levels. I just think about what men my age & younger are dealing with, not only physically & logistically but also mentally & emotionally. As this report teaches us, not all the young men who face this giant called "War" survive like David did in his encounter with Goliath. (This was also the message of an Academy Award nominated film that I reviewed here a couple months ago, "In the Valley of Elah")

I just don't know how to fathom that much loss of human life. I don't have the capacity to understand the depth of all that grief. It certainly gives me a deeper appreciation for God, knowing that He does understand & perceive ALL of that hurt. How magnificent He must be to handle all of that.

And, of course, there are all the emotions that I deal with on a regular basis. Especially in the weeks following Mom's funeral, after all the family & friends began to settle back into their lives, loneliness really grabs hold. I did some reading about this, and I found that this is not uncommon for folks who have lost someone so close. There are some very lonely nights. Its very difficult to try to maintain a sense of dignity or self-respect (namely, not being too needy around other people) while also maintaining my sanity.

All of this really serves to highlight my own weakness & vulnerability -- two things that most men, including myself, don't like to reflect on a whole lot. I haven't completely finished conceptualizing & processing my feelings of weakness, so I don't have a lot to share yet. I just know now that I'm aware of it & will probably learn more about it as I walk around with it and meditate on it some more.

But I know that the God that sometimes can't be found will wrap himself around me with His considerable capacity to comfort. Day by day, verses like this one in 1st Peter 4:19 mean that much more to me:

So then, those who suffer according to God's will should commit themselves to their faithful Creator and continue to do good.

A Unique Experience Shared

I've read a couple of touching articles in the last couple days from a couple of other men who lost their mother. If there's one common theme I've come to discover, it is how much these men would love to be able to call their mother. And that is true. As each day passes, I discover within me a deeper longing to pick up the phone, call my Mom, and tell her what's been going on lately.

I used to be real bad at that. When I first went off to college, Mom would have to call me every few months or so. Finally, she got fed up with it, and she had to confront me. A year or two into college, she told me in one conversation:

"I want you to call me more regularly. YOU call ME. And I want you to tell me 'I love you' everytime you do that. It means a lot to me."

You know, sometimes ladies just have to spell it out for us. Mom did that for me, and the message was heard. So I began to make a Sunday night ritual of it. When I was leaving the church building from the PM worship service, I'd give her a ring. Sometimes I'd take the long way home so we could talk a little longer; other times I'd just sit in my truck in the driveway. Most times we would just chit-chat & wouldn't talk very long. But semi-regularly, on Sunday night's, I'd pick up the phone & call my Mama.

I even nearly reached for the phone last night. My sister & I have even talked about how it sort of seems like we could pick up the phone to talk to her -- except that we actually can't. I was driving home from PM worship service last night, had the radio off, and I thought about calling her. Except I actually couldn't.

My thanks to Lori for forwarding this to me Saturday: Jason Steckel wrote about this experience in the latest Wineskins:

It was less than a year and a half later, [my son] Matthew came into the world. Again, we were reminded of the hole in our families. I wished that my mom was there to share in this special moment. As a new life began, I was reminded of a life that ended too soon.

In the years since, I have often had moments where I wanted to talk to my mom. Whether it was seeking advice, wanting to share a special moment, or simply the desire to say hi, there are times when I just wish my mom was still here. But again, I am reminded that we live in a broken world where death is inevitable and no one is immune from pain and suffering.

And in Sunday's New York Times, Tom Friedman very simply tells the reader to Call Your Mother:

Whenever I’ve had the honor of giving a college graduation speech, I always try to end it with this story about the legendary University of Alabama football coach, Bear Bryant. Late in his career, after his mother had died, South Central Bell Telephone Company asked Bear Bryant to do a TV commercial. As best I can piece together, the commercial was supposed to be very simple — just a little music and Coach Bryant saying in his tough voice: “Have you called your mama today?”

On the day of the filming, though, he decided to ad-lib something. He reportedly looked into the camera and said: “Have you called your mama today? I sure wish I could call mine.” That was how the commercial ran, and it got a huge response from audiences.

So on this Mother’s Day, if you take one thing away from this column, take this: Call your mother.

I sure wish I could call mine.

Me too, Tom.

Love is Patient

In the aftermath of my Mom's passing, I've heard a number of stories about people losing loved ones. The saddest of these stories are the ones where people walk through the rest of their life with deep regret over some matter that can no longer be mended. I'm so relieved that I'm not plagued with any real deep regret.

When my Mom was diagnosed with cancer back in late October of '06, Mom decided that she wanted to try to pursue a homeopathic treatment. My sister, Katie, and I gave her a hard time about not even wanting to go see an Oncologist to pursue a more mainstream treatment. A few weeks later (the week of Thanksgiving), once the cancer began to cause extreme skin discoloration, Mom got scared enough to go visit the Oncologist. I remember that it was my sister Katie who finally talked her into going. And I drove all the way over to Mobile, AL to meet her at the clinic to escort her on the 2-hour drive back to her home.

When I showed up, she had already started to receive her first dose of chemotherapy intravenously. I remember that she was sitting there receiving the treatment, snacking on some Nutter Butters, and watching an instructional video about what was about to happen to her body. That first week with chemo I believe was about one of the roughest for her. She was painfully nauseous, weak, and generally sick-feeling. And I was there for all of it that first week. Mom would receive chemo treatments every two weeks. I wasn't able to be there every two weeks -- Katie & Mom's sister were able to be there to help her when I wasn't -- but I was there for her as much as it was possible for me to be there.

When Mom had her mastectomy, Katie was there with her. But when Katie had to be relieved, I showed up and was there for Mom. And when an infection developed from Mom's surgery & she had to be driven to the hospital 2 hours away in the middle of the night, I was there. While she was in the hospital for the next three and a half days, I stayed there with Mom for all of it.

When the cancer spread to Mom's brain, and she needed to be driven to radiation treatments every weekday, Katie & I moved her down to Florida & we were there for her. And when Mom had her seizure, began to die, and finally passed, we were there for her every step of the way then, too.

I don't have any regret about Mom in that sense. I gave & provided for her almost everything I could offer. Almost.

If there is one thing I regret, it was that I wasn't more patient with Mom. In her last year, Mom lost a lot of her considerable brain power. She would ask the same questions over & over, forgetting the answer I had already shared with her. After a while, this grated on my nerves. And when these moments continued to happen, my frustration could be clearly sensed through the tone of my voice. Mom even had to tell me one time, "You hurt my feelings. I can't help it." Naturally, I apologized. And I got better about it. But my impatience would still show through from time to time.

Anyway, if there is one thing I could share with my friends on Mother's Day, many of you with mothers who soon will be moving into the sunset of their lives, it would be for each of you to learn to love those around you more patiently. I found this letter particularly convicting. It was read by Dr. James Dobson on his radio show, Focus on the Family, some time ago:

To all my children:

A few years ago, I saw a tee-shirt with the words "Live Long Enough to Be a Burden to Your Children." Back then, I thought it was funny, Today, I don't think it's funny at all, because I am afraid I'm doing just that. None of us want to be a burden to our family, but the older we get, the more we realize that age comes not only to the aging person, but to the family, as well. Both must accept old age and make the necessary adjustments.

Sometimes I wonder how the children of Methuselah felt about their father who lived to be 969 years old. Imagine, at more than 900 years old, did he have all of his faculties at that age? Or was he blind, deaf, and maybe so feeble that he couldn't walk? Did his children worry about whether he was eating right, getting enough exercise and dressing warmly enough? How did he accept his advancing years? These questions came to mind because, as a parent, I hate having to rely on my children to do things for me that I could do for myself a few years ago.

You children are always so kind and generous about looking after me, but I want to be doing for myself. I long to drive my car again. I want to go alone to the grocery store to shop, and I want to drive myself there. I want...but you get the idea. What I really want is to be 70 again. The truth of it is, that our roles are reversed, and now I am your child needing you in a special way. I suppose my upcoming birthday started my thoughts along these lines. You never forget my birthday, or any other special day, without a gift. I realize the problems you must have in choosing a gift, because I have what I need in material possessions. This is a good time to tell you that what I truly want are things I can never get enough of, yet they are free. I want the intangibles. I want just a little more of your time, and that's selfish of me, I know, because you have your own children, and grandchildren, who want your time, and also you need time for yourselves. But all I want is just a few unhurried minutes. I would like for you to come and sit with me, and for you to be relaxed. It makes me so nervous when you sit on the edge of your chair and keep looking at your watch. We can talk, or we can be silent. I would just like for us to be together.

You children who live out of town are thoughtful to call me on the phone, but I would like it if you could just write once or twice a month. Then I could look forward to reading and rereading your letters. I don't always hear every word you say on the phone, and a letter or two would help me greatly.

I need your patience when I don't hear what you say the first time, so please don't be annoyed. I know how tiresome it is to always be repeating , but sometimes I must ask you to repeat. Now, you don't need to yell at me, just speak slowly. I need your patience when I think too much about the past. I need your patience with my slowness and my set ways. I want you to be tolerant with what the years have done to me physically.

Please be understanding about my personal care habits. I really can't see when my dress is dirty or the floor needs cleaning. I spill things. I lose things. I get unduly excited when I try to figure out my bank statements. I can't remember what time to take my medication, or if I took it already. I take too many naps, I know, because you have said, "Quit spending all of your time sleeping." Well, sometimes when I sleep in the daytime, it was because I was awake half the night. At other times, sleep helps to pass the day. When I have nothing but time on my hands, a 15-minute nap seems like an hour.

Well, there you have it: time, patience, and understanding. These are the priceless gifts that I want. Over and over again, I take my bible, (thank God that I can still read), and I read what Paul wrote in Philippians 4:11: "I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content." But oh, how trying!

I know what it is to be in need, and what it is to have more than enough. I remember how your father and I struggled through the depression, and then how wonderful it was when we finally had a good nest egg, and had saved something for old age. I am thankful I can still care for myself financially (that is, unless I live to be 969!)

Finally, in his letter, Paul wrote, "I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me." I know I can, too! Maybe I can't do all I want to, the way I used to, but how comforting it is to know His eye is on the sparrow and I know He cares for me. I guess being 80 isn't so bad after all! God has blessed me so much.

Love,
Mom

Takes Longer Than I Thought

I haven't felt very normal since Mom's Memorial Service. In fact, honestly, I've been a little depressed. I haven't wanted to blog much lately because I've been worried that I'd be Donnie Downer.

But I had a good talk today with a couple of my friends in ministry. Apparently, this whole mourning deal takes longer than I thought. I'd rather not be lethargic, disinterested in most things, and mopey. I'd rather get back to normal. But it is part of the process apparently. And the process lasts awhile.

I didn't realize that. I knew that folks generally take a year to begin to fully move on -- there's always those first holidays to deal with (first Christmas, first Mother's Day, etc.). I just hadn't ever really, fully conceived that each day would be so blue.

Just a little FYI for everyone out there who hasn't grieved before & would expect everything to be all back to normal within a few weeks...

The Cupboard is Joylessly Full

The little things remind me of Mama.

In Mom's final months, there were two habits of Mom's that were particularly difficult to live with. For one, her body temperature was low, so she got cold very easily. We would bring her blankets & encourage her to wear more clothes to warm up, but it was more convenient & comfortable for her to turn the heat up. Obviously, this was more uncomfortable for the rest of us. And it was maddening with the energy bill rising, also.

The second habit was that anytime she went to get something to drink, she would get a new cup. She'd have one cup for coffee, one cup for milk, one cup for OJ, and another for water. She'd go through so many cups. Since I typically do most of the dishes, I would notice this & try to respectfully ask her to use less glasses -- just rinse it out & re-use it. But I guess there was no teaching that old dog a new trick.

These days, the thermostat remains remarkably consistent, and the cupboard stays full of cups. But it pleases me not when I make these realizations.

I Never Knew...

Before today, I never quite fully understood the power of presence. But I do now. There were lots of folks who came to memorialize my Mama today who I hadn't seen in ages, or even EVER seen. A gentleman who was friends with my parents 30 years ago, and who I'd never met, came to spend the day & pay his respects to Mama. One of Mom's best friends from high school drove five hours this morning to get here and then drove five hours to get back home tonight.

I've always heard folks say to me at funerals, "Thanks for coming." I always thought that that was what they were supposed to say. But with seeing so many folks who loved my Mom & love our family, I didn't know what else to say. It was truly touching. And it was a great comfort. If you were one of these people: Thank You.

The service & dinner reception came off really well. Many people commented how much they enjoyed & appreciated how well Daniel eulogized my mother. He did an outstanding job. It was a mighty fine day.

'Heaven Holds All To Me'

A sermon that had a particular impact on me in "my youth" was a sermon I heard about a decade ago. My mentor, Jack, preached it at my home church on the annual Homecoming Service in June. The title of the sermon was "Heaven Holds All To Me." There's also a hymn in many of our song books by the same title. The premise of Jack's sermon followed Matthew 6:

¹⁹"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. ²⁰But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. ²¹For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Jack's dad, Howard, was a minister for 50 years. In his sermon, Jack talks about how his dad came into the office to visit with him on that particular week leading up to preaching this sermon. Apparently, this was a rare occurrence. Howard asked Jack, "Whatcha preaching this Sunday?"

Jack simply told him, "Heaven Holds All to Me."

Jack says in his sermon that Howard just went into preacher mode. He said, "Ya know, Jack, Heaven holds a lot more to me now than it did when I was your age."

Jack said, "Well what do you mean, Pop?"

Howard said, "Well, heaven holds my Mama & my Daddy. Heaven holds my sisters. Heaven holds my brothers. Heaven holds quite a few of my life-long friends."

I've always remembered that. Brother Howard passed away himself about a year after that sermon was preached, and everyone dearly misses him. But now that my Mom has passed, I understand a little bit more about what he meant.

Also, I have a new-found respect for my elders. People who are 60 and older have probably gone through this taxing process of grief a few more times than I have. They have a strength & perspective that I can learn from on this subject.

More Reflections on Mom's Passing

Here are some more random reflections in the wake of Mom's passing. These are realizations or lessons that I think will be helpful for anyone who reads. Or they may just be memories that I wish to preserve here & look back on sometime in the future. Anyway, feel free to peek in to see what's on my mind this Sunday afternoon...

• A long-time friend, Lori, has taken an active interest in my younger sister. Lori lost her mother when she was 16. So she has a lot to offer us in terms of experience & guidance during this season of our lives.

One thing I picked up on, that Lori said when she visited yesterday, was how this is "a unique experience in (my) life." That is a really good way to describe it. Some folks say it's "tough" or it's "hard." And it is, but that language is somewhat imprecise. It is really just a unique experience. It is unlike anything I have ever experienced before.

• Other folks say, "Nothing prepares you for it." I sort of think that is imprecise language as well. In a sense, I was prepared. I have a faith that sustains me, and I had plenty of time to say goodbye. But when that loved one (in this case my Mom) is gone, there are a FLOOD of feelings that come over you. That's part of the uniqueness of this experience for me -- the amount of raw emotion I'm dealing with. And I think that's what folks mean when they say, "You can't prepare for it." The inevitable raw emotion comes over you like a wave. And there's nothing you can do in advance to buffer yourself from the intense nature of this sorrow.

• This raw emotion comes out for me in a number of ways. Seeing others cry (like my sister, or like I talked about a couple day ago with my grandmother) can get the water works flowing. When my sister, Katie, voices some of these grieving realizations while crying, I can't help but get misty myself while trying to comfort or console her.

Also, seeing Mom's old possessions around the house is difficult. I've heard folks talk about that -- I never knew what a truly big deal that was. I've often heard folks mention, "It's like they just up & left. They're gone!" Mom's coat is still hanging over her computer chair. Katie brought Mom's shoes to me last night with tears in her eyes. At one point yesterday, she was crying over a hat that Mom wore. Mom lost her hair with the chemotherapy, of course, and was insecure about showing off her baldness in public. So she had these cute little caps. And whenever we spot an empty hat, it just serves to remind us of the emptiness in our lives & in our hearts. I'm sure we'll be putting all those things away soon, but for now they evoke a very visceral emotional reaction.

As I typed that last paragraph, I got a big lump in my throat & a little teary-eyed. Some of my younger readers may not understand that element of this grieving process yet, but I suppose you will eventually. I've hardly ever been one that clings to physical possessions. But now even small things are important keepsakes because they represent Mom in some way. Even down to the charts we had on the wall where we tracked Mom's "pain spikes" and when we gave her her pills four times a day. Those now seemingly meaningless pieces of paper are precious. A keyboard Mom bought only just a few months ago means a lot to us because Mom loved piano music. It always sounded irrational to me before, and it might even sound that way to some of you. But for those who have experienced intense grief at this level, you know precisely what I mean.

• My Dad is grieving, too. Even though he & my Mom were separated for the better part of a decade, that doesn't erase the 22 years they spent together as close companions. It's a big loss for him, too. In some ways it is bigger for him than it is for my sister & I. And he's been a rock through it all.

• I had a conversation with Lori & my Dad about the ways people die. Lori lost her Mom suddenly at age 16, so she never got to say goodbye. She also never got to experience her mother's love as an adult -- she never got to be "just buddies" with her Mom.

My Dad lost his mother just eight years ago. Her decline and death was a prolonged & drawn out experience. My Dad lost his Dad (Philip Wesley Cunningham, Sr. -- the original!) suddenly when he had a heart attack. One of the worsts parts of it was that Dad should have been with him -- they had planned a fishing trip, but Dad had to cancel for some reason, and he had the heart attack on a Saturday morning.

Dad says that he would prefer the experience of his mother's death over his father's sudden loss. Lori, though she hasn't experienced it, says that she couldn't imagine going through a long, drawn-out death experience. I think that it may be a male/female thing. Being a man, we enjoy playing the hero. And so being there for Mom for everything little thing, no matter how tedious, can be fulfilling for us. And it was for me. I have no regrets for how I was there for Mom since her illness began over a year ago.

• I got to watch my Dad be there for his mother through her decline & death. I said at the time that I learned a lot from him about how to handle a situation like that in a positive way. And many of those lessons helped me help Mom through all of this.

If I could share one lesson that I learned, I would say that it is good to keep a light personality & sense of humor through this kind of a trial. In her final months, my grandmother began to think that Dad was her boyfriend. So he went along with it, and would joke, "So where we going for our date." And so on & so forth. In like manner, I would joke with Mom. I think it's comforting for everyone if you can make light of things from time to time.

• When my Mom got out of the hospital a few weeks ago following her seizure, she got on the computer only a couple of times. She used to spend hours on the computer -- reading & sending E-mails. She was known for her very long E-mails. But she didn't have near enough energy for that after her seizure.

One of the very last E-mails she sent, when I look at her account, really gets me:

(Subject:)
seizure & hospitalized for a week

(Body:)
I had a rough week this past week.
Becky

The shortness & directness of that E-mail says it all for me. Didn't have the will to capitalize the subject heading. I just hate that she had to suffer like that. I'm glad that part is over for her at least.

• You never know when your last moment will be with someone. My last real moment with Mom was on Thursday afternoon on the day before she died. I was very simply changing the sheets with the hospice nurse -- a difficult chore when Mom became immobile! Anyway, I was rolling her over in the bed toward me, and she woke up from her nap. She said, "HEY Bubba," and gave me a big hug. She was very sweet in her last week.

Right then, I didn't let the moment linger because I knew the nurse had other things to get to after we finished. I thought, "Well, there will be a few more moments." I didn't know that that would be the last moment we would share with her in a conscious state. It will always be a tender memory.

Mom's Obituary

PANAMA CITY, FL – Rebecca A. Garrick died April 18th, 2008 after a 17-month fight with cancer.

Born September 4th, 1949 in Tuscaloosa, AL, Rebecca Ann Robinson was raised by her loving parents Tom and Jean. She was raised in several cities, including Gainesville, GA, Jacksonville, FL, and Grove Hill, AL. She graduated from the University of Alabama with a Bachelor’s Degree in Accounting in 1975. She married Phil Cunningham in Mobile, AL in July of 1977. She worked as an accountant until she returned to school to study to become a social worker. She graduated from Florida State University with a 4.0 GPA and a Master’s Degree in Social Work. She worked as a social worker until she was diagnosed with cancer in November of 2006. She re-married in 2000, to Herman Garrick of Grove Hill, AL.

Becky is survived by her mother, Jean Leavelle; sister, Judy Sadler; children, Philip Cunningham III & Katie Cunningham; former husband, Phil Cunningham, Jr.; and husband, Herman Garrick.

The memorial service will be held at 10:30 AM, Saturday, April 26th at the Jenks Avenue Church of Christ with Minister Daniel Cherry, officiating. A dinner reception will follow the service, being hosted at the Lynn Haven Church of Christ.

In lieu of flowers, contributions in Becky’s name may be made to Covenant Hospice, 107 W. 19th St., Panama City, FL 32405.

Mama Has Passed On

At 9:25 this evening, surrounded by family & friends, Rebecca Garrick died. She was my mama.

I have a lot of thoughts, and I want to preserve them as best I can. This may be a little bit exhibitionist of me, but I'm going to share with each of you some of my thoughts in the last hour and a half.

• I was just about to take out the garbage when the Hospice Nurse called me into the room. She could tell that we were in her final moments. Five to ten minutes later, she breathed her last breath. Her breathing had been labored for some time. And her body was finally at rest.

• When she passed, I did what Mom told me to: I looked to the ceiling. I looked up to the right, to the left, to all four corners of the room, and right above the bed. At one time, Mom read extensively about near-death experiences. And she told me that when she passes, look up. I did.

• I am sad, but also relieved. I miss her, and will miss her, but I also have come to accept that this is a natural part of life.

• When the Hospice nurse was listening for a heartbeat and there finally was not one anymore -- before she said anything -- she reached her hand to Mama's face, slid her hand down Mama's face, and covered over her eyes. It seemed a little over-dramatic to me. I thought they only did that in movies. My Mom's sister, Judy, had to ask her, "Is she gone?" And she replied, "Yes."

• That's when the crying broke out. Hearing all the ladies cry, I couldn't help but break down a little myself. No shame in that, of course, but I just prefer to do my crying in private. So I let a little bit out, hugged everyone and cried.

I'll especially remember hugging Dad & crying. We've hugged a lot -- he's good at that. We've hugged, in this very house, at times when I was leaving and times when I've come home. We've embraced in times of joy -- I'll never forget us hugging and jumping up & down in our living room the night the Braves won the World Series in 1995. And now we've hugged in a time of extreme sorrow. And I've seen him cry before, but his face this time, with the grief, was difficult to take in. I'm sure it was true vice versa, as well. He told me he was proud of me -- how I've held up & handled all that has needed handling. That meant a lot. He's told me in recent weeks that he's been impressed with my sister & I -- how we've cared for Mom. He said that it has given him a lot of comfort for if ever/whenever he gets into that rough of a condition.

• The WORST of it for me (by a country mile -- no other part of this was more difficult...) was seeing my grandmother, Mom's mother (we call her Mama Jean), break down & cry. I'll never forget the expression on her face. I can't imagine the pain of watching her grown daughter suffer & die at her relatively young age. Mama Jean hardly wanted to leave Mama's side in these last days. She loved her so much.

We had just been talking, in fact, yesterday about how Mama Jean had a third daughter. Her name was Jennifer. She died soon after being born. Of Mama Jean's three children, she's had to watch two of them perish. And we even received the horrible news Monday that Mom's sister, Judy, has a tumor in her right breast. The doctors do think that it may be benign, but they haven't completed the tests yet. PLEASE pray for Judy. I just hate it for Mama Jean right now, and I don't want to imagine what any more suffering she would have to endure.