Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

For most of my life I have been scared of death. I was in first grade when Grandpa Van died.  Though I do not remember what I was told, I remember having nightmares, sobbing uncontrollably in school and the teacher comforting me. I was not allowed to attend the funeral.  I could only imagine how terrifying funerals must be. When I was in fifth grade, Grandpa Whitlock died.  Again, none of us kids, even I, the oldest, were allowed to attend the funeral.  No one talked about death. Was it too awful to discuss? Was it contagious?

I learned that death could happen unexpectedly. My husband and I were teaching Sunday school when my dad let me know that Grandma Whitlock had been taken to the hospital.  His matter-of-fact tone conveyed little urgency, so we finished the class and ate lunch. As we prepared to head to Pennsylvania, we learned that she had already died. Shock! How often I have regretted being unable to say goodbye. We brought our toddler Tim to the service, but his boy-sterous behavior made this another funeral I couldn’t really attend.

When my Grandma Van’s health began deteriorating, I was determined to be there for her. Several times a week I traveled nearly thirty miles each way to spend time with her.  How hard to see this dear woman who had long been deaf now lose her sight and have her body attacked by cancer. I experienced death’s finality up close; she and I were alone when she breathed her last breath.  

Since then, I have more than made up for earlier missed funerals, especially while having a leadership role at a ministry. Each experience was unique; every loss left a hole in the heart that no one else can fill.  

I faced my own “valley of the shadow” in 1998 when I became severely dehydrated on a mission trip in Nicaragua and wasn’t sure I would see New Jersey again.  Each of my parents have had health crises in the last decade when we didn’t know whether they would pull through.  We all survived, but now it feels like we are on a very long medical roller coaster where fever goes up, resistance goes down, pain goes round and round, body falls down.  An amusement park ride is over in minutes, but this ride has been twisting and turning for years.  Now the ups are shorter and the downs deeper, more wide ranging.  I hate the unpredictability, never knowing when the ride will end.  But in reality none of us know.  I think of the earthquake and tsunami in Japan.

For strength, I go back to Psalm 23. “I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” Living in fear is not helpful or healthy. I may feel alone, but I am not. God is strapped in with me on this ride. He wants me to focus on the good, to make the most of each day and each opportunity to invest in a person’s life.  So that’s what I want to do, in sunlight and in shadow.

Love in the Little Things

Both parents have been fighting respiratory challenges.  A few days ago, Dad called several hours after his bedtime asking me to give Mom a sleeping pill since her coughing was keeping him up.  Last night with Mom still coughing, it seemed best for her to sleep in a more upright position in her recliner and Dad in the bed.  The goal:  to give each an uninterrupted night’s sleep.  When I asked Dad in the morning how he had slept, he said it was horrible.  Surprised, I asked why.  Sheepishly, he said he missed having Mom in bed with him.

It was touching to hear this expression of love.  When I discussed sleeping arrangements for tonight with one of our health aides, she noted other ways my parents show care for each other.  Dad watches her like a hawk to make sure she is properly caring for Mom, and each morning Mom brightens when she sees Dad.   “You are so lucky,” she continued.  “Nine out of ten people get mean and crotchety as life gets tough.”  She gave examples of unpleasant patients she has cared for.  

Truly, I am blessed to have a mother who appreciates the help she receives—from getting her a straw to cleaning her up after the diaper overflows.  And I am blessed to have a father who cares for his wife even though she does not always remember they are married.  

Tonight, using a wedge pillow, Mom is reclining next to Dad in their own bed.  I am hoping we all will sleep well!