An Untimely Death in the Family

As wonderful as the promises are for those who believe and hope to spend eternity in heaven, those of us left here on earth are rarely ready for the death of a close relative or friend. When my father died of pancreatic cancer at age 65, I felt cheated. This past week I felt cheated once again.

And if it was up to us, we would pick a better time. We would certainly not choose a time of year when a snowy path to the grave site would need to be shoveled. We would rather put a loved one to rest in a garden of green, with tulips or poppies in bloom all around. Although they are not their body, we want to treat them with respect; we say goodbye, touch the cold hands, and stroke the closed casket before we depart the cemetery. The final goodbyes this week had to be quick. It was around 4 degrees with windchill outside.

Death often does not come at a time we would choose. But by all accounts, no one who dies ever wants to come back to this life, as good as it may seem at the time.

The suffering and age-related issues of those waiting to die sometimes make death a welcome relief, but the shock of the loss of that presence and personhood still often leaves a large hole in the lives of those left behind.

My mother wondered out loud every time I visited, "Why does God spare me?" The husband's mom at 96 is also very ready to begin her life in eternity and prays that she might die. His Dad was very ready when he died. It still leaves a hole when they pass on.

But when a perfectly vital 71-year-old, my aunt through marriage and also my second cousin, friend and sometimes employer passes, in a matter of just over two months time, it is different. The expectation now is to live to and enjoy life into the eighties, at least. My parents never made it that far--which I remember more with each passing year--but with modern medicine and nutrition, the expectations have changed. The Social Security system was based on much lower life spans, which is partly why it is predicted to be unsustainable into the future.

We have now lost almost all of the previous generation of aunts and uncles. Several made it to their nineties, but realized, as Aunt J liked to articulate: "growing old is not for sissies!" I do have five older relatives from the four family branches still living. including Hazel, who at 96 is the only one left from my branches. And my Dad had nine siblings! Hazel was a second marriage for my Dad's older brother Herman. Even Herman's only daughter passed a few years ago.

But when a healthy woman in her early 70's succumbs to a virulent blood cancer with complications, we are shocked and devastated. She had no time to get her house and life in order--(is there a lesson for me here?)--she was too sick, from day one that she felt ill, thinking she had a flu. A lifetime of memories and accumulations will one day be sorted and tossed by others. In the end, she was too sick to think of anything but family, especially her beloved husband of 50 years. That is all that mattered in the end--how would her husband manage without her? She had waited on his every need for a lifetime--spoiled him by most standards--helped him run a business, cooked every meal, counted out every morning pill. Poured him a drink every day at 5:00.

The funeral and wake were held this past Tuesday and Wednesday. I picked up daughter M. from the airport. R. arrived late and took a cab. Many relatives traveled to pay their respects. Some of the Chicago group and 3 from Indiana gathered here after the wake for conversation and snacks.

I handpicked a custom bouquet the day of the wake. It was dwarfed by some of the large arrangements of flowers that had to have cost multiple 100's. Aunt V. would have thought all the expense a little extravagant, I think. But the family knew, too, that food and flowers were the things that represented her hospitality most specifically--and both were in abundant supply.

The hymns chosen, the remembrances, and a message by the husband to a packed church--all were a tribute to a life well-lived, and a wonderful testimony to what it means to live and die as a believer.

Flowers were distributed on the way out--a little bouquet of spring on a miserably cold, if sunny, day. I think Aunt V. would have smiled. I trust that she is smiling a lot lately!