I remember the phone call from my brother, who told me what had happened. I can tell you word-for-word, even now - 15 years later, exactly what he said. I remember telling my 13 and 10-year-old children that their Papa was dead. I remember the hour-long drive on a warm, foggy night to my mother's house where I had to tell her the same horrible news. I remember making phone calls from her house, and my brother arriving late that night with Daddy's cap, wallet, and glasses which were still damp from the rain that had fallen earlier that day before his body was discovered. I remember a sleepless night in the room I had grown up in and then rising the next day, driving a few miles with my brother to the nursing home where my Granny resided and telling her that her only living son was dead. I remember a phone call from the coroner, and a trip later that day to the funeral home where we made those arrangements, chose a coffin and wrote an obituary. I remember the next day, going once again to the funeral home, and viewing my daddy's lifeless body for the first time. I remember the visitation and the funeral, and the darkness that enveloped me as we left his body at the cemetery - the realization that this was not a bad dream, he was really gone, and he wasn't coming back.
If that was the end of the story, what a sad, depressing story it would be. It would be devastating. Even now, after all of this time, as I recall those details, I do so with tears filling my eyes. But this is not the whole story. Far from it.
The night I learned of Daddy's accident, I wasn't the only one. By the time I arrived at my mother's house around 10 pm, several members of my Christian family where she lives were already parked out front waiting for me. They went into the house with me as I told my mother that horrible news. And they stayed. And more people came. They couldn't really do anything that night, but they were there. My Christian family - people I had known all of my life, who loved my physical family, came to simply be present on that horrible night.
And it didn't end there. They provided food for us throughout the week - so much food, in fact, that one friend had to loan us her portable refrigerator. They opened their homes for our out-of-town family, and anticipated our every need. Back home, my church family made sure my kids were cared for, and many of them traveled to my parents' town to be with us for the visitation and the funeral. Others of my Christian family several hours away also made that trip.
Upon learning that I needed to travel back home mid-week to get more clothes, one of my lifelong friends insisted on driving me - an hour home and an hour back to my mom's house, leaving her own husband and two school-aged daughters at home in order to see to my needs. And she did this after she had worked all day.
Another friend from my church family at home brought a meal to our house once we were back home the week after the funeral. She knew that I had not been to the grocery store in a week, and that after the stress of the previous week I would not feel like cooking that first day back home.
I remember it all. The visits, flowers, shared tears, hugs, expressions of love, having my every need not only met, but anticipated, so that I never had to ask for anything.
At the end of that week, one of my uncles commented about the great love shown to us by our Christian family. It made me think of what Jesus told His disciples in John 13:35 - "By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”
Last week we had a wonderful series of lessons presented by Ryan Boyer on what it means to be the family of God. (You can listen to those here.) One of the greatest blessings of my life is the wonderful relationship I have with my brothers and sisters in Christ, made possible by the great love of our Father. Ryan's lessons last week reminded me of that - the unity, loyalty, trust, and cooperation that is vital to our family relationships; as well as the sharing of stuff, decisions, love, responsibility, and, of course, suffering. I appreciated all of those reminders last week, as well as the challenge to improve MY outreach in these areas.
Yes, October 11, 2003 ended one of the worst weeks of my life. But in other ways, it ended one of the weeks I have felt the most loved and cared for in my entire life. And during this week each year, I choose to spend most of my time reflecting - not on the horrors of my loss, but on the blessings that resulted from my needs. My earthly father is gone, but how thankful I am that he taught me to love my Heavenly Father. And because of my relationship with Him, I have an abundance of brothers and sisters in Christ, as well as mothers and fathers in the faith.
What an indescribable blessing to be part of the family of God!
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