Remembering Connie

I see it’s been a long time since I posted anything to this Blog. I was away on vacation for two weeks, then at Synod School, where I chose not to take my computer so I could focus on worship, the main presentations, and the classes I was taking. I came home with a fever and cough that set me back for a few days, then Kathy’s mother died August 11 after a long battle with cancer.

Connie was first diagnosed a little over two years ago, and we all went through the stages of shock, cautious hopefulness, waiting and watching. There were more and more trips to Tarkio, Missouri to help arrange things, more phone calls to keep abreast of the latest developments, and finally the word we had all been dreading: there’s nothing more that can be done medically. We enlisted the help of the local Hospice and began the really long wait as Connie’s condition slowly deteriorated. She went from sleeping in a recliner to a hospital bed in the living room to a room at the local care center, which was where she died, peacefully, early on a Wednesday morning.

Nearly all her family was able to gather for the funeral. There are three ordained ministers in the family, counting me, and we all had a part in the service, as did Kathy and her brother Paul. Kathy’s brother Jeff preached on the resurrection and got through with only one pause to compose himself, which was more than I would have been able to do. Some folk from our congregation here came down for the service, which was a great comfort and support for both of us. I had to leave shortly after the funeral lunch to get back to Westside for a wedding, but I was able to come back to Tarkio Sunday to spend some more time with our kids before they headed home on Monday.

As pastors, we get to spend a lot more time with dying people and their families than almost anyone else. In some ways it prepares you for the time when the dying person will be a loved one, but in other ways it doesn’t. We grieve for those with whom we minister and serve, but it’s not like the grief we feel when we lose a family member. I grieve for Connie but even more, I think, I grieve for Kathy’s grief, and for the grief of my father-in-law, my brothers-in-law and their families, and my children. For a time it becomes the dominant thing in your life, the sun around which all the planets orbit.

We do not grieve, Paul says, as those who have no hope. (1 Thessalonians 4:13) The mood Friday and Saturday was somber, but joyful, if I can put it that way. We know that for Connie, this is not the end, but the beginning. Thanks be to God.