Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Lament - Part 2
Last Sunday evening our Lifeteam was scheduled to hold a time of remembering Kerri. She died one year ago. I chose not to attend. It was not that I did not want to remember Kerri. I do not ever want to forget Kerri. There were personal reasons I chose not to remember in a group setting.
I remember so many things about Kerri. Her infectious smile that seemed never to go away. The way she could talk to anyone about her God, even the telemarketer who called her on the phone. The way she cared for her beautiful girls. The grace she had to forgive Tony and the way she never had unkind things to speak about him. The way she always wanted to protect her girls from her illness. The crazy things she would do. The times she brought the girls by the house on Halloween and how she would be dressed up with them. How she shared a bed with Jolee in Houston, even though she was so tired and couldn't rest, because Jolee needed that assurance that her mom was okay. There is much good to remember about Kerri and I will not forget that about her.
At the same time as I learned that Kerri had died, I learned that my co-worker, Karen, had been sent home to Abilene, because the hospital in Lubbock felt they had no more treatment for her cancer. I have often thought of the contrast of the way Karen and Kerri lived their last days. Both were diagnosed within a few weeks of each other. They died within months of each other. But their last months on earth were so different.
Their lives had been different - Kerri talking always about her Lord and how she was longing to see him. Karen never mentioned God much. But in the end, Kerri withdrew from everyone and spent her last days alone. Away from friends and family. Shutting out those who loved her and cared about her and who wanted to walk that last journey with her. Karen, on the other hand, drew her friends and family around her. She couldn't get enough time with those she cared about. She granted grace and forgiveness to me and allowed me to walk with her through that last journey. She spent her last days on earth making sure that her family and friends knew how much they meant to her. Her last conscious day she was dictating a thank you note to me, having her sister write it for her because she was no longer strong enough to write herself. Even when the doctor and family didn't think she was strong enough to have company, she wanted people around.
I have grieved much over Kerri's decision. It was her decision to make. I know that. But I saw how much joy Karen had from just a few minutes of time with her daughter and grandson and son and siblings. And I know what it meant to each of us to have that time with her.
There was time at the funeral home for visiting with the family and sharing memories and seeing other friends and sharing grief and loss. At the funeral, there was a special seating section marked off just for those of us who had worked with Karen - a public proclamation that we were important to her.
In contrast, there was no visitation with Kerri's family. No time to celebrate her life and mourn her passing. Nothing special for those of us who had met with her on Sunday evenings for much of the past two years. Who had gathered round her and prayed over her. Who had prayed against hope that her husband would come back to her. That the tumor would not be malignant. That the cancer would go away.
Kerri gave a lot of hugs during her life. I usually was not a recipient of those. That hurt. Being shut out of her death caused hurt, also. So, I mourn for her. I lament. I just have to do it my way.
I remember so many things about Kerri. Her infectious smile that seemed never to go away. The way she could talk to anyone about her God, even the telemarketer who called her on the phone. The way she cared for her beautiful girls. The grace she had to forgive Tony and the way she never had unkind things to speak about him. The way she always wanted to protect her girls from her illness. The crazy things she would do. The times she brought the girls by the house on Halloween and how she would be dressed up with them. How she shared a bed with Jolee in Houston, even though she was so tired and couldn't rest, because Jolee needed that assurance that her mom was okay. There is much good to remember about Kerri and I will not forget that about her.
At the same time as I learned that Kerri had died, I learned that my co-worker, Karen, had been sent home to Abilene, because the hospital in Lubbock felt they had no more treatment for her cancer. I have often thought of the contrast of the way Karen and Kerri lived their last days. Both were diagnosed within a few weeks of each other. They died within months of each other. But their last months on earth were so different.
Their lives had been different - Kerri talking always about her Lord and how she was longing to see him. Karen never mentioned God much. But in the end, Kerri withdrew from everyone and spent her last days alone. Away from friends and family. Shutting out those who loved her and cared about her and who wanted to walk that last journey with her. Karen, on the other hand, drew her friends and family around her. She couldn't get enough time with those she cared about. She granted grace and forgiveness to me and allowed me to walk with her through that last journey. She spent her last days on earth making sure that her family and friends knew how much they meant to her. Her last conscious day she was dictating a thank you note to me, having her sister write it for her because she was no longer strong enough to write herself. Even when the doctor and family didn't think she was strong enough to have company, she wanted people around.
I have grieved much over Kerri's decision. It was her decision to make. I know that. But I saw how much joy Karen had from just a few minutes of time with her daughter and grandson and son and siblings. And I know what it meant to each of us to have that time with her.
There was time at the funeral home for visiting with the family and sharing memories and seeing other friends and sharing grief and loss. At the funeral, there was a special seating section marked off just for those of us who had worked with Karen - a public proclamation that we were important to her.
In contrast, there was no visitation with Kerri's family. No time to celebrate her life and mourn her passing. Nothing special for those of us who had met with her on Sunday evenings for much of the past two years. Who had gathered round her and prayed over her. Who had prayed against hope that her husband would come back to her. That the tumor would not be malignant. That the cancer would go away.
Kerri gave a lot of hugs during her life. I usually was not a recipient of those. That hurt. Being shut out of her death caused hurt, also. So, I mourn for her. I lament. I just have to do it my way.
# posted by pawatson @ 7:34 PM 
