Tim Russert, 1950 – 2008

It’s difficult to imagine the upcoming election without Tim Russert.

Tim Russert dies at age 58

In the blink of an eye

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death

With a kiss on the cheek, he went out the door, calling, “We’ll talk about it tonight.” A day begun like any other day. She turns her attention to that long list of things to do and begins to hustle the children toward their various tasks. Who are we kidding? These are not children any longer. One male, an adult now, taking on the world. His twin, a girl, the same age but lost in a beautiful silence and captive to sweet childhood. Two more girls racing out of their teens and chasing adulthood faster than they should.

There was no ominous music to hint at the tragedy that awaited them just a few hours away.

With a blink of an eye and the clutch of the heart, he falls to the ground. His time here is drawing to an end. Was there time for pain, for regret, for his thoughts to turn those he loves? We will never know, I suppose. But his life suggests that he could not have left this world without bidding farewell.

A quiet room, painted purple, holds the grief of a family torn asunder.

How do you ever forget each minute detail of the moment your world fell apart? How did a day that began like any other become a day you never wanted to live through? How do you start to piece together an existence from a fragmented life?

Today, the husband of my childhood friend collapsed and died. He was 47 years old leaving his dear love behind along with their four children. She and I have had quite a remarkable friendship. Our kindred spirits were knitted together in fifth grade. Both being red heads, how could we not be best friends? Four years later, a divorce in my family and high school sent us our separate ways. I ran into her briefly in a grocery store just before I married. She and her husband to be were already together at that time.

Many years passed. I moved almost 600 miles away; then moved closer but not home, and then finally back to the area of my hometown. One day, while in a store, I looked up to see my friend. We started up where we had left off, except this time we were each married. She had four children. I had seven with two more still to come. Unfortunately, the busyness of life and several moves made us lose contact with each other again.

But there’s that place where I always see people I know. I don’t think I have ever been there without seeing someone that I know. Barnes and Noble. You guessed it. I looked up. I saw my friend. The short story is that they started attending the church we were attending at the time. Her now teenagers became friends with my now teenagers. We still don’t talk as much as we would like. Who has time with a collective thirteen children but we stay in touch.

Then today. He’s gone. She no longer has the partner of her life … her friend, her lover. Her children no longer have their daddy. I remember how his girls would still sit on his lap and you could tell that he adored them and they adored him. His son has his same fierce tenacity about life.

My heart breaks for them. I am just so, so, so sorry. This was not supposed to happen. This was not the happily ever after. This was not supposed to be the ending of a very difficult and challenging season of life. There was supposed to be a light at the end of the tunnel. The tide was supposed to turn and bring them to an easier time. They were supposed to grow old together, see their children graduate and marry together, marvel at the wonder of grandbabies … together.

Quite honestly, this is unfair. This is crappy.

I have little tolerance for those who try to sugarcoat their experience. The words of encouragement and the pat Christian answers just seem to fall flat right now. He’s only been gone for a few hours. Goodness, give them a chance to grieve, to be sad, to be angry.

It made me cringe to hear her bolster herself by saying that God decided to take him home. Really? I just can’t believe in a God that would just decide to take a father from his children, a husband from his wife. Call me a heretic. Fine. But, I just can’t believe in that type of God. It makes him seem like an assassin … “Oh, your days are through so you are going to have a massive heart attack and die. And you over there, yep, you are done too so a truck is going to crash into your car and kill you. And you’re not going to win that battle with cancer after all because I’ve decided to take. you. home.”

I don’t understand all the complexities of life and death but I don’t believe we are just ducks swimming around, waiting on God to pick us off with his divine rifle. I believe we live in a fallen and flawed world, full of disease and sickness. I believe our genetic code may make us more susceptible to diseases and add in stress and maybe bad life habits and death may not be avoided. When death comes, I can believe in a God who is a father to the fatherless, who shelters them in the shadow of God’s wing, who wipes away each tear. I believe in a God who gives peace that passes all understanding, who provides all things according to God’s riches in glory, who strengthens me to do all things.

Not too long ago, I would have rattled off all of those same Christian answers to my friend though and would have believed that I was dong the right, encouraging, comforting thing. I have learned that the best things to do are to just be with someone, to listen, to sit in silence, to say, “I’m going to miss him.”, to acknowledge the unfairness of it all, to give permission for them to grieve, for them to be angry.

I hope I walk all of this out with grace. It is my heart’s desire to be an instrument of God’s peace.

~~ Grace and Peace ~~

Related Tags: death

Missing Daddy

I have been fatherless for one month, eighteen days. It seems that everyone has forgotten. I feel the loss daily and everyone else around me just goes on with their lives and I am expected to just be normal . . . whatever that is.

We had friends here last night to celebrate New Years. I found myself feeling resentful of everyone. All of them still have their fathers and I don’t and noone acknowledges it. I called my brother. In the middle of it all, they are outside shooting off fireworks and I called my brother. I just needed to talk to someone who would understand, who is feeling the same emptiness that I am feeling. Then this morning, I had breakfast with my other brother. I think it is even harder for him because there hasn’t been closure. He wasn’t there when Daddy died and couldn’t/didn’t come down for the funeral. Lots of unresolved issues.

In the midst of all of this, I am wondering how am I supposed to be acting and feeling. What is normal? Part of me wants to show the strength of the Lord but then there are other parts of me that just want to curl up in a ball and cry. I have never dealt with a close death before and I don’t know how to be.

I can’t talk to my mother. She has so much unforgiveness and bitterness toward Daddy. I have never heard her say anything good about him at all. She seems resentful that I haven’t called her, haven’t talked to her about his death and the funeral . . . that Russell hasn’t called. But, when it comes to Daddy, she hasn’t been a safe place for us. I just can’t put myself through the turmoil of hearing her talk about him in such a negative way. Not now . . . not ever again. So, I almost feel an additional loss.

I realized today that I have almost finished a book in one week. I received a book for Christmas . . . 500 pages! I am almost done. If I keep up this pace, I could read over fifty books this year. That would be a good goal. I love to read and haven’t allowed myself much time for it, especially good fiction. The children are settling down to watch Mary Poppins. I think I am going to sit with them and finish reading my book.

BTW, my personal New Years and starting over date is Monday, January 3rd.

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Immersed in the Mystery,

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The Results of Neglect

Loud, knocking, banging sound

Pull the van over!

Stuck on the side of the interstate with our children plus one more.

Call a friend to come and get us

Walk in the cold to wait

Call AAA, argue, drink Pepsi, eat pizza and wait

The hero arrives, the journey home resumes

Home now

Phone calls, van needs engine

Calm reigns, God will provide

Nonetheless I am gray . . . not blue. Blue is a rich color, royal and fun. Gray is like dirty snow, dirty silly putty, old oatmeal. Yeah. I am gray.

Stepping outside, I plead for the sun to warm my bones but I am still frigid.

There are bright spots, productive times, playful times but they fade so quickly in the mass of the grayness. Like bright sails on the gray ocean . . . the ocean’s mass envelopes the color. Soon, everything is gray again

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Immersed in the Mystery,

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Waiting

I am wandering. If I could say I am wandering in a desert or a blizzard or a barren land, I think it would be better. But I am wandering in a beautiful garden. I know it is beautiful because there are others here who are telling me about it. They say that the flowers are in full bloom and tease the eye with every color imaginable. They tell me that the fruit hangs from the tree and the vine, full and ripe. The fragrance overwhelms the senses. Picking a grape, popping into the mouth, brings a burst of sweetness. The wind gently whispers through the trees and the birds sing their song of beauty . . . at least that is what I am told. Under my feet the grass is thick and soft, like a velvet carpet . . . that’s what they tell me.

I don’t see it; I don’t smell it; I don’t taste it; I don’t hear it; I don’t feel it; My senses are dull. The world is colorless. Nothing tempts me to stop and smell the roses. I want to but I can’t seem to grasp all that is around me. I know that beauty and joy is in the details of life. I am looking at it all from a cold, frosted window. I know there are images out there. But I can’t describe them. The sharpness is gone.

My writing is abstract. There is no image to it really. I want it to be concrete, detailed, deep, rich and inspiring. I want my life to be as full and ripe as the grape that is hanging on the vine in that garden. Yet, I am overwhelmingly drawn to gray. The grayness wraps itself around me like a blanket of fog and I find some strange comfort in that. But, it isn’t truly living. I know a new day is coming, new life, fighting its way out of the cocoon. Now is the metamorphosis time, the time of change, the turbulent waiting for the fullness of time. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

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Immersed in the Mystery,

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