Hi gang;

I returned last night from burying my last grandparent. Borrowing from my sister’s previous e-mail on the topic of Granny:
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…my sweet grandmother, Ruth Arementia Goss Thompson, passed away yesterday. She was 99 years old. To put ’99 years’ in perspective . . .’Granny’ was married at age 14, gave birth to 5 BIG boys, probably all at home . . . her first when she was 16 years old. She and her husband raised their family in East Texas during the Great Depression. One of her boys survived the catastropic New London school explosion in 1937 after being buried beneath the rubble for over 24 hours. (This explosion is what prompted the addition of odor to natural gas: read more about it here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_London_School_explosion). Another son survived polio. Four of her sons served in the US Navy. After the boys were grown, she became a nurse and served others for many years. She was widowed at the age of 48. Until a few months ago she lived alone in her home, as was her wish, with her boys looking in on her regularly. She grieved the loss of two of her sons and four grandchildren before she was called home. The words that come to mind when I think of my Granny are caring, independent, strong, loving, stubborn, a faithful servant for 99 years. . . she will be missed by her large family and many friends.
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On the 2-1/2 hour drive (5 round-trip), I had plenty of time to reflect on what she’d lived through…2 world wars, the roaring 20s (she was married at the age of 14 in the midst of those roaring 20s!), the Great Depression, the industrial revolution, the Civil Rights movement, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, 2 wars in Iraq, the Oklahoma City bombing, the terrorism events not only of 2001, but those ranging back to the 70s and before. Teala mentioned above that one of boys was buried alive in the explosion above, but one of her other boys, as I understand it, was home sick that day from school and would’ve been in the very class where the spark ignited the school.

Granny lived 50+ years after her husband passed, choosing never to remarry, and for all anyone else knows, never choosing to date. Granny was surrounded by those who loved her, but mostly via phone. When we used to go see her on Sundays, I remember Granny talking about who had stopped by that week to say hi. It always seemed she had someone stopping by to check in and keep her company.

One thing I don’t care much about when it comes to funerals is the idea of an open-casket. I still remember the “visitation” the night before dad’s funeral…it had been weeks since I had seen him because I was in my first semester at A&M. I stayed in the back of the room as Todd, Jimmy Ann, Teala, Rick, and Mom went to go look. I approached, but made sure I couldn’t see him. Later as visitors came in I began doing what we do…playing my own brand of denial by standing in the back and saying hi, laughing, cutting up, whatever, with every person that came through to pay respects. In the process I was able to build up my own confidence high enough to approach the casket. Before I knew it, I was standing over Pops with tears streaming down my face. As strong as I had stood for a half hour, I was losing it. I touched the back of his hand just to feel one more touch. He didn’t really look like the man I remembered…hair was different, face had lost its muscular support, etc., but there was no doubt it was him. Before I knew it, I was gripping the sides of the casket so hard that my knuckles were sore…I was trying to draw strength to stop crying before I turned around. It didn’t work.

I must’ve been shaking pretty bad because before I knew it, I had a couple of family members around me…and they had started back up again. Dad and I were tight…he loved all of us dearly. I never imagined life without him.

I bring the story of Pops up, because as it wound up, I sat front-row center at Granny’s funeral…thrust closer to her than I’d been in years. Anyone who knows me knows that is not a preferred position – but at least I had the aisle.

My cousins all have many fond memories of Granny – but mostly, I attribute that to the fact that they are all roughly the same age. I was pall-bearer with 6 of the other grandboys, 3 I didn’t know so well because of geographic proximity, but the one I sat next to was my cousin, Scott. Scott was always trouble…but, then again, all the boys were. Scott was just the trouble closest to my age. As I talked to my completely bald and still-funny cousin, he told me he had just had his 50th birthday. I always thought Scott and I were closer in age. So 10 years separated the second-youngest grandboy – in this vicinity…meaning, that I would see on usually an annual basis. By age 6, I was an only child – Teala and Todd both off at college, etc. Trips to Granny’s were not all that much fun, and I just didn’t have the affinity for going up there that the others had.

I always felt guilty for it…and if anything, other of my family’s attempts to shovel more guilt on top of me now and then were met with even more resistance to do what I should’ve done. It was certainly not that I didn’t love her…but I didn’t have the connections to childhood memories that they all shared.

And there I was, front and center…feeling ashamed, missing dad, and praying to God that I didn’t instill the same in my kids. Then they raised the lid on the casket, and there she was…I looked immediately to my left where Scott was sitting, and I said, “oh man, I don’t do this…”

As much as I could, I looked away. 10 minutes later, before the chaplain delivered his message, the funeral director and staff closed the casket. Whew…I could breathe. The message was great…really summarized Granny well. She didn’t openly talk about her faith in God, and a belief in the saving grace of Jesus’ ultimate sacrifice on the cross, but there was no doubt it was there. As stubborn as she could be sometimes (something that somehow ALL her grandchildren received genetically), Granny mostly erred to the side of the Word. The chaplain had us read aloud Psalm 23…one of my favorites. When the funeral ended, the funeral director and his staff approached the front again…I was breathing…it was done.

Then he opened the lid again…panic. They had the friends come up first…one after the other…looking at her, patting her, and shaking hands with the minister. Then family…same thing, more tears…but same thing. Then the 7 of us pall bearers. I was the 4th from the last Thompson to see my grandmother. I had sworn I wouldn’t touch her – the experience with Dad was too much. As I approached, I just stared at the flowers. My cousin moved away and there I was, face-front. I reached up and touched her poor shriveled hand…looked briefly at her face and turned away. Fighting harder than before, teeth-cracking jaw-clinching breath fighting through my nose, I shook the chaplain’s hand and nodded in thanks.
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What is it about death that I’m afraid of?
I could give you plenty of answers, starting with 2 great kids and wanting to see them grow up…and wanting to see them further through life than my dad was able to see. I could tell you because the idea of everything stopping doesn’t sound as much fun as everything going. I could tell you that I often wonder about this idea of a soul being committed to an eternity to heaven (or hell) and a physical body being committed back to the earth – to be as they said in Dead Poets’ Society…”food for worms.” I could tell you plenty of things…but none of them are under any of my own power, my own control.

Death is uncontrollable. A book that a friend of mine recommended, “Crazy Love,” has a second chapter that is titled “You may not make it through this chapter.” The author’s point is, we could all die the instant you read this word…we never know. A quote from his book, “On the average day, we live caught up in ourselves. On the average day, we don’t consider God very much. On the average day, we forget that our life is truly a vapor.”

A vapor? Wow. I thought I was more than that…but think about it…in the grand scheme of time, that is truly the case. The author then quotes James 4:13-14, “Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” If you believe in a judgment day, and life is this fragile, should we truly not be living our days as if it were our last? Should we not be as it says in Philippians 4:4 “Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say REJOICE!” And further in verse 6 it says “Do not be anxious about ANYTHING.”

Seriously? Did Paul not know that we’re in the midst of a depression now? We’ve got soldiers in faraway lands, jobs are getting more scarce, people are freakin’ out a little, house prices are deflating, the gas pump isn’t…it’s a nutty time. Rejoice? Don’t be anxious?

Yes, folks…seriously…and in fact, this is the best time to open up your hearts and let your faith shine. I listened to a pretty good sermon from a pastor in Edmund, Ok this week – a man by the name of Dennis Newkirk – he said it’s really not our responsibility to worry about the “conversion of lost souls” to the Glory of God. We are not to worry about the exact path to bring a person from a place of non-belief to belief. OUR JOB IS TO PLANT SEEDS and let God take care of the rest. That takes a load off my mind…ha! I can plant seeds – I just need to make sure the seeds are good!

My apologies for a down-tone email. I struggle, probably more than anyone I copy on these emails, with my own sinful nature. It is best if we can keep close to our faith in times like these…I hope each of you finds a way to do the same in your life.

Thanks for your friendship,
Tim