I am now home from Connecticut
where I’d been for almost three weeks, staying with my sister, 78, while my
brother-in-law Joe, 83, was under hospice care for his final struggle with
Parkinson’s Disease. I rode up with
Cyndi and Bill, making it from Angier, North Carolina to Fairfield, CT in one
day.
I can’t say enough good things about hospice. Joe had round
the clock care with nurses, male and female, who were caring, efficient, people of faith. One male nurse even made breakfast for my sister one morning
because he wanted to make sure she ate and kept up her strength. Another nurse
came to the funeral to pay her respects.
The funeral service was the epitome of honor, respect,
dignity, and love. Joe was a Marine, then a Fairfield policeman for years. The
day started with a member of the police force coming to the door to say he’d be guarding the
house while we were at the viewing. Then the police honor procession carrying the
flag-draped casket drove slowly past the house while we all stood outside and watched
them go by, their lights flashing.
In the viewing room, two uniformed policemen stood at
attention by the casket. The guards changed with a white-gloved salute every
fifteen minutes. Joe was laid out in his sergeant’s uniform and badge. People
came in droves to pay tribute to this godly servant and to my sister, another godly servant.
The service itself began with bagpipes leading the more than
fifteen family members into the sanctuary and ended with a Marine bugler
playing Taps. In between, Tammy and Cyndi and other family members spoke from
the heart about the impact Joe made on their lives. My son-in-law Curtis sang Amazing Grace. Joe’s grandson, in full Navy uniform, handed the folded
flag to my sister while barely being able to contain his own grief. A reception
followed where people could mingle and renew acquaintances. People had come
from California, Florida, Vermont, New York, North Carolina, and other states to say “Goodbye,
Joe.”
Now I’m home and able to resume my life that’s been put on
hold for a few weeks while my sister learns to cope without her husband of
fifty-nine years. I am more than thankful that I’m now on the East Coast where
I could be there for her. Cyndi and Bill were a Godsend, making sure her every
wish was carried out before she even knew what it was she wanted. In the days
since, my sister has started to relax as she sheds the heavy caretaker’s mantle
she’s worn for so long. Her voice is stronger than it’s been in years; I know
she’s going to be alright. And at this moment, Joe is most likely asking St. Peter how he can be of assistance since it’s never been his nature to sit idle for very long, especially if someone needs help.
Goodbye, Joe, we’ll see you again one of these days.
Thought for the day: Come home! Come home! Ye who are weary
come home! From the hymn, Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is Calling. This hymn was playing at the moment Joe was received into Heaven.
Speaking of warm weather, we had a couple of days this week in the high 60s - low 70s. I still have enough New England blood in me to say, "But it's December!" I took advantage of one of those days and put up five bird feeders. I can see three from the kitchen window and two from the living room window while I'm at the computer. Today the birds discovered them! They seemed to enjoy the seed, but probably not as much as I enjoyed having them stop by to visit. I have two bird houses yet to put up somewhere before nesting season starts. This is a view from the kitchen window; there's a bird on the right feeder. You may not be able to see him, but he's there.