Category: Spirituality/Inspiration

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Saying Goodbye

In Dad’s final days, we recorded some audio clips that will keep him close to us and help us process this consuming grief we are feeling. My brother and I spent countless hours by his side as he reluctantly shifted his weight from this world to Heaven to be with our mother again, a lot like a kid being dropped off for summer camp who wants to go but keeps coming back for one more reassuring hug before being able to go pick a bunk. His words here are powerful reminders to do things while we still can.

There are lessons on this side in the moment of hearing Dad’s recorded words spoken, but there are the realities of this on the other side, once a person has left this world, in seeing so many things that did not get finished. We see it in the unfinished projects, the bookmarks, the tasks, the notes, and the paperwork. My brother stood in the shed last weekend and held up an ornate wooden spindle: for the stair rail we were going to refinish back in the 1980s, he explained. It struck me in a visual way when I walked in his kitchen and saw the Lazy Susan still on the counter, covered in shot glasses that were filled with his medicine doses. That’s how he organized his medicines for the week. I gave it a spin and watched it whirl, then slow, then stop.

Then, I discarded each pill and stacked the glasses in the box I was packing to be donated, wondering where each would land beyond its purpose here in the grand scheme of their own lives as medicine cups before I moved on to the next counter and the cabinet after that and the shelves after that.

How quickly a life shuts down and the physical space once occupied becomes a hollow cavity. A dumpster. A donation box. An estate sale. A few memorable pieces tucked into the folds of our own homes as reminders that what matters truly are the memories – – not the stuff.

no one leaves this world

feeling like they’re finished with

all that needs doing

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He’ll Haunt Them

In Dad’s final days, as he explained the speakers’ directives for his funeral, he told me it was my job to tell them that he would haunt them if they went over their allotted time. My brother explained why that might not be such a good idea.

even in heavy

moments we found some laughter

in the love of friends

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End Zone Ball

In Dad’s final days, he was full of metaphors about life experiences and advice. Here, he shares what to do when we fumble the ball, after referencing the iconic high school yearbook photograph of him in the end zone, midair, arms up, eyes focused, reaching for the football.

The Plays You Fumble

you can’t catch every

pass but it doesn’t matter

the next play matters

when you drop one, you

get another chance

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Not Enough Left

In Dad’s final days, he tells us stories. In this moment, he admits that he doesn’t have enough left. He realizes the end is very close. We assure him that we are not disappointed in him, that we are proud of him, and that we love him. While these are painful moments to relive, they help tremendously in the process of grief. I’m so grateful to have our voices of togetherness recorded so that they will always remain close and just a click away when I need them most.

Not Enough Left Nonet

no one was disappointed in Dad

when he didn’t have enough left

he’d been fighting a long time

and had lost too much strength

to go on living

we assured him

we loved him

and were

proud

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Dad’s Love for Our Mother

In Dad’s final days, he shared words about his love of our mother with us. We are grateful to have had parents who loved each other their whole lives. In this conversation and in the audio clips we share today, we find great peace. Dad knew where he was going, and he knew he would be with her when he arrived. We’re confident today that he is there and that they have been reunited. In our grief, this brings us the greatest joy!

she was the love of

his life ~ Miriam Jones Haynes ~

as he was of hers

Here, he explains how he rejoins her now.

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Springs of Elim

In Dad’s final days, we gathered audio clips to preserve his stories, prayers, and words of wisdom. In today’s clip, he shares about one of his favorite topics – The Springs of Elim – and how they worked in his own life.

fresh Springs of Elim

waters of restoration

reviving the soul

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July Open Write Day 1 of 3 with Jennifer Jowett

Today’s host for the first day of the July Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is Jennifer Jowett of Michigan. You can read her full prompt here, inspiring writers to compose a poem of Memory Threads – – a way to breathe in healing through fabric of story and connection.

This month, I’ve been capturing Dad’s final words and stories in audio clips and poems as he inched closer and closer to Heaven, one foot in this world and one in the next. It’s as if Jennifer’s prompt was written just for me. That’s the thing about poetry ~ it meets you exactly where you are and invites you into the vast realm of each moment, scattering the light and blanketing the dark and swimming fully immersed in the shadows. For me, there is no greater healing than what is found in prayer and verse. I’m convinced it’s why the Bible itself – the Holy Scripture – is written in verse. Because it casts light on all truth and heals souls right where they are, and it invites personal response.

I hope you will visit the link above today and read some of the poems and, perhaps, write your own. Even if you don’t share it with anyone, my wish for you is the peace of writing and the healing of expression. Forget perfection. Forget whether it’s good or not, whether it’s right or wrong. There are no rules.

Just dive in.

Still Life with Dying Father

my brother and I

sat by our father

in his final hours

each labored breath

casting ethereal ripples

on the gossamer veil

hanging sheer and thin

between man and Maker

each weakening whisper

each story

each prayer

each memory

becoming weightless

dancing gracefully

toward the shimmering glow

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Dad and Wendell Berry

I don’t have an audio clip for today, but one of the stories I like best that Dad told was about his days in Port Royal, Kentucky when he was the pastor of Port Royal Baptist Church. We moved there a few weeks after I was born in Waycross, Georgia so that Dad could attend Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, and we lived in the tiny pastorium right next door to the church, where in the wintertime the icicles hanging from the roof were as tall as a full-grown adult.

I have some vivid memories from about the time I was 3 or 4 and distinctly remember the floor plan of the house. I remember a Sunday School class at the top of the stairs in the church, and it had a pegboard outside the door where I’d hang my tiny pocketbook. It snowed practically to the roof, and we only had a wood burning stove for heat in those days. I would love to go back to visit sometime.

Dad kept urging me to take a road trip with him to see Wendell Berry – THE Wendell Berry – and I never could seem to take the time off from work to go. I regret that now. Dad shared the stories of the simplicity of the life there in Port Royal where Berry lives and writes.

I like to think that somewhere along the way as an infant or toddler, I breathed a little of Wendell Berry’s poetic breath – that maybe somewhere along the way, I picked up a poetic skin cell somewhere and it multiplied straight to my heart and nurtured my lifelong love of poetry. Just one tiny cell could have done a thing like that, in my mind – inspired a love of words that remains with me today.

Oh, how I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall as these two shared in the joy of conversation and their love of writing and life. One thing is for sure: I will pick up the Port William series of books that Dad had always urged me to read, where the place was as strong a character as the eclectic people. The inspiration for the town was, of course, Port Royal. And somewhere in that series, maybe there is a little tiny glimpse of someone I might recognize.

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We Weren’t Orchid Guys

In Dad’s final days, he told us all the stories of his life – – so many stories! He and his friends weren’t orchid guys – – they were white sport coat with pink carnation guys.

Money mattered, and they didn’t have much.

He and his cousin Porky sold crawfish – and a few snakes – to support their love life. back in the days when corsages cost $2.50 to $2.95. That’s what swamp folks did, and Dad grew up in Waycross, Georgia – home of the Okefenokee Swamp.

Back in the Day on Creswell Street in Waycross

we weren’t orchid guys

I wore a white sport coat with

a pink carnation

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Life Lessons: Waiting for the Rapture

In Dad’s final days of life, he shares some life lessons that we all must anticipate. Some we need to rethink. Dad’s bottom line: we are not going to get out of this world alive. I’m glad my brother and I were able to spend those days by Dad’s bedside engaging in conversations with him as the final curtain closed on his life this side of Heaven. We took away some stark realities and a few laughs each day, and we preserved them so that we can relive them long into the future ~ especially as we go through the process of grieving this immense loss. I share Dad’s simple thought for today in a haiku.

We’re Not Getting Out Alive

we’re not going to

get out of this world alive

not any of us