Joy. Happiness. Feeling good. Contentment.
In periods of self-examination, we often ask ourselves what we want most in life. The most frequent answer is usually "to be happy". Who prefers sorrow over happiness? No one you would think, although all of us know people who do seem to prefer the former over the latter.
What makes one person happy is different from another, but in the end, I would venture that being with family, friends and loved ones trump all else. Yes, money, material possessions and the things of this world can enhance our lives, but think about it. If you could only keep one thing and one thing only - your family or your house, your loved one or your bank account, your career or your child, which would it be? Most of us know what our answer would be - our loved ones. Unfortunately, many of us are forced to deal with being separated from our loved ones at some point or another in their life - some sooner rather than later.
The big challenge after losing a loved one is, in my opinion, how to find joy in your life again. Presently, I can say, with certainty, that I cannot give you that magical answer - at least, not yet. But I am trying. And I am struggling.
Recently, I was reading an article in which the author was recounting her memories of when she was a child and learned to ride a bike. It got me to thinking about Ginny, naturally.
Ginny was an early learner when it came to things of the mind, but a late developer when it came to physical skills. We lived on Hope Valley Road until she was 8 years young. If you are familiar with Durham, you know Hope Valley Road is a very busy thoroughfare. Not being particularly interested in physical activities, and living on a busy street, did not offer the ideal opportunities for Ginny to learn to ride a bicycle.
The summer of 1995, our family moved from Hope Valley Road to our present home on Dodsworth Court. Dodsworth Court is a short, little cul-de-sac in a quiet and nice neighborhood, the perfect place for children to play outside without parents worrying about their safety, and the ideal location to learn to ride a bicycle free of dangerous traffic.
Shortly after moving in, Ginny decided she was ready to tackle the task of riding a bicycle. Like most young kids, the first few attempts were met with failure, accompanied by skinned knees and bruised elbows. Ginny was as determined to ride that bicycle as she would be determined to sing on stage later in life. Like most fathers, my job was to hold the bike upright and run along beside her as she endeavored to maintain her balance. We practiced and practiced until she started to get the hang of it. What I remember distinctly, and what the article I read in a magazine brought back to me, was Ginny's voice, shouting out to me as she pedaled faster than I could run, "Let go Daddy, let go!"
Let go Daddy, let go.
I still hear those words today. Except now it's not letting go of Ginny on the bicycle, it's letting go of Ginny here on earth.
I'm not letting go of the memory of Ginny. That will never fade. It's the realization and acceptance that she is gone from this place and is in a better place. It hurts when you are apart from someone you love. It hurts when you know you will be apart until some unknown future date. It hurts to not be able to hug them, touch them, kiss them, hold them, talk to them, be angry with them, rejoice with them, share with them or just be with them. It just hurts.
When Ginny was learning to ride her bicycle, she was the one who suffered the pains of bruised and bloody knees. Now it is me. Except it is not my knees, but my heart that is bruised. As I struggle daily to cope, I hear Ginny's voice calling to me, "Let go Daddy, let go."
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
If You Want to Live, Then Start Living
It's been seven weeks since I blogged. Mother's Day came and went, but I did not feel like writing. The scheduled wedding day for Ginny and Braden, May 21st, came and went and I did not feel like writing. My world continued to be one of existence - day to day. There were a few bright spots and interludes of brief joy in living as I talked with clients and fellow-shipped with friends and family. Don't think that because I say this, I wanted to harm myself. I did not. It was just the grieving process and the struggle to find meaning going forward without Ginny.
I sit here now typing with some sense of a crossroads being passed. My right arm is bandaged completely. I have eleven deep lacerations, requiring a hundred or more sutures and staples. My stomach, neck and legs have multiple abrasions. And, I am lucky to be alive.
We have many friends and acquaintances that have reached out to us, offering comfort, kindness and compassion in the aftermath of Ginny's passing. All of these gestures have been meaningful and important. There are many of you that have written kind words to me and I have been tardy to respond. Do not think it has not touched us. It has. It has been very difficult at times to find the energy to move forward. I will gradually work towards letting you know how much it has meant to both of us.
Many of our friends have offered their vacation homes as a place for solace and renewal. Two of our good friends, Bill and Gail Herring, own a condo in Beaufort. They invited Meredith and I to come and spend some time with them the week of June 8th. After overcoming a flu bug the weekend prior, we traveled to Beaufort on Monday and spent two nights with them. Bill and I went fishing on Tuesday and though we only caught a few blues, being on the water was pleasant and enjoyable. We came back to Durham on Wednesday to celebrate the recent graduation of our niece, Happi Adams, from Appalachian and to give her and two friends a joyous send off as they prepared to travel this summer in Ecuador and Peru. Our stay in Beaufort was such a pleasant experience and a welcome moment of joy, that we decided to go back to Beaufort on Friday. Bill and I wanted to go out Saturday and catch the spanish mackerel that we missed on Tuesday.
Saturday morning, Bill and I arose early and were on the water about 7:30 AM. The day was pleasant, a little overcast, but mostly sunny. Light winds were blowing, ideal for catching spanish and blues off Shackleford Banks. Waves were a little choppy but not too bad at 1-3 feet. Bill has a 17-foot Henry O boat, center console, bimini-top with a 90 HP Yamaha. Bill has been hunting and fishing all his life and is someone I would consider an experienced sportsman. As we headed up Shackleford Banks toward Cape Lookout, we snagged a small spanish mackerel, too small to keep. A good omen, Bill said. We were going to catch a cooler full today. As we continued to troll, we enjoyed the morning. Unfortunately, the fish did not want to cooperate. After an hour or so trolling Shackleford, we decided to head back and try our luck down towards Atlantic Beach and Emerald Isle. As we crossed past the entrance to Beaufort Inlet, we navigated the choppy waters of the cross currents with ease and motored onward, catching a few small blues, but nothing else. As the sun rose and the morning grew hotter, we decided to work our way back to Beaufort, trying our luck in the sound, before meeting the girls back at the condo for lunch.
We approached the entrance to the inlet from the Fort Macon side. The water was still choppy, but Bill was navigating well. As we approached, Bill noticed that the depth was about five feet on the shoals and decided to circle out further and traverse the entrance in deeper water. After moving out a ways, Bill turned to make his entrance. The water was a bit calmer, the depth was a bit deeper and but for a few small waves breaking, the way looked safe to enter. As we started to cross, we saw the waves breaking gently on our right side and Bill turned the boat to the left.
Suddenly, the small wave approaching on the right surged and lifted the boat and turned it over to the left. I knew instantly I was going into the water. A sudden sense of alarm rushed through me as I tumbled into the water. As I felt the water closing over me, I sensed that the boat was turning over as well. I struggled to get to the surface, and in those few moments, I felt the underside of the boat over me. I suddenly realized the boat was upright again, and I thought to myself "watch out for the propeller". Instinctively, I must have threw up my right arm as protection. Suddenly, I felt a grabbing and tearing at my arm. I knew the propeller had struck me, but I did not know how bad it was. I remember thinking, "Mike, this is not good."
As my head popped above the surface, I looked to my right arm and saw two deep slashes on the underside of my forearm and a deep gash on my wrist, with blood streaming down my arm. My first thought was,"If blood is in the water, then sharks might not be too far away". I yelled to Bill for help. As I looked to my left, I saw the boat doing tight, counter-clockwise circles. Bill was hanging on to the bar at the ladder at the back of the boat as it circled. As the boat had flipped to the left, he had been thrown out the back, but had managed to grab the bar before it righted itself and started circling. As the boat circled, Bill struggled to climb in, but was unable to do so, as the momentum and direction of the boat prevented him from pulling himself back into the boat.
As the boat continued to careen, it almost swiped me three or four more times, coming within 5-6 feet of my head. I was treading water in what I would guess was about 6-8 feet of water. I barely touched bottom once, but after that nothing. There was a boat about 50-60 yards away and we yelled for help, but they did not approach. I assumed it was because of the wildly careening boat and choppy waves. Bill and I were not wearing our life-jackets and I continued to struggle, treading water with one good arm and two legs, trying to float when I could.
It has been many years since I was in good physical shape, as the years of sedentary lifestyle choices and aging have taken its toll upon my body. I am not the 5'11", 175 pound lifeguard I was when I came out of college. As I struggled, I knew I would last only a short time before my stamina gave out.
Help was not coming and I started to think about death. I started to think about Ginny. I thought about Jesus and His welcoming arms. I thought about Meredith and how sad it would be for her, losing her only child and her husband in a three-month period. I hurt for her. I thought about Ginny and how if death was coming, the good thing was I would be reunited with her and I would see Jesus and my mom again. I thought about letting go because I knew I would be in a better place. But something inside of me kept fighting. I was not ready to give up yet. I wanted to live. So I struggled and held on. I knew that any minute, I would either be rescued and return to Meredith, or I would go to be with Ginny and Jesus.
I heard Bill yelling in the distance "Hang on Mike, help is coming!" I felt the presence of someone, an arm grabbed me and a voice said, "I've got you sir. Hang on!" A young man in a Sea-Tow boat had rushed in and grabbed me. He tried to pull me up, but I was nothing but dead weight and too heavy for him to do it alone. I held onto a bar at the back of his boat, still having enough strength to plead with him to not leave me. He didn't. Suddenly another Sea-Tow boat was there and then the Coast Guard boat arrived. I don't remember the exact sequence or the time-frame, but I think I was in the water for a total of 10-15 minutes. With the help of the Coast Guard, and the two Sea-Tow guys, they hoisted me into the Coast Guard boat. I was out of the water - but the fight was not over.
The Coast Guardsman went to work on my arm, applying pressure and a tourniquet to my wounds. As the boat sped toward the Coast Guard station, I struggled for air. My arm hurt and I couldn't breathe. It seemed like an eternity before we arrived at the dock, though it was probably no more than five minutes. As we sat waiting for the EMT to arrive, all I wanted to do was lay down, but my rescuers would not let me. They talked to me, kept me awake, peppering me with questions, asking my name, what day it was, did I know where I was. I must have been in shock, and it seemed like forever before the EMTs arrived. They lifted me on the gurney and wheeled me up the dock to the wagon. They loaded me in the wagon and started putting an IV in me. I asked for something for the pain, but they would not give it to me until the doctor at the hospital gave the okay.
The ride to Cartaret General Hospital seemed like it also took forever. Everything was taking forever and my arm hurt. As they wheeled into the parking lot, they unloaded me from the wagon and rushed inside, The EMTs, nurses and doctors went to work on me. I kept asking for something for the pain, but my.blood pressure hovered around 90 over 50, dropping to 88 over 48 at one point. The doctor said they could not give me anything for the pain until my blood pressure rose and stabilized.
Bill had ridden in the EMT wagon with me, calling Meredith and Gail to meet us at the emergency room. He had held back the extent of my injuries until they arrived. I heard Meredith's voice outside and she stepped into the room. Meredith is strong and she has always been there for me, but I could tell she was shook as she looked at me on the table with my arm bleeding and me breathing through an oxygen mask.
They cut my clothes off, cleaned my wound and sent me to another room to do a head, chest and pelvic scan to determine if there were any internal injuries, which there were not. After examining my wounds, the doctor made the decision to have me airlifted to Pitt Memorial Hospital in Greenville via helicopter. Finally, my blood pressure rose and stabilized enough to give me some pain medication.
The helicopter was tight, with room only for me and the medical personnel. Meredith and Gail had to make the drive to Greenville from Morehead City, a two hour trip by car. In the helicopter, they put headphones on me to muffle the loud noise of the engines. They also administered some more pain medication. I started to feel I would make it as I joked with the EMT guy about not having any Allman Brothers on the headphones. We landed on the roof of Pitt County Memorial Hospital and as they unloaded me from the helicopter, it reminded me of one of those TV shows where they flew the critically injured victim in for emergency care, except it was me that was the victim in this case.
They wheeled me into the operating room and there were about 8-10 people gowned up ready to go to work on me. Immediately, they started giving me oxygen, fluids, pain medication and prepping me for treatment. The attending told me they were giving me some medication and that I would not remember anything. I didn't care as long as they stopped the pain. The next thing I remember I was awake with a couple of medical people finishing the job of stitching and stapling my arm. The PA remarked that it seemed like I had been in quite a fight with a boat. I replied, "Yeah, that boat tried to whip my butt today, but I gave it a run for the money." Either I was getting better or maybe it was just the drugs talking.
They finished up and moved me to another room, Soon, Meredith and Gail arrived and I waited for about an hour or two before they told me I could go home. It was amazing that despite eleven lacerations, not one had cut an artery, tendon or nerve, and there didn't seem to be any permanent damage. The nurse said I had to eat something first. I took a couple of bites and said I was ready to go. My appetite started to return, but not for hospital food. The first stop we made after we left the hospital was McDonald's for a quarter-pounder with cheese. We returned to Beaufort that evening.
The next day, Meredith, Gail and Bill went to lunch in Beaufort. I decided to stay at the condo and rest. As I was sitting alone and resting, I started thinking about the events of the day before. Reliving it in my mind, I thought about those last moments before I was rescued. I thought about how I truly felt this might be the moment I would die. My anxiety level increased and I remembered how it felt to to be on the verge of drowning. I bowed my head and said a silent prayer of thanks to God for my life. At that moment, I heard a voice or maybe it was just a thought in my head, but I am sure it was coming from God. That voice said, "Mike, the last three months have been difficult, but yesterday, you had a choice to continue to live or to let go and die. You chose to live. Now you need to start living again."
King David said in Samuel 12:23, after his son had died, "... Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me." Ginny is not coming back to us, but one day, we will go to be with her. An old friend from college wrote to me recently. In his letter, he posed the question, "If Ginny were here to help and guide you, what would she say to you? What would she want from her father and his life without her as he struggles with the loss? What in your life and how you go on from here will best honor her life and memory?"
I have thought about this a lot and I don't have the perfect answer. I don't know what God's master plan is and in a culture that seeks to glorify self and things of this world, I am not certain why things have happened and what is next. I do know that God was with me that day. If nothing else is comes from that day, I do know that I will love my wife, I will do good and do right in this world, and whenever presented with the opportunity, I will proclaim the gospel of Christ and the grace of God. In Philippians 1:21-22, Paul wrote "For me to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose, I do not know!"
My near-death experience and its aftermath has left me with the words I heard that day after, "If you want to live, then start living." I am living and my life, with God's grace, is for Christ's glory, not mine.
I sit here now typing with some sense of a crossroads being passed. My right arm is bandaged completely. I have eleven deep lacerations, requiring a hundred or more sutures and staples. My stomach, neck and legs have multiple abrasions. And, I am lucky to be alive.
We have many friends and acquaintances that have reached out to us, offering comfort, kindness and compassion in the aftermath of Ginny's passing. All of these gestures have been meaningful and important. There are many of you that have written kind words to me and I have been tardy to respond. Do not think it has not touched us. It has. It has been very difficult at times to find the energy to move forward. I will gradually work towards letting you know how much it has meant to both of us.
Many of our friends have offered their vacation homes as a place for solace and renewal. Two of our good friends, Bill and Gail Herring, own a condo in Beaufort. They invited Meredith and I to come and spend some time with them the week of June 8th. After overcoming a flu bug the weekend prior, we traveled to Beaufort on Monday and spent two nights with them. Bill and I went fishing on Tuesday and though we only caught a few blues, being on the water was pleasant and enjoyable. We came back to Durham on Wednesday to celebrate the recent graduation of our niece, Happi Adams, from Appalachian and to give her and two friends a joyous send off as they prepared to travel this summer in Ecuador and Peru. Our stay in Beaufort was such a pleasant experience and a welcome moment of joy, that we decided to go back to Beaufort on Friday. Bill and I wanted to go out Saturday and catch the spanish mackerel that we missed on Tuesday.
Saturday morning, Bill and I arose early and were on the water about 7:30 AM. The day was pleasant, a little overcast, but mostly sunny. Light winds were blowing, ideal for catching spanish and blues off Shackleford Banks. Waves were a little choppy but not too bad at 1-3 feet. Bill has a 17-foot Henry O boat, center console, bimini-top with a 90 HP Yamaha. Bill has been hunting and fishing all his life and is someone I would consider an experienced sportsman. As we headed up Shackleford Banks toward Cape Lookout, we snagged a small spanish mackerel, too small to keep. A good omen, Bill said. We were going to catch a cooler full today. As we continued to troll, we enjoyed the morning. Unfortunately, the fish did not want to cooperate. After an hour or so trolling Shackleford, we decided to head back and try our luck down towards Atlantic Beach and Emerald Isle. As we crossed past the entrance to Beaufort Inlet, we navigated the choppy waters of the cross currents with ease and motored onward, catching a few small blues, but nothing else. As the sun rose and the morning grew hotter, we decided to work our way back to Beaufort, trying our luck in the sound, before meeting the girls back at the condo for lunch.
We approached the entrance to the inlet from the Fort Macon side. The water was still choppy, but Bill was navigating well. As we approached, Bill noticed that the depth was about five feet on the shoals and decided to circle out further and traverse the entrance in deeper water. After moving out a ways, Bill turned to make his entrance. The water was a bit calmer, the depth was a bit deeper and but for a few small waves breaking, the way looked safe to enter. As we started to cross, we saw the waves breaking gently on our right side and Bill turned the boat to the left.
Suddenly, the small wave approaching on the right surged and lifted the boat and turned it over to the left. I knew instantly I was going into the water. A sudden sense of alarm rushed through me as I tumbled into the water. As I felt the water closing over me, I sensed that the boat was turning over as well. I struggled to get to the surface, and in those few moments, I felt the underside of the boat over me. I suddenly realized the boat was upright again, and I thought to myself "watch out for the propeller". Instinctively, I must have threw up my right arm as protection. Suddenly, I felt a grabbing and tearing at my arm. I knew the propeller had struck me, but I did not know how bad it was. I remember thinking, "Mike, this is not good."
As my head popped above the surface, I looked to my right arm and saw two deep slashes on the underside of my forearm and a deep gash on my wrist, with blood streaming down my arm. My first thought was,"If blood is in the water, then sharks might not be too far away". I yelled to Bill for help. As I looked to my left, I saw the boat doing tight, counter-clockwise circles. Bill was hanging on to the bar at the ladder at the back of the boat as it circled. As the boat had flipped to the left, he had been thrown out the back, but had managed to grab the bar before it righted itself and started circling. As the boat circled, Bill struggled to climb in, but was unable to do so, as the momentum and direction of the boat prevented him from pulling himself back into the boat.
As the boat continued to careen, it almost swiped me three or four more times, coming within 5-6 feet of my head. I was treading water in what I would guess was about 6-8 feet of water. I barely touched bottom once, but after that nothing. There was a boat about 50-60 yards away and we yelled for help, but they did not approach. I assumed it was because of the wildly careening boat and choppy waves. Bill and I were not wearing our life-jackets and I continued to struggle, treading water with one good arm and two legs, trying to float when I could.
It has been many years since I was in good physical shape, as the years of sedentary lifestyle choices and aging have taken its toll upon my body. I am not the 5'11", 175 pound lifeguard I was when I came out of college. As I struggled, I knew I would last only a short time before my stamina gave out.
Help was not coming and I started to think about death. I started to think about Ginny. I thought about Jesus and His welcoming arms. I thought about Meredith and how sad it would be for her, losing her only child and her husband in a three-month period. I hurt for her. I thought about Ginny and how if death was coming, the good thing was I would be reunited with her and I would see Jesus and my mom again. I thought about letting go because I knew I would be in a better place. But something inside of me kept fighting. I was not ready to give up yet. I wanted to live. So I struggled and held on. I knew that any minute, I would either be rescued and return to Meredith, or I would go to be with Ginny and Jesus.
I heard Bill yelling in the distance "Hang on Mike, help is coming!" I felt the presence of someone, an arm grabbed me and a voice said, "I've got you sir. Hang on!" A young man in a Sea-Tow boat had rushed in and grabbed me. He tried to pull me up, but I was nothing but dead weight and too heavy for him to do it alone. I held onto a bar at the back of his boat, still having enough strength to plead with him to not leave me. He didn't. Suddenly another Sea-Tow boat was there and then the Coast Guard boat arrived. I don't remember the exact sequence or the time-frame, but I think I was in the water for a total of 10-15 minutes. With the help of the Coast Guard, and the two Sea-Tow guys, they hoisted me into the Coast Guard boat. I was out of the water - but the fight was not over.
The Coast Guardsman went to work on my arm, applying pressure and a tourniquet to my wounds. As the boat sped toward the Coast Guard station, I struggled for air. My arm hurt and I couldn't breathe. It seemed like an eternity before we arrived at the dock, though it was probably no more than five minutes. As we sat waiting for the EMT to arrive, all I wanted to do was lay down, but my rescuers would not let me. They talked to me, kept me awake, peppering me with questions, asking my name, what day it was, did I know where I was. I must have been in shock, and it seemed like forever before the EMTs arrived. They lifted me on the gurney and wheeled me up the dock to the wagon. They loaded me in the wagon and started putting an IV in me. I asked for something for the pain, but they would not give it to me until the doctor at the hospital gave the okay.
The ride to Cartaret General Hospital seemed like it also took forever. Everything was taking forever and my arm hurt. As they wheeled into the parking lot, they unloaded me from the wagon and rushed inside, The EMTs, nurses and doctors went to work on me. I kept asking for something for the pain, but my.blood pressure hovered around 90 over 50, dropping to 88 over 48 at one point. The doctor said they could not give me anything for the pain until my blood pressure rose and stabilized.
Bill had ridden in the EMT wagon with me, calling Meredith and Gail to meet us at the emergency room. He had held back the extent of my injuries until they arrived. I heard Meredith's voice outside and she stepped into the room. Meredith is strong and she has always been there for me, but I could tell she was shook as she looked at me on the table with my arm bleeding and me breathing through an oxygen mask.
They cut my clothes off, cleaned my wound and sent me to another room to do a head, chest and pelvic scan to determine if there were any internal injuries, which there were not. After examining my wounds, the doctor made the decision to have me airlifted to Pitt Memorial Hospital in Greenville via helicopter. Finally, my blood pressure rose and stabilized enough to give me some pain medication.
The helicopter was tight, with room only for me and the medical personnel. Meredith and Gail had to make the drive to Greenville from Morehead City, a two hour trip by car. In the helicopter, they put headphones on me to muffle the loud noise of the engines. They also administered some more pain medication. I started to feel I would make it as I joked with the EMT guy about not having any Allman Brothers on the headphones. We landed on the roof of Pitt County Memorial Hospital and as they unloaded me from the helicopter, it reminded me of one of those TV shows where they flew the critically injured victim in for emergency care, except it was me that was the victim in this case.
They wheeled me into the operating room and there were about 8-10 people gowned up ready to go to work on me. Immediately, they started giving me oxygen, fluids, pain medication and prepping me for treatment. The attending told me they were giving me some medication and that I would not remember anything. I didn't care as long as they stopped the pain. The next thing I remember I was awake with a couple of medical people finishing the job of stitching and stapling my arm. The PA remarked that it seemed like I had been in quite a fight with a boat. I replied, "Yeah, that boat tried to whip my butt today, but I gave it a run for the money." Either I was getting better or maybe it was just the drugs talking.
They finished up and moved me to another room, Soon, Meredith and Gail arrived and I waited for about an hour or two before they told me I could go home. It was amazing that despite eleven lacerations, not one had cut an artery, tendon or nerve, and there didn't seem to be any permanent damage. The nurse said I had to eat something first. I took a couple of bites and said I was ready to go. My appetite started to return, but not for hospital food. The first stop we made after we left the hospital was McDonald's for a quarter-pounder with cheese. We returned to Beaufort that evening.
The next day, Meredith, Gail and Bill went to lunch in Beaufort. I decided to stay at the condo and rest. As I was sitting alone and resting, I started thinking about the events of the day before. Reliving it in my mind, I thought about those last moments before I was rescued. I thought about how I truly felt this might be the moment I would die. My anxiety level increased and I remembered how it felt to to be on the verge of drowning. I bowed my head and said a silent prayer of thanks to God for my life. At that moment, I heard a voice or maybe it was just a thought in my head, but I am sure it was coming from God. That voice said, "Mike, the last three months have been difficult, but yesterday, you had a choice to continue to live or to let go and die. You chose to live. Now you need to start living again."
King David said in Samuel 12:23, after his son had died, "... Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me." Ginny is not coming back to us, but one day, we will go to be with her. An old friend from college wrote to me recently. In his letter, he posed the question, "If Ginny were here to help and guide you, what would she say to you? What would she want from her father and his life without her as he struggles with the loss? What in your life and how you go on from here will best honor her life and memory?"
I have thought about this a lot and I don't have the perfect answer. I don't know what God's master plan is and in a culture that seeks to glorify self and things of this world, I am not certain why things have happened and what is next. I do know that God was with me that day. If nothing else is comes from that day, I do know that I will love my wife, I will do good and do right in this world, and whenever presented with the opportunity, I will proclaim the gospel of Christ and the grace of God. In Philippians 1:21-22, Paul wrote "For me to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose, I do not know!"
My near-death experience and its aftermath has left me with the words I heard that day after, "If you want to live, then start living." I am living and my life, with God's grace, is for Christ's glory, not mine.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Exile on Patmos
It's been seven weeks now since Ginny departed our world. After laying my heart out in my first blog post, I went empty. Nothing. There have been many sad moments and many tears, sometimes coming when I least expect it. There are days where I am doing okay and Meredith grieves, and then I struggle while she has a good day. I am told this is to be expected and I am also told there is no timetable and formula for how often you grieve or when you grieve. The relationship with Braden has deepened as we share the pain of our loss. Holding on to each other gives us a little bit of Ginny to hold on to. We participated in the Relay for Life and we raised money for the fight against cancer. We started the Ginny Buckner Memorial Fund at Durham Academy and have received many generous donations. In the Kubler-Ross model, this would probably be evidence of the third stage of grief - bargaining.
- "If we can't have Ginny, at least we can have something good come out of something bad."
I returned from a gathering tonight where Anne Graham Lotts spoke. She read from the 1st chapter of the Book of Revelation. John the Apostle wrote this book on the Isle of Patmos around 95 A.D. Think of that. Jesus had died and resurrected over sixty years previous and here John, the beloved disciple was now exiled and alone. A lifetime of proclaiming the Gospel and now, nothing. Empty and alone? Yes it could have been, but God had something else in mind. It was on this island that Jesus revealed himself to John and John wrote what he saw. Because of that revelation, we believers receive the benefit and God receives the glory. Anne posed the question to each of us, "What is your Patmos?" And will your Patmos leave you alone and empty, or will it glorify God?
I believe I know what my Patmos is, but the question is how do I let God be glorified amidst the pain I endure? As Meredith and I discussed the evening on our return home, she wondered aloud if our purpose in all this might be used in some sort of ministry and what our ministry might be. I replied that our ministry might be that we simply share, when the opportunity presents itself, how the grace of Christ is sufficient for us and that though we are weak, He is strong in us. If we can share that, than God alone is glorified.
When John was on Patmos, he saw and he wrote. I am on Patmos. I am certainly no John, but what I see and what I feel, I will write.
- "If we can't have Ginny, at least we can have something good come out of something bad."
I returned from a gathering tonight where Anne Graham Lotts spoke. She read from the 1st chapter of the Book of Revelation. John the Apostle wrote this book on the Isle of Patmos around 95 A.D. Think of that. Jesus had died and resurrected over sixty years previous and here John, the beloved disciple was now exiled and alone. A lifetime of proclaiming the Gospel and now, nothing. Empty and alone? Yes it could have been, but God had something else in mind. It was on this island that Jesus revealed himself to John and John wrote what he saw. Because of that revelation, we believers receive the benefit and God receives the glory. Anne posed the question to each of us, "What is your Patmos?" And will your Patmos leave you alone and empty, or will it glorify God?
I believe I know what my Patmos is, but the question is how do I let God be glorified amidst the pain I endure? As Meredith and I discussed the evening on our return home, she wondered aloud if our purpose in all this might be used in some sort of ministry and what our ministry might be. I replied that our ministry might be that we simply share, when the opportunity presents itself, how the grace of Christ is sufficient for us and that though we are weak, He is strong in us. If we can share that, than God alone is glorified.
When John was on Patmos, he saw and he wrote. I am on Patmos. I am certainly no John, but what I see and what I feel, I will write.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Come faccio ad andare avanti?
"Come faccio ad andare avanti?"
How do I go on?
Do I really want to go on? Why should I go on? It's only been 25 days, 17 hours, 32 minutes, 16 seconds ..... tick, tick, tick
My world stopped on March 10th, 2011 at 5:59 PM EST when my daughter, Ginny Buckner - "il canto donna", (the Singing Woman - more on that later), stopped singing.
It is said a parent's death signifies the death of the past, but when a child dies, it is the death of the future. That is what I feel - deeply. The death of the future. What future? How can you have a future when everything you do and plan for revolves around something (or, someone, in my case) that no longer exists? What will the future be? Do I really care at this point? I do, but it hurts too much to think about it. There's just that same old tired cliche, "take it one day at a time". And that is what I do.
Since that day, much has happened. There was the shock, the numbness, the tears, the hugs, the funeral, the eulogies, the words of comfort from friends and family, the food, the dinners out with friends, the talking, the talking, more talking ..... (long pause).
The first question is why a blog? In past years, I have often been encouraged by Ginny, Meredith and other family members that I should write or start a blog. When I would often scream at the television (or start giving an air lecture, as Ginny would call it), she would suggest that blogging would provide an ideal channel to get what I had to say out there and cut though the kultursmog, a phrase coined by one of my favorite essayists, Bob Tyrrell. But what do I write about - sports, politics, business, faith? The subjects are numerous and endless. But everybody blogs about those subjects. Yes, you might say, but no one blogs about it from your personal perspective Mike, and that's what makes it unique and interesting.
The truth is that, while I was always passionate about whatever I believed in, I was never passionate about or committed to, any particular subject on a consistent basis long enough to write about it - except maybe for "il canto donna ". As long as she sang, I didn't need to write about it. She could do that, and she did it well. But "il canto donna" no longer sings, at least not here on this earth.
Among the many comments, notes and words of compassion I have read since Ginny's death, one sticks out in my mind. I don't remember exactly what was said, or who said it, but this person made the comment that while many young people have dreams and passion to pursue what they love to do, few have the determination and dedication, in the face of adversity, to remain steadfast in their commitment to their dream. Ginny had the commitment and she had the passion and she was determined to make her dreams come true, in some way or another. Ginny's passion and commitment is what I draw upon and that is why I have started this blog.
Come faccio ad andare avanti? Maybe I am not ready to go on. Maybe writing this blog will help me go on. Maybe.....
How do I go on?
Do I really want to go on? Why should I go on? It's only been 25 days, 17 hours, 32 minutes, 16 seconds ..... tick, tick, tick
My world stopped on March 10th, 2011 at 5:59 PM EST when my daughter, Ginny Buckner - "il canto donna", (the Singing Woman - more on that later), stopped singing.
Okay, first some background. For those who don't know why I am even starting this blog, these links will help you get up to speed. For those who do know the story, feel free to refresh your memory.
It is said a parent's death signifies the death of the past, but when a child dies, it is the death of the future. That is what I feel - deeply. The death of the future. What future? How can you have a future when everything you do and plan for revolves around something (or, someone, in my case) that no longer exists? What will the future be? Do I really care at this point? I do, but it hurts too much to think about it. There's just that same old tired cliche, "take it one day at a time". And that is what I do.
Since that day, much has happened. There was the shock, the numbness, the tears, the hugs, the funeral, the eulogies, the words of comfort from friends and family, the food, the dinners out with friends, the talking, the talking, more talking ..... (long pause).
The first question is why a blog? In past years, I have often been encouraged by Ginny, Meredith and other family members that I should write or start a blog. When I would often scream at the television (or start giving an air lecture, as Ginny would call it), she would suggest that blogging would provide an ideal channel to get what I had to say out there and cut though the kultursmog, a phrase coined by one of my favorite essayists, Bob Tyrrell. But what do I write about - sports, politics, business, faith? The subjects are numerous and endless. But everybody blogs about those subjects. Yes, you might say, but no one blogs about it from your personal perspective Mike, and that's what makes it unique and interesting.
The truth is that, while I was always passionate about whatever I believed in, I was never passionate about or committed to, any particular subject on a consistent basis long enough to write about it - except maybe for "il canto donna ". As long as she sang, I didn't need to write about it. She could do that, and she did it well. But "il canto donna" no longer sings, at least not here on this earth.
Among the many comments, notes and words of compassion I have read since Ginny's death, one sticks out in my mind. I don't remember exactly what was said, or who said it, but this person made the comment that while many young people have dreams and passion to pursue what they love to do, few have the determination and dedication, in the face of adversity, to remain steadfast in their commitment to their dream. Ginny had the commitment and she had the passion and she was determined to make her dreams come true, in some way or another. Ginny's passion and commitment is what I draw upon and that is why I have started this blog.
Come faccio ad andare avanti? Maybe I am not ready to go on. Maybe writing this blog will help me go on. Maybe.....
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