“At last, where have you been?”
-C3PO, Star Wars Episode IV

For the past 11 days, I’ve been absent from my blogs, from Twitter, from the web in general.  The companionship of my computer was supplanted by the companionship of struggle, and of family.

Last week, the long, slow march of congestive heart failure claimed the life of my step-father, Gene, and for me, there is no writing at a time like that.  In fact, normal life came to a sudden halt 4 days before his death, and my typical flurry of activity and responsibility was simplified to 4 days of trying to be a comfort to him and to other family members.

Waiting.  Watching.

One day, I want to write about the beauty of how God provided at such a difficult time.  I’d like to share that with you.

But not now.

I will share one thing, however.  Gene died at home in the gentle care of family and of Hospice.  His house is not huge, but the layout of the rooms means that there is a long hallway to the bedrooms.  During those quiet days of waiting and watching and going in and out of Gene’s room, I thought about how long that hallway is and how long  his struggle had been… how he missed my mother, and how I had wept for him in recent months when confusion or discomfort had the upper hand.

After he died, we turned on more lights and bustled up and down that long hall more noisily than when death was near.  It was then that I thought about the decorations that my mother had chosen so many years ago for the end of that long hallway.

At the end of the long hallway, there is Joy.

Infirmity and age can be unkind, but at the end of the long hallway, there is Joy.

Sadness comes, as does regret and doubt.  But at the end of the long hallway, there is Joy.

Loneliness or confusion tear away at the fabric of inner peace.  But at the end of the long hallway, there is Joy.

Gene long ago lost the strength and independence that he once cherished.  His failing heart stole many things from him, but nothing could steal the wild, joyful stability of the Gift that Jesus had won for him on the cross, and it’s a Gift he will now enjoy forever.

For Gene, the struggle is already forgotten.

At the end of the long hallway, there is Joy.

To this point in my incredibly selfish blog life, I’ve never done a post where I just basically said, “Hey! Check out this great post that somebody else wrote!”  No, it’s been me, me, me.  My amusement, my bemusement.

Today is different.

I love it when someone cuts through the clutter of the things we hear all the time.  This may shock you, but I also love  a dry sense of humor, and I am a big proponent of communicating with tongue firmly implanted in cheek.

Those things together bring me to this brilliant post by Matt at The Church of No People.

Check it out!  I just found this today, and it answers the question that is the title of my post.

Please click here:  What’s the worst thing you could accuse someone of? (other than ending a sentence with a preposition)

I am at the funeral home to be of support to my step father. His cousin has died, and as people mill about the small gathering, I watch as he walks to the casket and stands silently for a few moments. Another member of his “old gang” is gone.

His stories of his childhood, his extended family, and his young adult life are a treasure to me; they are stories much different from my own.

I was a suburban pseudo-Appalachian Protestant who grew up in the self-indulgent 70s, he was an urban Catholic son of German immigrants, the product of parochial schools, hard work, and the Great Depression.

As a young adult, he served in the Korean War. As a young adult, I served food at a nursing home.

His first wife died young, so did my father. When I was 13, he married my mom, and my sister and I gained not only a step father, but also 3 step sisters. I was the only kid of the 5 of us who wasn’t yet grown. I’ve heard stories of his daughters’ childhoods, and, of course, I have stories of my own.

When I think of him, I’m reminded of the father/children sentiments of Harry Connick Jr.s “He Is / They Are”

He is good
They are happy
He is strong
They are secure
He is right
They are unquestioning
He is wrong
They are demure

When we combined our households all those years ago, he wasn’t crazy about our house dog, but I watched when he shared treats with her when no one was looking. I watched him stand at a distance at family celebrations so he wouldn’t “get in the way.” We would have had him come closer. I watched when he would work on projects outside till he could hardly walk. I watched him take care of my mom even though he was having difficult health struggles himself.

He did things that only superman could do
Things that sis and I could not believe were true Continue Reading…