Sitting on the back steps, watching the chickens pecking out dough from my bread bowl. The grass is heavy with dew. The burgundy-colored irises sparkle as with diamonds. The sun is peering through the eastern trees. It will be a beautiful day.
Yet, my heart is heavy. A friend has gone, and good friends are required to shoulder the burden of unending grief. A son has died.
On Saturday, I represented my family at the bridal shower for a good friend’s grandson and his bride. I bought a Pyrex baking dish with a pop-on lid and these handy little handles molded into the glass on each end to make it easy to grasp. I did not know the bride and she did not know me, and when she was opening gifts she read my husband’s name wrong.
No matter. I had expressed my love and my husband’s love for her soon-to-be grandparents-in-law by honoring her. I also had a pleasant conversation with her soon-to-be-father-in-law… my good friends’ son.
I did not know if Steven would remember me in that sea of female faces, but he did. He caught my eye from across the room and waved at me. I smiled and waved back.
Steven was one of the examples of why I liked this little town surrounded by mountains. Although he worked for the city, he was usually dressed in camos and sported a big beard that would make one of the Duck Dynasty guys proud. He was always smiling, with a spring in his step that made people think, “Things aren’t so bad, after all!”
The first time I met him was to arrange a swap between him and my oldest son, the blacksmith. Steven brought Ben about 20 or 30 deer antlers and an elk antler, harvested over many years of hunting seasons. Ben made him a hand-forged knife. Both were pleased with the deal.
This day, when his son was preparing for marriage, Steven took the time to chat with one old lady in attendance. He asked me how Ben was. He asked how I liked my new house, and whether I had met the neighbor across the street.
“I worked under him for the city.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he retired after 20 years. He was in charge of the sewage treatment plant. He’s probably in his 70’s now. You might not have seen him. He probably doesn’t get out much anymore.”
“Oh, no, I have seen him! He was out on his tractor the other day, cutting grass!”
“Well… I’ll bet you didn’t know he’s an engineer.”
Pleasant conversation. As always, closing with a friendly smile.
That night as my husband and I prepared for bed, we got a call. It was after 11… One of those calls that usually portend bad news. This one was no different. I heard my husband in the living room… “Say WHAT? Say WHAT?”
A moment or two of tense silence, then some murmured words, and Terry came in the bedroom to tell me, “Steven’s dead.”
I know my face went white.
“Are you kidding me? That can’t be!”
But it was. Steven ended his day as he’d ended many others, with a quiet smoke on the back porch of his house in the woods. When he didn’t come back, his 19-year-old son went looking for him, and found him. He tried CPR, but it was already too late.
All indications are he had a heart attack. Averse to doctors and drugs, Steven had finally gone to the doctor for the chest pains he’d been experiencing, and because of a high level of iron in his blood and a family history of early heart failure, he was scheduled to go to a cardiologist next week.
He was 43 years old.
It is so hard to let go. It is wrong for parents to bury their children, especially the strength and joy of their heart, their only son.
But God is a loving heavenly Father. He knows what lies ahead in our future. Perhaps, like Enoch, this son of God was pleasing to the Father, and he took him. Perhaps he spared him from future problems greater than death.
All I truly know is that it’s hard to endure for those of us left behind. It is unending grief to his mother and father. Everyone expected his father to die soon, but not Steven. Not Steven.
Grief is an unseen burden, something common to us all. But nature does not know. It’s a beautiful day. The birds are singing, and the spring flowers are covered with dew.
Yet, my heart is heavy. A friend has gone, and good friends are required to shoulder the burden of unending grief. A son has died.
On Saturday, I represented my family at the bridal shower for a good friend’s grandson and his bride. I bought a Pyrex baking dish with a pop-on lid and these handy little handles molded into the glass on each end to make it easy to grasp. I did not know the bride and she did not know me, and when she was opening gifts she read my husband’s name wrong.
No matter. I had expressed my love and my husband’s love for her soon-to-be grandparents-in-law by honoring her. I also had a pleasant conversation with her soon-to-be-father-in-law… my good friends’ son.
I did not know if Steven would remember me in that sea of female faces, but he did. He caught my eye from across the room and waved at me. I smiled and waved back.
Steven was one of the examples of why I liked this little town surrounded by mountains. Although he worked for the city, he was usually dressed in camos and sported a big beard that would make one of the Duck Dynasty guys proud. He was always smiling, with a spring in his step that made people think, “Things aren’t so bad, after all!”
The first time I met him was to arrange a swap between him and my oldest son, the blacksmith. Steven brought Ben about 20 or 30 deer antlers and an elk antler, harvested over many years of hunting seasons. Ben made him a hand-forged knife. Both were pleased with the deal.
This day, when his son was preparing for marriage, Steven took the time to chat with one old lady in attendance. He asked me how Ben was. He asked how I liked my new house, and whether I had met the neighbor across the street.
“I worked under him for the city.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he retired after 20 years. He was in charge of the sewage treatment plant. He’s probably in his 70’s now. You might not have seen him. He probably doesn’t get out much anymore.”
“Oh, no, I have seen him! He was out on his tractor the other day, cutting grass!”
“Well… I’ll bet you didn’t know he’s an engineer.”
Pleasant conversation. As always, closing with a friendly smile.
That night as my husband and I prepared for bed, we got a call. It was after 11… One of those calls that usually portend bad news. This one was no different. I heard my husband in the living room… “Say WHAT? Say WHAT?”
A moment or two of tense silence, then some murmured words, and Terry came in the bedroom to tell me, “Steven’s dead.”
I know my face went white.
“Are you kidding me? That can’t be!”
But it was. Steven ended his day as he’d ended many others, with a quiet smoke on the back porch of his house in the woods. When he didn’t come back, his 19-year-old son went looking for him, and found him. He tried CPR, but it was already too late.
All indications are he had a heart attack. Averse to doctors and drugs, Steven had finally gone to the doctor for the chest pains he’d been experiencing, and because of a high level of iron in his blood and a family history of early heart failure, he was scheduled to go to a cardiologist next week.
He was 43 years old.
It is so hard to let go. It is wrong for parents to bury their children, especially the strength and joy of their heart, their only son.
But God is a loving heavenly Father. He knows what lies ahead in our future. Perhaps, like Enoch, this son of God was pleasing to the Father, and he took him. Perhaps he spared him from future problems greater than death.
All I truly know is that it’s hard to endure for those of us left behind. It is unending grief to his mother and father. Everyone expected his father to die soon, but not Steven. Not Steven.
Grief is an unseen burden, something common to us all. But nature does not know. It’s a beautiful day. The birds are singing, and the spring flowers are covered with dew.