Glimpses
(written
by Harley
Castleberry)
God Cares
PREFACE
Over the period of a several years, the unseen actions of God were preparing me to overcome a series of events that can emotionally and spiritually crush the human spirit. The things related in this set of stories have virtually nothing to do with my wisdom or abilities. I am but a traveler on this earth just as you. I have deep gratitude that God has seen fit to be an active part of my life, and any recognition or glory associated with these experiences should be directed to the rightful source, Our Heavenly Father.
Four years prior to the swimming party mentioned below, God made provisions for us to move to Dallas, Texas. We came from a small town on the South Plains of the Panhandle of Texas, my birth place. With three growing boys and limited earning potential, we were sure that our economic future and better schools were behind this transition. God’s wisdom and love reached far beyond these needs as He was placing us where He knew we would need to be.
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CHAPTER 1.
DAVID
Health Problems Discovered
“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from
above and cometh down from the Father . . . .”
James 1:17
He was running toward the pool when we noticed it - a welt, almost the size of an adult’s hand, on the lower portion of his rib cage. We were at the end-of-season soccer party for Paul, our middle son, and David, our youngest was six years old. We managed to get David’s attention in spite of the noise and excitement of the event. He was having a great time and anxious to get back into the swimming pool.
“What happened to your side?” we asked.
“Nothing.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No.” he said, fidgeting to get back with the other kids.
“Wait a minute! Did someone hit you?”
“No one hit me.”
“Are you sure?” we persisted. Was he afraid to say so if one of the larger boys had hit him?
“I’m sure.” He said, and off he ran.
After a day or two, with no apparent reduction in the size of the “welt,” we contacted our doctor. After a very brief exam, he promptly referred us to a bone specialist.
Our concern was growing and we certainly weren’t ready for the diagnosis we were about to receive.
We were informed that David had a severe case of scoliosis (curvature of the spine) and unlike many cases that cause stooped shoulders and a rounded back, his spine was curving to the side and what we were thinking was a swollen area was actually a protrusion of his lower rib cage. As if that were not enough, we were further informed that he also had neuro-fibromatosis, a condition that would make him susceptible to fibroid tumors throughout his life. The severity of this condition could not be determined, but we were advised that it could range from a few lumps under the skin to gross disfigurement that could cover much of the body. This condition is better known today by a more familiar term called Elephant Man Disease. (Little is currently known about this unusual disease. Reportedly there are many more cases of NF than multiple sclerosis (MS). Public knowledge of MS has resulted primarily through the fund raising efforts of Hollywood star, Jerry Lewis.)
How could this be happening - to an innocent child - to our family?
This mind staggering information was followed by another statement of insurmountable proportions. The doctor said, looking directly at me, “I don’t know what kind of money you make, but as a doctor, I don’t make enough money to afford the treatment this boy is going to need.”
I felt numb - and helpless! As a junior officer in the third largest savings and loan in the state, I was expected to dress like a million and live on considerably less! What were we going to do? I looked at David, innocent, unconcerned and happy, and I wanted to cry.
I don’t know what I weighed as we walked into that doctor’s office, but I weighed much more as we left, carrying this heavy load.
Our world caved-in on top of us.
The bone specialist said if David were his child, he would try to get him into the Scottish Rite Children’s Hospital, both because of their expertise in this field and for financial reasons. He gave us the name of an individual who could act as a sponsor and enable us to seek care at that facility. Had my Dad still been living, he could have served as sponsor. We took the necessary steps, and made arrangements for an appointment at Scottish Rite.
In the meantime, if my mind was not actively involved at work or with constructive thought, this whole bewildering mess was constantly at the forefront of my thinking. Whether David was playing, eating or sleeping, I could look at him and I hurt, deep down inside. I would have gladly traded places with him. Poor kid!
Early on, appointments at Scottish Rite were miserable. We were given either “morning” or “afternoon” clinic times and we might wait forty-five minutes - or three hours before David’s name was called, and then we started through a series of examining rooms with each being devoted to a single phase of the overall exam. About every three weeks, this process of hurry-up-and-wait was repeated while his condition was being monitored.
Little children, from infants to ten or twelve years of age were most prevalent at the clinic. Some were in wheel chairs, some on crutches, some were crawling, but all had two things in common. All had a physical problem and they all liked to play. After a short duration of shyness, the age and skin color faded away, and they were all playing with well worn toys. Well, nearly all. There were those poor little, near lifeless forms, that were tied upright in wheel chairs, or lying expressionless on one of the little brightly painted carts that were actually small beds on wheels. They were there physically, but mentally, they would never laugh or know the joy and excitement of a new toy, or their own birthdays.
What were we doing here? What had we done to deserve this?
The staff and volunteers were patient and kind and loved children of all kinds, and it didn’t matter to them if they had parts that malfunctioned or were missing. The old building that offered hope to this cross section of society was well worn and dated, but clean. I still found it very depressing. Tragic and seemingly hopeless lives were everywhere you looked.
One day, during the series of exams, we were told that in the near future the hospital would be moving into its new multi-million dollar facility across the street. And was it ever impressive! Everything was new, up-to-date, had cheerful colors and lots of windows. The decor definitely catered to children.
David’s spinal curvature was gradually getting more severe. Ultimately, he would have to undergo surgery and have a “Herrington’s Rod” wired alongside his spine to hold it straight. Some of his vertebrae would have to be fused to give his spine additional needed rigidity. The greatest concern of the surgeons was that he needed as much growing time as possible before surgery because the segment of the spine that would be fused would have its growth potential stopped. If it became necessary to take corrective measures early-on, he stood the chance of looking like those unfortunate individuals that we have all seen on occasion that seem to be “all legs” and have a short torso.
Working against us, was the fact that the slowly increasing curvature could become so severe that the out-of-place ribs could puncture one of his lungs, causing death. Already, when looking at David’s back, it was easy to see that the spine made a figure “S” with shallow curves. The means of buying time in situations like this is with a device called a Milwaukee Brace. You’ve seen kids wearing these. They are an upper-body, metal brace that rests on the hips and extend to the base of the skull at the back of the head and under the chin at the front. When properly adjusted, the chin is held slightly upward, resting on a rigid plastic support.
Don’t think for a minute that Medieval Torture died out with the “Medievals.”
Putting an active youngster into one of these is bad enough, but when he is yours, it takes on a completely different perspective. Further, consider this. David was allowed to take the brace off to bathe and scratch and stretch for a total of one hour per day. Then, back in the brace! Twenty-three hours per day! Yes, this meant sleeping in this contraption.
It was tough for the first few weeks. Possibly Beth and I took this new step as personally as did David. Maybe we didn’t take it as well as David! The stares and questions encountered in stores were hard to take. And how uncomfortable he looked, sound asleep in his little metal cage with the chin-piece pressing against his throat. But, you couldn’t help but admire him as he rode his bicycle and played, with his head tilted back - almost looking down his nose.
The brace was something that we all learned to hate, each in our own way. It would literally eat-up shirts! Fabric between it and back of school desk didn’t stand a chance. And the metal stud on the front that the holes in the web straps hooked over was also something that came to have a special place in my heart. As an avid TV viewer, David was constantly scraping this protruding stud downward across the front edge of the fine cabinetry of our entertainment center as he knelt in front of it to change channels. So much for find cabinetry! And that blasted piece of metal made short work of changing a new dinette table to look as though we had owned it for years. In case you have ever wondered, chipped laminate will not grow back!
All-in-all, very little complaint was heard from David. Somehow, he just seemed to accept the circumstances and adapted to them.
Beth and I hadn’t accepted them - much less adapted.
One day we were in the waiting area at the new hospital. Kids were playing everywhere. Large carpeted cubes, some with crawl-through holes, were the new favorite places to play. I had always heard that if an individual lost his toes, he would be unable to walk because it would be impossible to balance properly. Whether this is a scientific fact or not, I don’t know. But I do know for a fact that as Beth and I sat there silently, feeling sorry for our plight and that of David, that God gave both our attitudes an adjustment.
From out of nowhere (we had never seen him before - nor since, for that matter) came this little boy, about eight years old, running on legs that ended above the knee joints and swinging little arms, without hands, that ended above the elbow joints. He was running upright on the stumps of his legs and playing like the other kids. He had a big smile and was just as happy as the others. If this was an impossibility someone had neglected to tell him about it.
Practically at the same time that we were viewing this marvel, we realized that our problems and those of our son were very small. In light of this experience, the bed-ridden and wheel chair cases looked different than they had before. We had so much to be thankful for. David was whole! Sure, he had some problems, but there was hope and there was a possibility of leading a normal life and participating in normal activities.
In a matter of minutes, our attitudes were changed - never again to return to the depths of despair and self-pity.
I never thought of blaming God for these circumstances, but “Why?” sometimes still echoes in my mind.
One day, when David was ten years old and the x-rays from one of the regularly scheduled exams were read, we were shown that the degree of curvature had reached the danger point. Surgery could no longer be stalled while awaiting additional upper torso growth. Strange, even when you know what to expect, even for a long time in advance, when the time comes, we’re often still not ready. What a profoundly helpless feeling it is when you have to trust strangers with the very life of one of your own. There was absolutely nothing that I could physically do. This was definitely not my area of expertise. I was out of the equation.
“All we can do now is pray.” I said.
God must really be gratified with our confidence when we refer to
prayer in such a fatalistic manner. “All we can do now…”
Praying is the GREATEST THING we can do! It shouldn’t be a
last ditch effort on our part. We should be overwhelmed with joy
and adoration that the creator of the whole universe knows us individually,
loves us individually, cares about our every concern, and works
in our lives to create only good for those who love him. And, we can talk
directly to Him at any time, from anywhere!
Only Good!
That one statement concerning His love for us, and verified by the
Bible itself, indirectly isolates and identifies the source of all bad things
in this world. That source is not God. Give credit where credit is due!
On the day of the surgery, Beth and I sat in the waiting area across from the operating rooms. As we waited and prayed, the skilled hands of many people performed their diversified, talented work under the watchful eye of the Almighty.
Time almost seems to stand still in waiting rooms and the mind runs wild with the real and the imagined. Needless to say, we weren’t overjoyed with what was going on, but uncontrollable forces had brought us to this point and nothing could be changed. Grim as the moment was, we were slowly making progress toward what we all hoped would be a permanent solution to an agonizing problem. And don’t forget that uncomfortable, clothes-eating brace. Hopefully, we’ll be free of that forever!
While we were experiencing the emotions that only parents can know, David was undergoing something entirely different. His back was receiving a stainless steel rod, being placed alongside his spine and as the spine was pulled into place against the rod, it was secured with stainless steel wire. Slivers of bone from his pelvis were removed and used as wedges between certain vertebrae to fuse them together.
Finally, an O.R. nurse emerged from the restricted area. In her hand she carried a large x-ray.
“Thought you might want to see this.” She said. “We just took this after completing the surgery. They’re closing him up now. Your son is two inches taller now than when he went into surgery.”
Every x-ray that I had ever seen carried little meaning to me other than bad news and a slight curiosity as to how things looked “inside.” But THIS ONE WAS BEAUTIFUL! Only a slight curve in the spine was detectable. Everything had gone fine.
Beth’s eyes overflowed. “Thank you, God! Thank you.”
From intensive care he was moved into a special room where his body was secured to a “rack” and stretched while being encased in a plaster of Paris body cast. (Remember what I said about the “Medievals?”)
Back in his own hospital room, with a blower under the sheet, force drying his new cast, and in considerable pain, David wearily looked up at me and made the most discouraging statement that he spoke during this whole ordeal:
“Daddy, I want to go home.”
I almost burst into tears! What a kid! To go through all this and that’s he worst thing to come out of his mouth. He’s a far better patient than I would be.
A few days later, wobbling somewhat as he adjusted to his first day out of bed and trying to navigate in a cast, David set his brace on the counter at the nurses’ station, and his request was granted - he was going home.
God can take the worst that Satan can place on us and turn it into something that glorifies God and makes his people better and stronger.
“And we know that all things work together
for good to them that love God . . . .”
Romans 8:28
When I wrote this segment, David was eighteen years old and a senior in high school. He has had additional surgery for the removal of tumors and affected nerves on his left side. Removal of some ribs on the lower left side of his rib cage caused the remaining ribs on that side to protrude. Since then he has always worn loose fitting shirts to hide this disfigurement.
Surely, it is the best time in history to be alive if one needs medical help.
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CHAPTER 2.
Bob Williams’ Funeral –
One morning I was reading the daily paper and scanning the obituaries. Having lived in Dallas since 1972, I still don’t know everyone here, but occasionally the death notice of someone that I know, or have known, will catch my attention. As usual, I was scanning the names and photos of the deceased when something made be look again at one obituary that I had just viewed. This particular obituary contained a picture, and the man had an appearance that seemed vaguely familiar to me. No, I didn’t know him, and yet… I read the name again – Robert Williams. My eyes went back to the picture. He sure looks familiar… Yes. That is Bob Williams! The hat he was wearing in the photo was what was throwing me off. The only time that I ever saw Bob wearing a hat was down at the deer lease. Bob was the brother of the Chairman of the Board of the savings and loan where I worked for several years after moving to Dallas. Bob worked there also. A job change, and time, had separated me from contact with Bob, and a really great group of people with whom I had worked.
The obituary gave the time and location of a memorial service and I made arrangements to attend. The Williams’ are well known in Dallas, and there were a large number of people in attendance. What an uplifting memorial service! The music and musicians were outstanding. Several individuals, including some family members, eulogized their departed loved one. Their stories telling about Bob’s interaction with them gave insight, life, and meaning to his influence. I believe that Bob would have enjoyed every minute of his memorial service.
In the closing moments, something was announced that I had never heard of taking place on an occasion like this. The family requested that everyone come to a community room for refreshments and to give them a chance to meet with the friends who came to pay recognition to Bob. I don’t think anyone made it to the refreshments! The atmosphere was so relaxed that conversations with the family members took place right the in the sanctuary. For some of us who had worked together, it was almost like a family reunion. I left there feeling uplifted and with a totally new insight in how to truly celebrate a life, in the midst of loss.
All this made a lasting impression on me.
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CHAPTER 3.
Goodman Funeral
My boss stopped by my office and asked if I had heard that Opal’s father had passed away. I replied that I had received word a little earlier in the morning. “Frank’s not going to the funeral on Saturday and I would like for you to go and represent the company.” he said.
I responded that I would. What surprised me was that I was “requested” to go because Frank was Opal’s supervisor – not me. I was considering going even before I received this formal request, because I knew Opal fairly well. I never did completely understand Frank’s personality. I had been told that he was not a religious person and I knew from associating with him that he was wrapped rather tightly. He far outstripped me at being a perfectionist. Later, I talked with Carol, a work associate of Opal’s to see if she was planning on attending the services. She said that she was and that Opal had given her detailed instructions on how to get to the little Baptist Church, located deep in the piney woods in East Texas. Since there was no sense in both Carol and I driving to East Texas, I offered her a ride and she had accepted.
Opal was a black lady, probably in her late thirties, or early forties and both she and Carol would occasionally drop by my office and blow off steam. Frank was not a particularly easy man for them to work for. Carol was probably about the same age as Opal, and had been divorced for a number of years. She lived with her widowed father on a few acres some distance from Dallas.
On Saturday morning, Carol met me in the town near where she lives and left her car there. Neither Carol nor I had any shortage of conversational topics, and the drive went quickly. Since the services were scheduled for right after lunch, we stopped in the closest town and had a bite to eat. After that, we resumed our journey and Carol got out the written directions to the church. For a while, we were on Farm to Market roads, and then we were instructed to take various county roads as we twisted and turned back into the country. I was beginning to wonder if we could find our way back to the highway, even by following the directions in reverse. I kept looking at my watch and wondering if we were going to make it on time. After a few more twists and turns we came to a clearing where two county roads intersected. There on one corner sat the little white, frame church – the only structure in sight. Cars were densely park around the building. The services had not started when we entered the door. We were warmly greeted and immediately ushered to two seats at the front of the sanctuary, just to the left of the podium. The church was packed!
Opal’s dad was a Christian and it was evident that he was well known, and had many friends. There were four ministers on the podium; each of whom participated in some portion of the service. Just prior to any official remarks having been made, a few more relatives were ushered in, among whom was a grandson, wearing a military uniform.
Shortly after the proceedings began, there arose some confusion in the family section, resulting in the young soldier being carried out. He had fainted.
In the course of the service, the ministers read all the scriptures typically used at funerals, but I felt pulled down and filled with sadness because I didn’t think that the family heard anything reassuring about the hope that is built into Christian faith. I was telling Carol on the way back to Dallas, that as each minister was giving their delivery, I wanted to get up, go to the podium, and tell of the great thing that Christ did for all mankind when he arose from the grave! As Christians, we have much to be joyful and thankful about – even at the funeral of a loved one.
Carol herself was not far from facing a situation similar to that being experienced by Opal. Carol’s dad had been diagnosed with cancer and had been given only a short time to live. As we drove back home she talked about her dad’s prospects. She related that her church was currently without a pastor and asked if I had ever conducted a funeral service. I told her that I had preached some, but had never officiated at a funeral. “Would you consider it?” she asked.
My mind raced back to the many times that I have asked bereaved friends how I could be of assistance to them. Of course I couldn’t bring back a loved one, or bear their sorrow, but I was never asked to do anything. (I have since learned not to ask, but just do whatever obvious things that need to be done. Often this might be as insignificant as providing paper plates, helping serve food or rolling up sleeves and helping clean up the kitchen. None of that is much, but it is a portion of what needs to be done at the time.) Now, here I was being asked for help! I replied, “Sure, I would be honored to do that.”
A few weeks earlier, Carol’s dad, Clyde, had been in a Dallas hospital, and one evening I drove over and visited with the two of them. Mr. Goodman was in good spirits. I was aware that he had retired from the Dallas Police Department after 20 years of service. Carol had once told me that he was a veteran of WWII, and had been in the battle on Iwo Jima. Talk about seeing things that need to be done! During combat, Mr. Goodman had noticed that a caterpillar operator, who was hauling ammunition up from the beach, had been shot. Clyde immediately crawled up on the tractor, took the controls and continued working the supply line to the troops. This brave, unplanned, unselfish action had earned him a Bronze Star. There at his bedside, he and I were in the early stages of conversation, and I was endeavoring to learn more about his life, when several of the ladies who worked with Carol arrived. My one-on-one opportunity slipped away.
When Mr. Goodman returned home, for the last time, a hospital bed had been set up for him in the living room. At work, I checked on his condition frequently with Carol. One day Carol told me that the previous night while she was preparing the evening meal, her dad called out to her from the living room, asking “Carol, am I dead?” She said I told him, “No Daddy, you’re not dead!” A few days later, the end appeared to be close at hand and I asked Carol what kind of service she wanted him to have. It was decided that I would drive to their home on an appointed evening, and she and I could talk about her wishes. She had already decided to have only a graveside service.
When I arrived, I looked in on Mr. Goodman. His eyes were closed and he was resting rather uncomfortably. Carol and I went into an adjoining room and discussed the upcoming service. Thankfully, she was of strong mind and preferred things to be uplifting. During the visit she brought out her dad’s Bronze Star Medal, the nation’s fourth highest military award, complete with the written documentation signed by Cordell Hull. Even though I was a pre-teen during the war, the name of Cordell Hull was certainly not foreign to me. His name had come up quite frequently in the news. Mr. Hull, Oct. 187l -July 1955, served our country as Secretary of State.
Clyde Goodman had survived the war and twenty years of police work and came through all of it without a scratch. Now he was facing the biggest enemy of his life.
A few days later Death tried to swallow up Clyde, only to find that he emerged again, without a scratch, on the other side, and more alive than ever – for ever more! Earlier in his life he had sought the safety and security that can only be found in Christ.
After Frank heard that I was going to the graveside services, he asked if he could ride with me. I gladly honored his request. I’ll admit that this put me in a bit of a quandary for a while. I had no idea how he would accept the fact that I would be officiating at the cemetery. I ruled against letting it be a “surprise,” even though it did enter my mind. Instead, I told him up-front that I would be in charge of the service. There was a bit of a pause and he replied rather quizzically, “Do you need a license to do that?”
nknown to me at the time, God was laying groundwork in my life. Out there in the future, my wife and I would know first hand about a hospital bed in the living room. Seeds were being planted, that when matured, would enabled me to do something that would have otherwise been impossible.
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CHAPTER 4.
A New Chapter in Our Lives
The phone rang in my office. When I answered, my wife instantly asked if I could go immediately to Parkland Hospital. She was panicky, and it was clearly reflected in her voice. “David just called and said that a doctor had just moments earlier been in his room and pointedly told him that he was going to die and if he had any unfinished businesses, he needed to get it taken care of. David was crying.”
“I’m on my way.” I said. I told my boss what had transpired and promptly headed for the hospital. I kept thinking, “What an abrupt, cold and callous way to inform a patient of their approaching death!”
While driving, my mind replayed a scene that I was more than familiar with. In fact, this scene still unexpectedly replays itself, even now. A few weeks before, Beth and I were sitting in the waiting room in the surgery section of the hospital. Finally, the doctors had decided to remove a tumor from David’s back that had been giving him great pain and discomfort for months. It started off with the appearance of something about the size of a black eyed pea under the surface of the skin, near the center of his back. David had undergone previous surgeries in the past for the removal of fibrous tumors. One surgery had necessitated the removal of part of a rib near the lower, front portion of his chest. I’m not a doctor, but I always considered that surgery to be a “butcher job” because it left his rib cage protruding noticeably in that area. To compensate, David wore oversize shirts and never even went swimming without wearing a loose fitting T-shirt. He had a scar running the full length of the center of his back since he was a pre-teen, when it was necessary to insert a Harrington’s Rod to correct a severe curve in his spine and he soon tired of explaining the scar to curious strangers.
Many people who experience much difficulty in their lives seem to come equipped with some special attitude, or tolerance, that has to be a gift from God. David fit in that category. He never complained about his pain or his inability to ward off whatever caused the ongoing development of these tumors.
As we sat there in the waiting room, among other anxious families, we were pleasantly surprised to see our Sunday school teacher, and his wife walk in. Gene and Norma Helms came to lend support and thoughtfully brought sandwiches and crisp, cut up, fresh vegetables. We hadn’t even thought about food, but their presence and food was most welcome! In due time one of the surgeons came out and informed us the surgery was complete and they were in the process of preparing David to return to his room. He reported that the tumor they removed was about the size of a grapefruit and it required the removal of part of an affected rib, near the spine. The growth had entered a lung. As a result, a portion of the lung was also removed. I listened to the words, “We think we got it all.” I asked to see what they had removed. The doctor declined.
As the doctor left, I remarked, “That does not sound good. Did you hear what he said?” I looked at three questioning faces and repeated, “We think we got it all.” If they had removed all of the tumor, they would have said that. Not, we “think” we got all of it.” (To me, that statement was a “conditioning” tool.) It was one that I had heard before, after my dad’s cancer surgery.
By the time I reached the hospital, David had regained his composure and I tried to console and reassure him. Outwardly, at least, he seemed to have accepted the crudely presented fact that his time was short.
Within the next day or so, we learned that lab results absolutely confirmed that the growth was cancerous. At that point the, “we think,” took on a new and ominous meaning for me. We continued to spend as much of our off duty time as possible with David at the hospital. True to his old nature, we never heard any complaints or “I wish that…” from him.
One night, David’s older brother, Gary, decided to spend the night with him at the hospital. A “recliner” was moved into David’s room by the staff to accommodate Gary’s stay. The reason for the quotation marks around the word recliner is that in its earlier life, that chair probably had been a recliner. At this point in time, I’m not sure what it should truthfully be called. It would be somewhere between an upholstered cavity and a medieval torture device. The support in the seat of the chair had completely given away to a variety of forces including fatigue, compaction and gravity, leaving a depression roughly the size of a basketball. The bulk of two hospital bed pillows would not fill the void, but were, all things considered, helpful. It looked as though it was going to be a l-o-n-g night! David wanted to play the card game “Spades,” and Gary and I set out to purchase a deck of cards to help the two of them pass the time. I had no idea that making such a simple purchase could be such a big deal. We had great difficulty in finding a store that stocked playing cards. After making several stops, we finally accomplished the task. The effort proved to be worthwhile and the boys enjoyed the game, and each other’s company. For the remainder of the night, I think that Gary suffered more discomfort than did David.
Within a couple of days, David was released to come home.
While I’ll always believe the doctor’s words were chosen to provide a
transition to the coming grim reality, I can see how God frequently
conditions us, one step at a time, in order to prepare us for upcoming
events in our lives.
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CHAPTER 5.
Manifestation of God’s Groundwork
One night, shortly after he had returned home from the hospital, David and I were sitting in the den. He slowly got up and with visible determination started up the stairs, the long oxygen supply hose dragging behind him. “I want to go up to my room one last time he said.” (Since his return from the hospital, we had a bed set up for him in the den.) I never knew what motivated him to make such a final sounding statement. About two-thirds of the way up the stairs I heard him stop, gasping for air. I hurried to him and helped him to the second floor. Having all bedrooms on the second floor can be a blessing as well as a curse. Not good if you have health problems. I moved the oxygen generator to his room and he seemed happy and comfortable. The television in his room did not have a remote control, and since he was pretty well confined to his bed, I swapped rooms with him. The TV in my room was newer and did have a remote control. Watching television helped keep his mind off his personal situation, and helped pass the time.
After a period of time, we could see that David’s condition was continuing to deteriorate. He was still coughing up dark blood clots as a result of the lung surgery. There was no color showing underneath his finger nails now. His saliva was crystal clear and almost as thick as Karo Syrup. Reality forced us to call for hospice assistance. Those people were angels of mercy. After making contact with them, a nurse showed up almost immediately. She sat on the edge of David’s bed and talked with him privately. Then she gave him a prolonged hug. We never knew what the two of them discussed, but after their meeting, she called a pharmacy and ordered a new set of prescriptions, arranged for a hospital bed, which arrived and was set up in the living room within about an hour, and everything was prepared for David to move down stairs. By this time, he was too weak to feel safe trying to navigate the stairs, even with my help. Not a problem! The nurse knew what to do. I drove her a few blocks to a neighborhood fire station and she arranged for help from the firemen. They arrived at our house within minutes of our return home. The firemen came in with a canvas sling seat suspended between two sturdy aluminum poles. It was designed specifically for this purpose and allowed the passenger to sit upright even though the poles were carried at the angle of the stairs. The men carefully placed David in the chair and proceeded down the steps; one fireman on each end of the poles. David’s uneasiness, readily detected by the look on his face, was only a momentary reaction. In less than a minute he was in the living room, being assisted into bed. After a heartfelt thanks to the firemen, they were gone. A neighborhood friend, whose son was virtually a life-long buddy of David’s, went into action. Before the sun had set she had combed the neighborhood and borrowed a number of needed items, including a privacy screen to partially block off the view of the living room from the front entryway. The prescriptions were delivered to our door and everything went like clockwork.
David was at the point that he needed someone available to help when he required assistance. Beth and I still held down jobs and had sympathetic bosses. The problem associated with relying on our employers’ generosity, was that we had no idea how long circumstances would remain as they were. As it turned out, David’s girlfriend, Kelly, and one of our daughters-in-law, Christy, were available to alternate day shifts and stay with him until either Beth or I could get home. Their unselfish aid was invaluable.
The reality of what was happening began to take hold. We accepted the fact that sometime, possibly in the near future, we were going to need a burial site. Taking action on something like this is so foreign to daily life that trying to explain how we felt about this task impossible to put into words. We wanted to find a cemetery close to where all the family lived, for the convenience of visiting there in the future. We, maybe I should say “I,” had always been impressed with the clean, uncluttered look of cemetery grounds that mandated ground-level markers. While trying to gather thoughts and ideas, I recalled a couple of times that I had visited the graves of an aunt and uncle who were buried in such a cemetery. I had never really had this thought previously, but it was extremely difficult to locate their graves, even though I had attended both their funerals. My next thought was about the gradual accumulation of soil build-up and plant life over the years. Some old cemeteries contain head stones where the soil has built up six inches or more at the stone’s base. When a cemetery becomes full, how long is “Perpetual Care,” after the income stream stops and funds invested “perpetually” become mishandled or run out? I don’t know if future family members will ever try to reconstruct family records and attempt to locate old graves in such an attempt, but I changed my mind, and decided an old fashioned, freestanding marker was still the way to go. Beth agreed, and then it became necessary to find a cemetery that would still allow upright head stones.
It was August 13th, and Beth and I took off work and tackled the unavoidable task of purchasing cemetery lots. We spent the entire day on this endeavor, and about 5pm, we purchased three lots in an old cemetery in Dallas. The terrain is slightly rolling, contains giant oak and pecan trees and in spite of its age, the cemetery is still a desirable place to be interred. It is not located close to where any of us live, but everything else met with our desires.
The salesman that we dealt with was a retired minister. I asked about how many graves there were at that location. I thought his answer, especially for a minister, was not the best choice of words; “There are about 50,000 souls buried here.” I immediately thought, “Souls? Buried?” I knew what he meant, but burying a “soul,” that part of an individual that lives on forever, would, I perceived, be quite a chore. At the end of the day we were tired, but relieved with that portion of preparation having been taken care of. Of course David was unaware of what we found necessary to do that day, and we returned home at about our usual arrival times.
David felt well enough to watch TV in the den that evening. For the life of me, I can’t remember what we were watching, but at one point I noticed a rather panic-stricken look on his face and for the first, and only time, he blurted out, “I don’t want to die.” I was gripped with sympathy and shocked because I didn’t know immediately what to say or do. Instantly, I was thankfully given insight and a steady, normal voice. I pulled a chair up next to his and sat down. I said, “David, I think you are looking at this all wrong.” He looked at me like I was crazy. “Do you realize that when the time comes, you will be instantly healed? There will be no more pain or surgeries. You have three grandparents anxiously waiting your arrival, and I’m not going to be far behind. When you get to Heaven, I want you to scout that place out, because when I get there I want you to give me the full tour. When God calls you, I want you to jump right up into his arms, and don’t look back!” (I’ll tell you that I’m not smart enough to have been able to give that kind of reassurance, but I believed and meant every word of it. God provides us with what we need, when we need it, if we’ll trust Him.) The look of fear and dread left David’s face and neither of us had to make further comments about the circumstances.
That night it was my time to spend downstairs with David. My feet and ankles hang uncomfortably off the footrest on our reclining chairs, so I again got David’s bedroll and spread it in the floor by the hospital bed. His prescriptions had been altered at least once since hospice came into the picture. The dosages were now to be administered at a variety of times around the clock, and I had finally put everything on a spreadsheet, made multiple copies and put them on a clip board. Each dose could be checked off and initialed by who ever handled it. David kept most of his own records with this arrangement. As time progressed, his handwriting showed less and less clarity. Much of the time now he was using oxygen from a larger generator that hospice provided. The night passed in a routine manner, all things considered. August 13th had been a busy day.
The night of the 14th was Beth’s time to be on sickroom duty. After taking a bath, she assumed the night shift. After a bit she casually asked, “Are you still afraid?” David responded, “No. Dad and I talked. I’m not afraid.” That night Beth said that she sang every Christian song that she knew to her youngest son. Later she was able to get some sleep in the adjoining room in her recliner. The remainder of the night passed without incident.
Morning of the 15th : This was Kelly’s day to spend with David. Beth and I were preparing to go to work when she called. She was experiencing car trouble and wouldn’t be able to come. I told Beth to go on and I would call in and tell them I wouldn’t be at work. This left David and me together and I was trying to get our day started. He told me that he wanted to sit up for a while. I put a chair near the foot of his bed. He was quite weak. As I started to assist him, he said that he nearly fell the day before. He seemed quite concerned about that happening and I sensed that he was afraid it might happen again when he got up. I assured him that he was not going to fall because I was going to help him. He was not on oxygen at the time. Slowly I maneuvered him into the chair. Due to circumstances, he was overdue for a haircut and his hair was a mess. It hadn’t been combed that morning. While he was seated, I stood behind him with my hands on his shoulders to help steady him. In the matter of a few seconds, I noticed that he was holding his head down. I put one hand on his forehead and pulled his head upright and said, “Hold your head up, you can’t breathe well with it down like that.” Somewhere in those few seconds, God had softly called his name and he had jumped into the arms of the Lord. He hadn’t needed another breath. When I realized what had happened, I said, “Go David. Go and don’t look back!” He was a few weeks short of his 26th birthday.
The time was about 8:30am. I called Beth, who had just barely had time to get to work. “He got away.” I said. “What are you saying?” “David just got away, he’s gone.” I replied. She responded, “I’ll be right home.”
I then called the hospice nurse on her cell phone. When I told her that David had died, she said that she was in far South Dallas, but would be at our house as quickly as possible. I told her not to hurry, or take any chances. “Everything is fine here – just the way it’s supposed to be.”
I was now glad that Kelly was unable to come that morning. She didn’t need to experience, or have the responsibility of dealing with what had transpired. God had arranged everything in proper order and I was thankful.
I cannot imagine how people face the major battles of life without the assurance provided by faith. David's death was inevitable. He died peacefully, and unexpectedly. I know that was not “good-by.” That only began a temporary separation.
The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed is the name of the Lord.
Over a period of several months, without my realizing it, God had been
laying the groundwork, preparing me for an unexpected task. While I
had seen evidence of Him in small ways during this whole experience,
the culmination of his plan was a blessing that really surprised me!
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CHAPTER 6.
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Back on August 13th, as Beth and I searched for cemetery lots, my mind moved ahead to the inevitable – a funeral. Like many young people, as David started making his own decisions, it was increasingly difficult to get him to attend Sunday school and church. Coupled with that attitude had to be the fact that many of the kids his age at church, had to some degree shunned him during the years that he had to wear a readily evident brace on his upper body. It was a classic case of his being “different” because of the brace. The result of that sense of exclusion had a bearing on him for the remainder of his life; though he never talked about it, or the kids who had shunned him.
Our pastor at the time of David’s death had consequently never really gotten to know David, and the thought of David’s funeral with the pastor officiating seemed unfair to both the pastor and David. As we drove off from one cemetery, which we had eliminated from our list, I told Beth of my thoughts. “I think that I should take care of the funeral service myself.” I said. “No one knew him like we do.” She then asked, “Do you think that you could do that?” “I know I can.” I responded. (A year or so earlier, I certainly would not have ventured so bold a statement.) Immediately I caught myself, and silently and humbly thought, “With God’s help.” Without the previous experiences noted in this series of articles, there is absolutely no way that my emotions would have allowed me to do such a thing. All along, God had been preparing me, one step at a time.
In the afternoon of August 15th, we took care of the necessary funeral arrangements, and wrote an obituary for the paper. The funeral home took care of getting it to the newspaper. The following morning as I turned to the obituary page, there it was – David’s obituary. I expected it to be there. But seeing it, among all the others was still a blow, accompanied by deep emotional feelings. Our very own son’s obituary is in the newspaper. This is really happening. A parent never expects to see an announcement of the death of one of their children. Reality can jerk us around! I’ve heard it said that children aren’t supposed to die before their parents. I don’t know where that thought process came from. Everyone is eligible to die – at any time. I certainly didn’t feel as though we were “singled out” on this occasion. This is just a part of life! Good things happen. Bad things happen. We don’t have to understand it all, but we must experience the taste of many things if we live to maturity. We don’t have to like certain things, but I firmly believe that each of us will be measured by how we “handle” different events in our lives. A faith and trust in God makes the “handling” a lot easier, even when we don’t understand.
Trying to weave a funeral possession through Dallas traffic is a nightmare. Some people would want to attend a graveside service and others would feel it an obligation, or feel guilty if they didn’t. As a result of the distance between our church and the cemetery, we decided to have a graveside service for the family and David’s friends, and after lunch have a memorial service at our church with fellow church members, and friends from where each of us worked. (Many months earlier, and unknown to me at the time, God had been preparing my thought processes starting with the way Bob Williams’ services were so wonderfully handled.}
As I started preparing for David’s services I ran across an interesting statistic. This is something that I wanted to pass this on to all those present: For those who may feel that their family has been singled out by the loss of a loved one; that they are the only ones in sorrow and despair, please take note. Based on research, it was found that, on this planet, there are 5,417 other families going through a similar emotional loss simultaneously with our present experience. Now get this: That is not a daily figure. Each hour approximately 5,417 people die, leaving grieving family members around the world! The real tragedy of this is that not all of those people had prepared to meet God in eternity as Savior and Lord as David had done while still a youth. Only the living can make that eternal choice for themselves. On the basis of that alone, our family had much to rejoice about! We had the peace and reassurance that David’s eternal soul went immediately to Heaven, and that on the day of the Rapture, a new and perfect body would join that soul – for all eternity. All believers, whether dead or alive at the time, will rise and meet the Lord in the air with new eternal bodies! What we were about to bury was a diseased, used up body that he had occupied. In almost twenty-six years, he had completed his earthly lifetime. To mourn about his being buried in a coffin in that cemetery would be a fallacy, and an unwarranted emotional drain. The true part of him that was the son we raised, knew and loved was not, and never would be below ground, encased in a coffin. He had bypassed all that and was free and alive forevermore. This was not the end, but simply a temporary separation, lasting only until we too, in the twinkling of an eye, make that journey.
Another thing that I wanted to share with those present was how great our Heavenly Father is! In my mind, to use the term “god” for anyone, or anything else, is ridiculous. There is only one God in the whole of the universe. Religions other than Christianity call their deities by a variety of names and many can tell you where each is buried. For followers of Christ, the best we can do is point out an empty tomb, temporally occupied for three days, and then vacated by the risen Savior, alive for evermore! When he arose, he had conquered death and Hell! He sits at the right hand of God, interceding for all his followers, having purchased once and for all time, forgiveness and redemption for all who accept Him.
Our God is the only god who prophesies, and makes those prophecies come to pass. Even today, the last of the prophecies enumerated in the Bible are coming to pass, or will in the immediate future. The sands of time are running out. Our God is a living God and He is in absolute control!
We celebrated David’s life by reliving some of the experiences and remembrances of it. At the close of the memorial service the family held a reception, in Bob Williams’ style, so that we could greet and thank those who came. The whole family was involved in organizing an order of service handout for the memorial service and the preparation of refreshments for our guests at the reception. Until you have experienced the uplifting support felt as a result of the presence of friends at such a time, you can’t really know what that means to a family that is experiencing loss. We were truly honored by their presence.
God gives, and God takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord!
The date of death of a loved one can, and often does, mar that particular date each year for years to come. I think this is especially true in times of loss during holiday periods. As the first anniversary of David’s death approached, I wanted to do something that would hopefully prevent an annual period of sadness. When the inspiration came to me, I called Beth at work and suggested that on August 15th, she and I go out for dinner and celebrate the almost 26 years that God had given us with David. Truly, we had much more to be thankful for than to be sad about. We did just that! Granted, even now, we are ever mindful of the date of his departure, but it has not become an annual day of family mourning, and with each passing year we are one year closer to being reunited.
I thank God for that inspiration.
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