Welcome Home!

 

                My cousin just got back from dropping her daughter off at college. She recounted for me how amazing it felt to drive around the corner onto the road leading to the entrance with upperclassmen on either side, holding signs, smiling, banging pool noodles, and cheering “Welcome home!” as they slowly drove up to the school. What a welcome back to school! My cousin shared how good it made her feel with so many mixed emotions in driving so many miles and knowing she would not see her daughter again for several months. Her daughter was welcomed here. She would be safe here. She would be happy here.

                Then my cousin paused. She was quiet for a bit as tears began to form in her eyes. Then she said, “Wendy, I was thinking on the drive home…I wonder if that will be what heaven is like when we first get there: The pathway to my Savior lined with dear ones who have died before me, all cheering and welcoming me home!”

                My cousin reminded me of the verse that talks about how the Lord Jesus rejoices at the death of one of His saints. She wondered if Jesus would possibly make a “welcome home party” for each of us, gathering our friends and loved ones and saying, “It’s time! Today we are welcoming Sue or Wendy home! Everyone get ready!” Then we both thought what it was like for our husbands when they entered heaven. I’m sure there was rejoicing, but could it have been rejoicing similar to the scene my cousin experienced when she dropped her daughter off at college? 

 

                I can’t wait to go home and to be welcomed and safe and loved for eternity!

Unreal Reality

 Oxymoron? Maybe. But for me, May 6, 2005 was an unreal reality. Here's how that day unfolded:

The early hours of that day were eerily quiet. I remember emailing my friend, Betty, telling her all about the events of the previous day and suddenly realizing it was very quiet in our home at 2am. It was never quiet in our home, even at 2am. We had an eighteen month old who literally never slept for more than 45 minutes at one time; she had severe reflux that caused a lot of pain and would abruptly waken her (and us) at all hours of the day and night. It had been nearly 45 minutes and the house was quiet. She was still sleeping! (Albeit, propped up in her crib and looking very uncomfortable.) Todd and I, and more recently my Mom, would take turns holding her through the night. But this night she was in her crib, Todd was in a hospital bed, and I was typing at the computer. All was unusually quiet. 

Of course it wasn't long before I was rocking and holding and trying to soothe our screaming 18 month old daughter as Todd continued to lie in the hospital bed. I "woke up" around 4 or 5 without the screams of our youngest. My Mom was tending to her, so I tended to Todd and gave him the medicines he needed to keep him from being in too much pain. He was suffering from advanced four stage renal cell cancer, that had spread throughout his body and had even begun into his bones. He could no longer get out of bed. Two days before he had had a piece of pizza for dinner, in bed, and since then he wasn't moving much, or talking much anymore. He was in agony. We had many visitors, and some who stayed the night because I was so scared he was going to die when no one was around. 

The previous four months had been a blur, a fog, an unbelievable nightmare when Todd was diagnosed, spent over a month at NIH, endured an eight hour surgery where he suffered a stroke, infections, loss of eye sight in his left eye, hallucinations, and memory loss, and now he had only been told a week ago there was nothing more they could do for him. Here we were the morning of May 6, 2005, with him unable to get out of bed, not eating, and barely talking, being in severe chronic pain, and taking meds every few hours to try to help him find some relief. The hospice nurse kept increasing the dosages and times when we were giving him the narcotics. Soon it was time for the morphine. Now he was unable to swallow, so we were giving him morphine (as well as other medications) with a syringe at the back of his throat beside his tongue. 

After giving him some more morphine around 7 am, I just sat next to him and held his hand. The hospice nurse had told me the day before that she felt like he was trying to "hold on" for me and the kids, and that I needed to tell him it was ok "to go." I didn't want to do this. How could I tell my husband of 17 years that it was ok for him to die? Tears filled my eyes, and I looked at his eyes and began, "I love you so much. I hate seeing you like this." A friend, Karen, had spent the night with us, and she was nearby listening, praying, and encouraging me to keep talking. So...

I repeated how much I loved him and thanked him for loving me. I thanked him for loving our children, and then named each one and the different things he shared with each one, reminding him of how very special he was to each of our children. I also reminded him of how there were so many friends and family who were there and loved him and our family so very much. I told him so many cared for us and would continue to care for us. He was smiling with tears in the corners of his eyes and he kept nodding his head. Then I asked if he saw any angels, (I remembered my grandfather had seen angels right before he had passed away), reminding him that God would never leave him and that to be absent from the body was to be present with the Lord. He nodded and looked up to the corner of our room. Karen and I got chills. We were in the presence of angels! Then I told him that if it was time for him to go, that it would be ok, and that we would be ok. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to say.

Later that morning, I repeated the same speech about loving him, him loving us, how special he was, thanking him for the assurance of knowing he would be with Jesus because of his faithful testimony in trusting Him to be his Savior, and then finally telling him it was ok to go when God called him. While I was telling him how there were so many that would take care of us, I mentioned that Karen's husband, a good friend to both of us, was cutting our grass for us at that very moment and asked if he could hear the mower. As he was shaking his head yes, the mower apparently hit something because it made a loud sound and stopped. He gave me a big smile, and we laughed. Sure, it wasn't the same with Todd mowing, but it was getting done and we were both grateful for that!

At around 3 pm Todd's breathing became labored and raspy. In just a few hours he seemed to begin struggling for every breath. 

The following is from an email I wrote to my friend, Betty, who lived in NM. It's the best way I know to finish the story of May 6, 2005:

My husband, my best friend, my love was dying in front of me, Betty, and there was nothing I could do to help him. 

We kept giving him the morphine and anti-anxiety meds, and called hospice, which told us we could give them every hour now, and added a med to dry up the secretions, which never worked.  I couldn't stay in there any more.  I went out on the deck when he was breathing so noisy and slow.  It was torture to sit and listen and watch.  Kim came out and said it was ok, that I didn't have to go back in.  She said her and Kelly were with their dad around the clock, then they went home for a shower, came back and he was gone.  She always thought that was because he felt he could go and not have them go through that pain of watching him go.  So she said it was fine I wasn't in there, and maybe Todd would recognize that and feel better leaving without me there, knowing I wouldn't have to endure that.  I felt so terribly guilty, but I couldn't make myself to go back in there.  Then Kim came out around 6:30 and gave me that look.  He was gone. She held me tight and we just cried.  I started shaking all over.  I suddenly felt all alone.  I ached all over.  My world crashed in.  I couldn't speak or even breathe.  This continued, and I couldn't even tell the kids, but they knew. Nathan came over and we hugged awhile, then each one came and gave me a hug. Winter said, "Daddy's in heaven now, why are you crying?"  And I told her how much I missed Daddy already. Even though the house was literally filled with friends and family, I felt so lonely. Could he really be gone? Am I really left here alone? Please tell me this is a nightmare and I will wake up soon.

Kelly walked back with me, so I could see him.  That was so hard.  I suddenly felt so angry at him for leaving, and yet I told him it was ok to go, but it just suddenly wasn't ok anymore!  It stinks!  It makes me so angry!  How can this be happening?

Thanks again for the all the encouragement and especially those prayers.  It means so much.  You are right, this is truly unbelievable, but God is good and showing Himself a source of strength and comfort. Everything hurts and nothing makes sense, but God is good. He is able. He will get us through.

Saturday, February 27, 1988

 It's not very often February 27th falls on a Saturday, but today happens to be one of those occasions. Today, on a Saturday, 33 years ago, I married Todd J Radle. I will never, ever forget that day. It truly was a fairy tale wedding! We had over 300 guests from all over the country. It began bright and sunny, then rain, then sleet, and ended in blanketing the area in snow. That may not sound like a fairy tale to you, but to me, I was amazed that we had all types of weather in one day...our day! 

I was privileged to spend 17 years married to this man. And he was such a great husband and father, leaving us with so many great memories. But that's why it's still difficult to not cry when I remember those times. There are smiles too, but for some reason, even after all these years, I cry. I miss him. He was so good to us. Thank you, hon, for all those memories. And thank you, dear Heavenly Father, for allowing us to live those many years with such a fun, loving, godly man. I wish it were more, but am so thankful for those we were gifted with him.

Betty

 I have tried to start writing this many times. I can't seem to find the right words, though, to describe Betty and the impact that she has had on my life. For several years I truly believed Betty was an angel, for I never met her in person, hadn't even seen pictures of her until recently, and she always had the perfect words to say when I was at my worst and when I was at my best. 

My first encounter with Betty was in 1999 on an online forum entitled "Praying for our children." It was here hundreds (maybe thousands) of moms across the world would communicate with each other about their children and how best to pray for them. Some would type out prayers after reading requests; others would make suggestions; and still others would ask more questions in order to pray with more understanding. Betty did all of these things. I felt she had zeroed in on my particular needs, and we soon began sharing more private emails just between ourselves. This was clearly God at work in our lives to bring us together, as it proved to be the beginning of a long friendship, encouraging each other in the Lord and praying diligently for our children and for each other's children. I live in Pennsylvania, and I found out Betty lived in New Mexico. We were worlds apart geographically, but so close to each other's needs and requests and victories with praise, that the distance never mattered. 

There was never a day that passed that I didn't check my email to see if there was an email from Betty in those early days of our friendship. It was common to send and receive at least one email, sometimes more, every single day for years between us. When Todd got sick in 2004, there were also several times that she would tell me to call her or she would call me very late at night or in the wee hours of the morning (when our children were sleeping, so that I/we could actually hold a conversation). Her voice was calm. Soothing. Angelic. As Todd's health declined, Betty became my lifeline. At the time, she was attending pharmaceutical school and was extremely busy with studying and attending classes. Yet she would often take the time to either email or call to explain medical terminology and offer suggestions to help Todd. I thank God, even today, that He used her to help us get Todd into NIH (National Institutes of Health) for his major surgery that no other hospital confidently felt they could handle. 

After Todd's passing, Betty was there. She listened to my aching heart. She endured countless emails of never-ending pleas for relief from the pain and agony I was enduring. She patiently would return emails of encouragement, telling me to take one day (or hour or minute) at a time and to "climb up in Father's lap and just let Him hold you." She insisted, for then, that I simply needed to rest in our Heavenly Father's lap and let Him do the rest. Gradually she encouraged me to take baby steps as she saw I could move forward. She never let me stay "stuck" in my grief. She needed to gently push me, knowing my potential and always encouraging me to take those steps with Father's help, leaning on Him for every small advancement. I couldn't see a difference, but she would often tell me she did and "show" me over and over that God was truly working and that I was making progress. Honestly, without Betty's continuous emails, I truly believe I would still be stuck in my grief and not be doing anything to help myself or my children. But by God's grace, now 16 years after Todd going to heaven, and with Betty's encouragement and prayers, I can face each day with the confidence that God will sustain and help and guide me through the rest of this life.

Over the past decade our emails began to get more sporadic. We would check on each other periodically, and be sure to share the big events in our children's lives as well as our own. After finally getting the pictures from my son's wedding, I emailed Betty to share our special day with her. 

The next morning her husband emailed me back. Betty had passed away on September 13, 2020. At first the email didn't make sense. There was no way. But very quickly, before I even finished reading the details and rest of his email, my eyes filled with tears. I'm still having difficulty believing this (thus why I haven't been able to write this for so long). Several friends and acquaintances have died since Todd's death, but none have hit me like the loss of Betty. It can't be real, can it? Betty? My rock? The one who is always there for me? Once again, I feel so alone. It is only Jesus. He will never leave. Time to crawl back up in Father's lap.

Forever in our hearts. I miss you, my dear, dear precious friend. Until heaven...

Drum Roll....Officially Tales of Eight Kids!!

 

Words cannot easily describe the wonderful weekend we had at the marriage of my son and his beautiful bride. From my parents and Tiffany and Brad arriving last Wednesday, the great "family" times we enjoyed, setting up for the rehearsal dinner and then watching the pieces fall into place for a fun time that evening, getting ready for the big day, arriving early to help with a few details, to each event of the wedding, Nathan and Lydia's wedding was a pure delight to my soul. I think seeing so many family members and having my children and both of my parents all together at the wedding was my biggest joy. 

I'll post some pics below, but before I do, I wanted to give a huge shout-out to the Flegal family. Mr. and Mrs. Flegal both worked so hard to make Lydia's dreams come true, and I believe they succeeded! They were the perfect host and hostess to a gorgeous wedding and spectacular reception. There were only a few times when I cried. The first was when Nathan saw his bride in her gown for the first time and filled with tears as he continued to watch her walk towards him with tears streaming down his face. That made me cry. 

                                                                    

Another was when Mr. Flegal chose to by-pass the traditional answer to "Who gives this woman away?"'s Her mother and I, when he turned around, faced the guests, and began..."I'm the father..." Yes, he was the father. Todd was not there, and I suddenly missed Nathan's father. That made me cry. 

He continued to talk about how he knew Nathan many years (reminding everyone that he and Nathan were friends before Lydia and Nathan were!), watched him grow up, and was giving Lydia away to him without any hesitations. That made me cry.                                                                                       

                                                                            

The tears ceased for several hours and were replaced with plenty of smiles and laughter. Then it was time for Nathan to dance with his mom (me). We danced to This Is How You Walk On, and we talked the entire time. I told him how proud I was of him. I told him the wedding was beautiful and his bride was elegant and beautiful as well. He told me he had put Dad's pin on his vest, and when he had asked the photographer to get a picture, she suggested he move it more visible...to his jacket's lapel under his boutonniere. "Look," he said after I asked if he had moved the pin. So I did. That made me cry.

                                                   

Even before Covid-19 was ever heard of, Lydia wanted an outdoor wedding. Thornbury Farm was the chosen venue, months before Covid-19 restrictions were placed, so things worked perfectly and the setting was breathtaking. Here's some pictures...