Joel 2:25

And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten, the cankerworm, and the caterpiller, and the palmerworm, my great army which I sent among you.

Grief is such an interesting process. It really isn't an emotion, but a spectrum of emotions and sensations. I've always been really good at ignoring things that I don't want to penetrate my consciousness. But grief pokes it's head through the defending wall and strikes at my heart when I least expect it.

This time those moments of unspeakable sadness, of awareness of my own mortality, and knowledge that we are held together body, soul, and spirit by only a fragile invisible bond are less intense than when Victor died, but intense enough to interrupt the flow of my daily routine.

I knew that my grieving for Jeannie was compounded by the remnants of grief over Victor's death. Sunday night I slept fitfully. My nightmares were of being young and in prison. I painted the prison walls bright yellow, but still I couldn't get free. In the next dream, I was old and homeless, searching among the garbage behind restaurants for dinner. There was no logical explanation for this sudden episode of depression. On Monday morning, I dragged myself to school by sheer will power. Once there, however, I did fine. I was able to be effective with kids, even managed to get some things filed.

I had no explanation why Sunday evening was so difficult until tonight's reflection when I made the connection with Victor's death. Following the thought that Jeannie's death affected me so profoundly because I still hadn't recovered from Victor's death in February, 2006, I checked the calendar. Sunday was Feb 22, the third anniversary of Victor's death.

Recognizing the problem is half the solution. So now that I know I've been caught in the web of grief upon grief, I can deal with it.

Grief triggered by an anniversary is fairly common, even when it's not recognized. Seasons of life evoke reaction, albeit involuntary. So I shall have to set aside a few days in February each year to celebrate the life of two dear friends, one of whom died with my liver. Jeannie's death has reminded me that I have goals yet to be met. Things to do.

Pastor Phylis

On the death of a friend

Funerals are a time for reflection, a time for evaluation. Since Jeannie and I are similar in so many ways, her death has sent me into a reflective spiral. Kind of like an internal tornado. I find myself alternately frozen and unable to do a thing, and motivated to get my life in order. I really have to get a book published, or at least written and ready for publication. I have several photo albums to finish. I have decisions to make, projects begun and half finished. And, above all, I have closets to clean.

Since I've returned from Colorado, these lyrics are speaking to me. I wanted to share them with you, as well as Brooke Fraser's lovely voice.

SHADOWFEET

Walking, stumbling on these shadowfeet

toward home, a land that I've never seen

I am changing, less and less asleep

made of different stuff than when I began

and I have sensed it all along

fast approaching is the day


[CHORUS]
when the world has fallen out from under me

I'll be found in you, still standing

when the sky rolls up and mountains fall on their knees

when time and space are through

I'll be found in you


There's distraction buzzing in my head

saying in the shadows it's easier to stay

but I've heard rumours of true reality

whispers of a well-lit way



[CHORUS]


You make all things new

You make all things new

You make all things new

You make all things

You make all things



[CHORUS 2]

When the world has fallen out from under me

I'll be found in you, still standing

Every fear and accusation under my feet

when time and space are through

I'll be found in you

when time and space are through

I'll be found in you

when time and space are through

I'll be found in you

Pastor Phylis

When the sky rolls up and mountains fall on their knees

When time and space are through

I'll be found in you

"When the world has fallen out from under me I'll be found in You, still standing. When the sky rolls up and mountains fall on their knees, when time and space are through I'll be found in You." ~"Shadowfeet" by Brooke Fraser.

Pastor Phylis

Jeanne Ann Buckli Harmon - "I was blind but now I see."

Jeannie left this life and entered a new one Thursday evening, February 12, 2009. In so many ways, I'm happy for her. She will have a new body, a pain-free one, a fully functioning one, but how we will miss her.

Jeannie always met life head-on. Her life was never easy, but she never just accepted what life dished out to her. She fought a brave battle. She was diagnosed early on with type 1 diabetes, and the complications of that disease plagued her throughout her life.

Somewhere in her 20's she had retinal neuropathy and lost sight in both eyes. For about two years, she was blind. She learned to function as a blind adult, living independently. Then she tried a new experimental procedure, laser surgery and voila, she regained her sight. She called it her miracle. And it was. She avoided night driving and bright lights, but otherwise saw sufficiently to read, write, use a computer and whatever other function she needed.

She didn't allow her disease to define her. Jeannie was her own woman. She wanted children, desperately, and was delighted when she was able to adopt Amy Renee. I'll always see Amy as a tiny infant with a bow scotchtaped to the blonde fuzz that grew from her head. Like a little duck with fuzzy down and a red bow. Later, she and Pat adopted a second child, a little boy, Michael. Jeannie believed her family was finally complete.

Somewhere in her thirties, Jeannie's kidneys failed. She had a kidney transplant, one donated by her sister, Barbie. We worried about her then, but she pulled through, as did the generous, loving sister. And she continued writing and editing, mothering and being a wife.

In her forties, her feet and legs began to bother her. There were sores that wouldn't heal. There was talk of amputation. Jeannie resisted mightily! She did not want to be confined to a wheelchair. There were some surgical procedures, but she kept her feet, and she kept going.

More recently in her fifties, her heart began to weaken. Her physical, organic heart, not her metaphorical spiritual heart! By now she's been living in Colorado for several years and I'm not certain about the details, but the strength and function of her heart was of concern. Jeannie kept going. She did partially retire, but kept busy at home as an editorial consultant and writer.

The last memories I have of Jeannie was a visit when I was undergoing chemotherapy. We went wig shopping! I tried on the most ridiculous wigs -- blond spikes, red curls, long straight locks -- while Jeannie laughed and gave them a thumbs down. She tried some too. The ravages of diabetes and medicines had left her hair thin, so she preferred a wig. But she wanted a more sedate one, a more conservative look. Neither of us decided on a wig that day, but we had fun laughing and posing. Two middle-aged women both engaged in a fight for life, but determined to enjoy every moment that life would give.

Jeannie's last moments were as she wanted. There was little drama, she was surrounded by her family, her granddaughters. She gave them their Valentine's Day presents and simply leaned back and closed her eyes. She died as she lived, quietly, with dignity and fully functional until the end.

Jeannie, we will miss you. However, I'm happy that vision and mobility are no longer a struggle. The battle is over and you've won the victory. You were blind, but now, you have 20/20 vision!