I haven’t been online for some time and while many of you know why, let me update those of you who may be left wondering….
We suffered multiple losses as a family in late June. First Ken’s father died in Texas. At the time, Ken’s brother, Jay was in Intensive Care in Boston and my own father was fighting for his life in the Cleveland Clinic – a battle he fully expected to win. I remember him clearly mouthing these words: “Get yourself to Boston. Ken’s sister (who was in Boston caring for Jay) needs to get to Texas. The family needs you, Jay needs you. If I wake up tomorrow and you’re still here I won’t be happy with you!” My brother promised constant updates and I flew to Boston the next morning while my grieving husband flew to Texas. This was the plan we’d agreed on months earlier when Jay was so sick and Dad Wadenpfuhl was in decline. Actually, it was impossible to plan anything since we were being driven from crises to crises in three states – but we had to try.
When I arrived in Boston, Jay was on the upswing. Over the next week, we had long days and nights together, talking about everything. He had regained the use of his arms and was speaking through his trach. They began to wean him off the ventilator and within a couple of days, Jay and I enjoyed a bumpy but otherwise entirely uneventful ambulance transfer to his acute rehab facility. We like uneventful. Though we were grieving with our family in Texas, and I was prayerfully concerned for my Dad, we were so hopeful for Jay. Since the beginning of April we had repeatedly heard the cautious words “he’s not out of the woods yet”. But the doctors now declared him out of the woods and we were celebrating two whole days without a ventilator! One more day, the respiratory therapist told us, and we’ll move this machine out of your room.
But that one more day brought an unexpected turn of events. Despite the day-long heroic efforts of a dedicated ICU staff – Jay died late on a Saturday night, the day after Dad Wadenpfuhl’s burial. The family couldn’t get flights to Boston until the following day, so I had the privilege of being their arms, delivering their last tearful, loving messages, hugs, kisses and prayers as Jay drew his final breaths. Two days later, my brother called with news about my father that put Ken and I on the next flight out from Boston.
I won’t go into it much here. It’s too raw. But my father died six days later, at home, surrounded by all of his children, many of his grandchildren, his great-granddaughter, Poppy, his best friend/brother and sister-in-law from Ireland and his beloved wife – on a Sunday evening, at 5:05. At exactly the moment of his last breath, there was a clap of loud thunder and a torrential downpour here on earth as his spirit left his body – and my father walked right into the arms of Christ.
I’d like to wholeheartedly thank you for the many cards and condolence messages we’ve received over the past 6 weeks. Also, thank you to those of you who have so thoughtfully and lovingly assisted us financially. Having sick – and ultimately dying – family members in states as far-flung as Texas, Boston and Ohio has required alot of expensive air travel, car travel, eating out, etc. on funds we simply did not have. We know that God always provides and we trust Him implicitly. But he uses generous and compassionate people to do so and we are always humbled and more grateful than words can express. (And I never thought I’d hear myself say this but – thank God for credit cards!)
I want to say thanks very specifically to Kim and Gary Holsopple who stepped in without a thought to be a second mom and dad to Hana during our extended stays in Boston. They have also taken care of our increasingly disoriented pups as we’ve been here there and everywhere, showing nothing but love, compassion and kindness to us and our families.
Heartfelt thanks to all of our new friends/now family in Boston – and to the Boston Symphony Orchestra community who helped and served us in more ways than we can tell.
Thank you to Cathy Monnin, Kim and the Ancient Path Board of Directors who have worked to keep Ancient Path afloat over the last six months as we have dealt with one thing after another, caring for sick family members.
Thank you to our overseas partners, Pastor Moses in Malawi and Pastor Jonoro and Hanitra and Ibrahim and Cathy Ravoahangy in Madagascar, for understanding when my intended July/August trip had to be postponed. You have been more than gracious.
Lastly, but definitely not least, thank you to all the prayer warriors who stood with and for us in one of the darkest seasons of our lives. You know who you are and we have felt the power of your prayer.
Alot of thank yous, I know, and there could be so many more. But I’ll just say to all of you who have loved us, thought of us, encouraged us, we are in your debt.
Ken and I – and our whole family – are so very grateful.
Obviously, we’re grieving multiple losses and at times it’s hard to know where to start. Since Christmas Eve, when Ken’s precious mom died, we have lost 6 family members in a cluster. It’s alot to process, so now what?
For me, just getting up this morning and writing this simple, clumsy post of thanks is a step forward. Yesterday I answered a few emails, which took more energy than you would think, but it was a goal and I met it. Ken doesn’t have any playing gigs in August, but he gets up and goes to work every morning at a local greenhouse, surrounded by life and dear friends. We stick very close as a family, united in spoken and unspoken grief. Sometimes I weep uncontrollably and alone; other times we share our tears. We also laugh and celebrate the memories of our loved ones when we can. Some mornings I journal, staring out the window at the birds, and other times I watch an old movie or two snuggled up with Hana and/or my mom.
I’ve been writing songs – all Celtic, mostly stories – and playing my Indian flutes frequently when there are simply no words. I stare at anything and everything beautiful. I have always said that beauty is the only thing that goes as deep as grief. We recently took Hana to Washington D.C. for a few days. Camping outside the city by night, and walking for miles toting PBJ sandwiches by day, we hopped from one free museum to the next, drinking in the beauty of art and the flow of history. The war monuments remind us that grief is universal. It is part of being human; there is no escape.
I breathe in, I breathe out and it is all prayer.
Tomorrow I will breathe in, breathe out and do what I can. Each day will be different, but we will move forward in faith and pure grace. Yes, we grieve, but we do not grieve as those who have no hope. God is beautifully, compassionately, mercifully here in all His loving comfort – with healing in his wings.
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