Perspectives

Family member’s perspectives written in first person following recorded oral interviews and transcriptions. by H.L. Paulec

Grandma Wanda… Beyond Brilliance (part 1)

/ orchidsandaloe / 4 Comments

Grandma Plinsky.JPG

PERSPECTIVES:

When invited to participate in this perspective endeavor reflecting on Jamie’s life and subsequent suicide, most family members offered openness to share their story.   However, most did not feel either capable or comfortable to write their own perspectives.  Therefore, I sent surveys and conducted oral interviews from their responses.  These were used to establish primary source material from which to write on their behalf in the first person.  In each perspective, you can expect “Reflections on the Interview” and “Brief History.”  Both sections are written in the third person.  Then, the voice will shift to first person for their Perspective.

We welcome you here.  This remains tender space for us.  So join us accordingly.  Know you’re also welcome to subscribe to receive email links as we publish pieces here.

Heidi L.Paulec

____________________________________________________________________

Reflections on the Interview:

On January 13, 2007 I interviewed both Grandpa and Grandma individually in their home in Wichita, Kansas.  The home in which they raised their family.  Prior to the interview, Grandpa Darrell and Grandma Wanda Plinsky both wrote multiple pages in their own handwriting along with filling out the initial project survey I sent to them.  This made the interview much easier for me as I could just ask them to expound some or recount what they had already penned.

Brief History:

Born Wanda Mae McGeary, Grandma was born on a farm in rural Kansas just months after the stock market crash ushered in the Great Depression.  Her parents were James Eber McGeary and Olive Anne Turner McGeary.  She had two brothers and two sisters.

She started dating Grandpa Darrell when she was a junior in high school- the day he returned home from serving in the United States Navy during World War II.

In June of 1946, Grandma Wanda, nearly a senior in high school, paid a visit to local pastor’s wife.  During their time together, Grandma invited Christ into her life.  Although she wasn’t personally raised in church, she did attend with Darrell during their dating season and off and on through out her growing up years.

She graduated high school on May 20, 1947.  She married Grandpa Darrell on June 29, 1947.  She added Plinsky to her name.  Together they moved to Denver, Colorado where Grandpa had enrolled in Denver Bible College- renamed Rockmont by they time he graduated.

Their first son, David, was born May 21, 1948 in Denver.  Next son Timothy (Heidi’s Dad) was born June 18, 1951 in Salina, Kansas.  Third son  Carlton (Jamie, Michael, and Holly’s Dad) was born March 27, 1953 in Harper, Kansas.  Their first daughter, Lori, was born June 1, 1959 in Attica, Kansas.  Second daughter and baby of the family, Gretchen, was born October 16, 1966 in Wichita, Kansas.  As a young mother, Grandma Wanda was busy at home, and home changed often until they moved to Wichita.  Then in 1973 she began working at Christian Challenge School where she worked until 1990.  From 1991-2000, she continued to work doing food demonstrations until she fully retired.

Throughout her life, Grandma has been active in her church as well as hosting countless friends in her home.  From game nights to widows’ luncheons as well as celebrating her favorite time of year- Christmas, she’s gifted with flavorful food and welcoming hospitality.  Fried chicken- no one makes it like our Grandma. (And she always made it for Michael, Jamie’s brother.  She probably made it for Jamie, too.)   And her colorfully, tasty Jell-O salads, we call “Fluff,” thrill any room full of guests.  But as her grandchildren, I think we’re pretty convinced we liked them best.  My favorite… picture a ginormous glass bowl with layers of crushed graham crackers, sliced bananas, and freshly whipped cream…oh my… the best.

Grandma remains passionate about reading.  She claims she struggled with reading when she was a child, so she wanted her children to learn and love to read.  She indeed passed that on as many of us share her passion.  Some, like Michael, prefer the movie form…but we’ll save his story for another day.

And her sense of humor?  Outstanding.  She spills joy, and she wants to share it.  Speaking of Michael… the banter interplay between Grandma and grandson still makes me smile.  They just tease each other about all kinds of things.  She helped us keep our sense of humor from being sucked away by darker times.  Grateful for that, for sure.

Although their pace has slowed, Grandma Wanda and Grandpa Darrell still enjoy their friends, their family, their home.

And just to be honest~ they are a huge reason I am finally sharing this work.  I really wanted them to see the realization of this project where the Shadow of the Almighty clearly overwhelms the shadow of death.

Living Hope ~ Heidi L. Paulec

______________________________________________________________

Perspective:

The phone rang.  I answered.  My husband Darrell and I were sitting with our grandchildren as our daughter and son-in-law were out for the evening.  “Hello?  I’m sorry Steve and Lori are not home.”  The caller stopped me.  “Mom, this is Carlton.”  Our youngest son.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t recognize your voice.” I replied a little confused.

“I’m not too surprised, Mom, because I have bad news.”  And then, he said the unthinkable.  “Jamie’s committed suicide.”

Immediately, I shrieked.  “Oh, NO!  Oh, NO!”  (I’ve felt bad about this as I imagine Carlton’s replayed that over and over in his mind too many times.)

Darrell hurried to take the phone until I composed myself.  Darrell continued to talk with Carlton.  I remember asking, “How did he do it?”  I remember Darrell talking a bit longer, then he prayed with him and hung up the phone.  I remember calling a dear friend to ask her to call another mutual friend as well as our pastor.  Our pastor called us as soon as he knew.

Our youngest daughter Gretchen and her husband Roy also lived in the same city as we do along with our older daughter and her family.  That evening, Roy and Gretchen were at his mother’s home for a birthday party.  I called and told Gretchen.  They left the party and came to Lori’s home.  Lori and Steve arrived home shortly after.  So many questions.  Yet, so much silence still.

Of course, we were all in shock.  I felt I must be strong for them.  As we left their home that night to go back to our home, I prepared myself to break the news to my sister and her husband.  They were staying with us as my sister just had a heart transplant.  I was caring for her until she was strong enough to return to her country home.

We called our eldest son Dave and his wife Marie.  Of course, we talked to Tim (Heidi’s Dad).  We also called Darrell’s brother Dean and his wife Doris.  We asked them to tell Grandma Neel.

I remember finally going to bed that night.  Exhausted.  Wanting to sleep.  Trying to sleep.  Tense and tired.  Where is the rest at a time like this?

“Jamie was a lively little boy.  As our first grandchild, he was both fun and extra special to us.  He was brilliant.  No, he really was.  He read all the time.  He thought things out real well, too.  I remember playing games with him.  He won easily without hardly trying.  This frustrated his younger brother so much.”

Grandma Wanda Plinsky

We did get some rest that night.  The next morning we faced many detailed arrangements, so we could be with the family.  Meals needed to be prepared for my sister as we did not know how long we’d be gone.  We called Carlton, who worked for a major airlines, and he made arrangements for us to fly to Denver.  Somehow it all came together.  Something to be thankful for.  And we headed to the airport.

When we boarded the plane, I burst into tears.  With my sister’s tender physical state, I had not yet found a place quiet and alone enough.  Whether I was ready or not, the tears spilled out right there.

 

Grandpa Darrell Remembers… Mercy (part 2)

/ orchidsandaloe / 3 Comments

Grandpa Plinsky

The caller?  Our youngest son.  Jamie’s Dad.

He methodically explained all he knew up to that point in time.  I listened.  (What do you do when your youngest son calls to report his firstborn child is gone?  Gone… at his own hand.  What do you do?  Listen.)  Before we hung up the phone, we prayed.  That next morning, Sunday morning, our flight arranged easily as our son worked for a major airlines.  We were grateful for that.  The airlines made the flights, and the employees made it comfortable.  We made our way to Denver.  In shock, I remember meeting family there.  So few details remain.  It was a time of intense sadness.

Several days were spent together with family and relatives awaiting Jamie’s body released from the morgue in the mountains and transported to Denver.  Wanda and I went with Carlton and Kathy to the funeral home to choose a casket and vault.  Over the years, Wanda and I  had buried both our Dads along with a step-father.  In addition, recent to that time, we made all the funeral arrangements for Wanda’s mother, so we had some idea our limited experience would be helpful at such a time.  We appreciated the funeral home representative who was respectful, helpful, and non-pressuring.   He left us alone, so we could take the time we needed to think through all the details.  We are simple people, so deciding how many pillows are sufficient for burial can seem complicated.  Difficult though it was, Wanda and I were thankful we could be of some help in this process.

Then the day came.  All the men of the family went to the funeral home to view the body before the rest. Tears flooded me.  My expression, “What a waste!” A whole, hopeful life ahead.  Jamie was so intelligent and hard-working.  Humble and compassionate.  He could have been a doctor, a lawyer, or a business man, but he did not grant himself the opportunity to live out his capabilities.  Those 17 years were not a waste, but all I could see, as a grandfather at that moment, was all he had ahead of him.  Vanished.

 As written in The Fierce Good-bye: Hope in the Wake of Suicide, a response to a daughter-in-law’s death:

“I stood beside the coffin a few moments, my brain a turmoil of confusion.  Grief, loss, and pity flooded over me, but the most overwhelming feeling was one of waste.  For those who are desperately ill, death can be a welcome relief.  Sudden death by accident or heart failure always shock and devastate.  But suicide, deliberate self-destruction, especially of a talented and gifted young person appalls.  The unfulfilled dreams, the unfinished work, the uncompleted promise, mock like demons.”

The Fierce Good-bye: Hope in the Wake of Suicide G. Lloyd Carr and Gwedolyn C.Carr 27

After those intense moments, God’s grace did a healing work helping me to focus more on being thankful for the remaining family members, especially the grandchildren.  God granted strength to free my focus on this horrible death and shift to the life we who remain are called to live.

continued… Grandpa Darrell Remembers… Mercy (part 3)

Grandpa Darrell Remembers… Mercy (part 1)

/ orchidsandaloe / 3 Comments

 

Grandpa Plinsky.png

“While thoughtful when choosing his words, he confidently spoke in his soft-spoken manner.”

(For Photo Collage Captions, See Notes at the End of Grandpa Darrell’s (part 3)Perspective.)

PERSPECTIVES:

When invited to participate in this perspective endeavor reflecting on Jamie’s life and subsequent suicide, most family members offered openness to share their story.   However, most did not feel either capable or comfortable to write their own perspectives.  Therefore, I sent surveys and conducted oral interviews from their responses.  These were used to establish primary source material from which to write on their behalf in the first person.  In each perspective, you can expect “Reflections on the Interview” and “Brief History.”  Both sections are written in the third person.  Then, the voice will shift to first person for their Perspective.

We welcome you here.  This remains tender space for us.  So join us accordingly.  Know you’re also welcome to subscribe to receive email links as we publish pieces here.

____________________________________________________________________

Reflections on the Interview:

On January 13, 2007 I interviewed both Grandpa and Grandma individually in their home in Wichita, Kansas.  The home in which they raised their family.  Prior to the interview, Grandpa Darrell and Grandma Wanda Plinsky both wrote multiple pages in their own handwriting along with filling out the initial project survey I sent to them.  This made the interview much easier for me as I could just ask them to expound some or recount what they had already penned.

As I was preparing to go on a writing retreat following these interviews, I decided last minute to ask Grandpa to describe himself.  And I love his succinct reply.  Can you tell Grandma Hazel was his Mom?

“Think before I speak.  (Hope what I say is right.)  Much less talkative than my wife.  {smile}”

Grandpa’s ease and peace stood out to me throughout our conversation.  While thoughtful when choosing his words, he confidently spoke in his soft-spoken manner.  Although this conversation, nearly 15 years after Jamie’s death,  Grandpa Darrell did not seem to camp too long on any particular questioning element to Jamie’s depression and subsequent suicide.  His desire:  Remember Jamie.   Be grateful daily to the Lord for His grace, mercy , and constant comfort.

Brief History:

Darrell Plinsky was the firstborn child to his parents, Ernie and Hazel. His family farmed.  He attended a one room schoolhouse from grade school through high school in Beverly, Kansas.  As an athlete, he lettered in basketball, football and baseball.  From what I have been told, he threw a mean knuckle-ball.

He attended Bethany College in Lindsborg, Kansas prior to farming some for his Uncle Hermon.  Uncle Hermon’s son was killed in Africa while serving in the US Army during World War II.  Eventually, Darrell signed up for the military draft.  He chose to serve in the US Navy.  After bootcamp he was sent to the Aleutian Islands, Alaska where he boarded the ATR-32 ship, a fire fighting vessel, traveling with a fleet of ships bound to bombard the Japanese Islands.

At the end of World War II, Darrell returned to his hometown.  He’d received many letters from Wanda during his many months away.  He made a point to see her the first night home.  Later, they were engaged and married about a year later.  They raised three sons -David, Timothy, and Carlton- and two daughters -Lori and Gretchen.  Darrell also attended Bible College in Colorado.  His spent his working years at Quartzite Stone Co. (two years) and Tweco Manufacturing Co. (37 years).  Additionally, he served at Calvary Bible Church for 50 years.

My Dad (Darrell and Wanda’s second son Tim) shared several observations of Grandpa Darrell during my growing up years.  For example, Grandpa was a morning runner before running was cool.  Additionally, my Dad said he gratefully remembers his Dad getting up before the rest of the family stirred.  He began every day reading the Bible and on his knees in prayer.  This quiet consistency laid a solid foundation for my Dad who did the same for me.

He and Grandma Wanda continue to faithfully pray for their entire family every day, plus any additional heartfelt concerns for any within their circle.  I’m deeply grateful for their persevering love and care for each of us – far and near.

Although retired now and in his 90s, Darrell still maintains home projects although his pace has slowed some.  He and Wanda still live in independently and are a true testimony of consistency and joy to their family.

prepared by Heidi L. Paulec

____________________________________________________________________

Perspective:

Grandpa Darrell Remembers… Mercy

That Saturday evening in January of 1992 found us at our older daughter’s home caring for their children as she and her husband went out for the evening.  Wanda (my wife) answered the phone.  She broke down as she handed the phone to me.  I knew something serious had happened—a critical injury or a death.  Although naturally talkative, Wanda is not one to emotionally react like that without sufficient cause.  The caller?  Our youngest son.  Jamie’s Dad.

continued…Grandpa Darrell Remembers… Mercy (part 2)

.

Great-Grandmother’s Endurance

/ orchidsandaloe / 3 Comments

Grandma Neel

 

PERSPECTIVES:

When invited to participate in this perspective endeavor reflecting on Jamie’s life and subsequent suicide, most family members offered openness to share their story.   However, most did not feel either capable or comfortable to write their own perspectives.  Therefore, I sent surveys and conducted oral interviews from their responses.  These were used to establish primary source material from which to write on their behalf in the first person.  In each perspective, you can expect “Reflections on the Interview” and “Brief History.”  Both sections are written in the third person.  Then, the voice will shift to first person for their Perspective.

We welcome you here.  This remains tender space for us.  So join us accordingly.  Know you’re also welcome to subscribe to receive email links as we publish pieces here.

______________________________________________________________________

 

Reflections on the Interview:

Our paternal great grandmother, Grandma Hazel, not only agreed to participate in my project to collect the family memories and ponderings, but she quietly endorsed my efforts to encourage other families who face similar loss.

Initially, I sent a questionnaire to each family member to fill in prior to our recorded interview.  Grandma Hazel filled in the sheets with brevity and reverence.

She passed on before I had the opportunity to seek more understanding from her.  However, I think her brief guarded responses illustrate perfectly the varying distinctions grief maneuvers among us.  Some personalities (and maybe even some seasons) need to put words to all they deal with in order to move forward while others move forward more privately… without such words.

 

Brief History:

Hazel Fern Schafer Plinsky Neel (March 10, 1906-February 19, 2005)  Our Great-Grandma Hazel grew up and lived her life in rural Kansas.  Hardworking.  Content.  Kind.  Practical. Classy.  She endured much in her life, including the loss of two husbands.  She penned some her own memories in May 2001.   She described the pipeline being built when she was a school girl and the response from her small town.  She wrote of improving race relations through children playing together and community potlucks.   She acknowledged being a bit hungry during the Dust Bowl years.

The depravation of the Great Depression?  She wrote that she really did not notice too much until a government official stopped in to inquire about their living conditions and how she was feeding her farming family.  From her notes:

“One day before the pipeline came through a lady came to the door- I was ironing and heating flat irons on the cook stove.  She started asking questions, so I began to ask who she was and why all these personal questions… I asked why she asked about our food- clothing and income, etc.

For instance, she asked “What did you have for breakfast.  I said toast, coffee and Ernie had two eggs.  The boys Darrell and Dean each had one egg and a glass of milk (we didn’t have Carolyn yet).  Then, she asked again what I ate.  I said, “Toast and coffee.”  She wanted to know why I didn’t have an egg.  I told her that we only had a few hens and without proper feed, they didn’t lay many eggs.

She looked at me and said, ‘Lady, you are on a starvation diet.’ She almost made me feel sorry for myself.  She kept asking other questions about our other meals.  When she asked where Ernie* ate for lunch, I said I sent lunch with him.  I made a sandwich with mustard on one slice and butter on the other one- no fruit.  She almost fell from her chair and told me that in a few days someone would be bringing us some food.

I was so curious about so many things and asked  so many questions.  She finally said she wasn’t suppose to tell us, but it was a government deal and was free as long as we needed it.  Of course I looked for it every day, but Uncle Sam is never in a big hurry to do things for us- (only when he wants our taxes).  But in due time, someone did come with lots of food- flour, rice, canned meat, canned peaches, and corn meal that I remember.”

*Ernie was our great-Grandfather we never met…our Dads never met him either as he passed away just a month after my Dad was born and well before Jamie’s Dad was born.

________________________________________________________________

Perspective:

Great Grandmother’s Endurance… Encourages

“Oh, Jamie… he was a loving and caring young man.  Polite.  Smart.  A very young man.

Due to my age and limited travel as well as his family’s move to Denver, I seldom got to see Jamie and the family.  I stayed in my small town mostly.  And the younger ones moved around more.  Times changes.  I understood that.  But I so enjoyed preparing gifts for my whole family every January for Christmas several months later.  On the night of January 18, 1992.  I was wrapping Christmas gifts and very happy until word came about his death.

Very sad… such a young man.

The last time I remember seeing Jamie… my 85th birthday party.  I saw him walk up the stairs and thought how nice looking and sweet a person he is… that is how I remember Jamie.

Very, very sad… wondering why?”

_________________________________________________________________

“Honest writing shows us how badly we are living and how good life is.  Enlightenment is not without pain.  But the pain, accepted and endured is not a maiming, but a purging.”

Eugene Peterson  Run With the Horses pg. 128

Grief is not a state to ignore, hide or mask, but a path leading to perseverance and perspective.  For a dear lady who endured hardship and embodied joy with such grace and dignity, I am deeply grateful for her life example as well as her selective use of words.

– Heidi L.Paulec

What a treasure is this little note she included when she returned the questionnaire:

Grandma Neel note.png

 

“… light inaccessible …” (part 3)

/ orchidsandaloe / 3 Comments

photo (26)

Growing up in Wyoming meant many long drives across the Great Plains to attend sporting events or even pick up groceries.  From time to time, I rode alone with my Dad in his pick-up with the windows down.  His observant eye spotted everything- from a pronghorn herd hidden in a grain field to rain streaking the sky hinting storms moving in… I think he taught me to see… really see God’s creation with childlike wonder.

For quite some time, I suggested my childhood died instantaneously when Jamie did.  However, slowly, my senses softened and my lungs expanded again.  The gripping tension in my chest weakened.  And the darken vision of what this “after” life would be… unfolded albeit slowly, mysteriously.

In the dead of winter, we recognize the dormant season.  Willows, once cloaking forts, stand naked and exposed.  Snow shrouds the growth underneath.  Yet, when the cherry blossoms in the spring, when the tulips and daffodils unfurl, when the dawn’s rays rise and the birds sing, do we hide our heart’s recognition of new life?

Little by little, my heart, soul, and mind gained strength reaching deeper than the grief.  Out of the well, fresh awakening and delight saturate my soul.  Withholding gratefulness is an option, but an option that’s sucks life out of us.  Thanksgiving directed toward the “Immortal, Invisible God Only Wise” helps us see and breathe- breath by breath.

In the vivid wonder of eternity’s embrace, do I hide and hoard this fresh nourishment?  Am I not utterly compelled  to share?  Who really cares?

Honestly, both response have been mine over the years since Jamie’s death.  The hiding and hoarding are the yielded responses to fears… especially of vulnerability most people stutteringly steer to avoid.  Discerning when to shine solely from the soul and when to speak continues to be a delicate dance.

Struggles taunt me still, but daily His Word and His Creation revive and refresh the wonder of Who He is and who I am in Light of Him.  He chooses to use seeing people among us to encourage and lighten our loads.  Let’s remember to thank Him and thank them… even if the words don’t come for decades.

And He chooses to use us, too.  Sometimes, we see…and choose to look the other way.  When we hear whispers to reach out, no matter how simple, let’s heed and act.  We never know exactly how He chooses to illuminate Light and breathe Life again through our simple acts of obedience… including sharing our keen eyes of His Hand among us.

“Artist and saint alike grope in awe to comprehend the incomprehensible disproportion of the glory of God and the humility of the Incarnation:  the Master of the Universe, become of the earth, earthy, in order to be one with his creatures so that we may be one with him.”

– Madeline L’Engle Walking on Water pg. 154

While our earthly breath is temporary and often labored, the Breath of Life breeches shadows and breathes the delights of eternity into dry bones… and grieving girls.

“… light inaccessible …” (part 2)

/ orchidsandaloe / 2 Comments

photo (26)

written by Heidi L. Paulec

Oh, how wanted to keep Jamie alive … who he was… not just to me, but everyone fortunate to know him.   His logic.  His eloquence. His kindness.  His quiet wit.  People claim the deceased “live on in our hearts” or “as long as you have memories, he’s still with you.”  Honestly, these feathery words felt empty to me.

When I was asked to be either a pall-bearer (one who carries the casket) or honorary pall-bearer (one given a seat of honor, but no heavy lifting required), my acceptance of honorary over actual pall-bearer brewed out of my hesitancy to accept the permanence of his death and to assist willingly in tucking his memory into decomposing soil.  Neither could I passively accept his absence, nor could I actively indorse his choice.  And somehow I knew the weight of death in a box… no matter how strong I wanted to be… was too heavy for me.

His choosing suicide still perplexed me. C.S. Lewis suggests, “suicide is the typical expression of the stoic spirit and the battle of the warrior spirit.”(1)   Jamie, the bright and mostly compliant over-achiever, recognized immediate gratifying paths led to meaninglessness.  He willingly worked hard and focused.  From Legos to aviation, his devotion to the process and enjoyment in the successful steps along the way yielded visions far beyond his mere 17 years.  While the methodical details he marked in ending his own life fit him eerily, I didn’t want to believe he really did it… to himself.  How could he?

During much of our childhood, I felt like I followed his lead.  He set the academic bar of achievement high. Before we even started kindergarten, he was reading.  I remember listening to him and watching him read words.  Then sentences.  And yes, paragraphs.

His abilities inspired me to sit still a little longer.  This enabled me to give phonics time to saturate.  Competition edged out my previous excuses to put off learning to read myself.  Like Tom Cruise’s character in Top Gun, I found flying in second place to Jamie easy, manageable.  Freeing, really.  He set the standard, and I dared to catch up to him as fast as I could.

But his demise left me solo-ing in the darkness.. left me fumbling and fragile.  I remember my role at the funeral included entering and exiting in a honored lineup.  I vowed to be strong enough that day.  I remember feeling like I trudged through… feeling the spotlight… “This must be the worst of it.”  I thought…                                   {shallow breaths}…silencing my interior groans and screams…securely away… somewhere deep.

Strong enough to live without him?  Strong enough to live out his potential and mine?  Strong enough to see beyond the present shroud cloaking me?   All of us, really.

No, the worst was yet to come.  We grew up primed by the prevalent worldview that perpetuates seizing obstacles by virtue of self-will alone.  If I think it, I seize it.  I win.

The problem?  Since I’m still here, I thought I must live this thing called life brilliantly for the both of us.  I even attempted to embody a few of his character qualities, the distinctly effortless part of him, so foreign to me.   Grief’s grip… was strangling me. And my fight?  Weak, frantic, and hidden… as best as I could manage.   Suffocating, really.

Paradoxically, I became nearly transfixed and self-focused (self-protection) while I also sought to think of others well above myself.  (Remember  “Defining Time” ?)  Before his departure, this would have been much more out of the ordinary; however, after he left… well…

Honestly, this step came fairly easily.  When one loses a loved one to suicide, the rejection of kinship  often severs a confidence in the survivor to extend friendship… because really?  When my friendship resume’ includes loss to suicide, I wondered how many ways I had failed him… and I feared failure might result in all relationships.  While I was just out-going enough to easily hide in arenas of conversation and service.  Instead of really connecting,  I found socializing actually helped me escape, too.  Reminiscent of C.S. Lewis thoughts, I found means to live in a crowd.  Caucus replaced friendship.(2)   All this barely breathing beside people… while the longing for friendship deepened.

Strong enough.  Strive enough.  Serve enough…

…but I am not enough.

In the state of cloudy grief, I returned to a large 6A public high school.   God chose to use my friend, Amy-in my sixth hour Algebra 2 class, to breath His Word into me.  How?   Amy slipped hand-written notecards with Bible verses to me periodically through the remainder of our semester.  Imagine, a high school junior thoughtfully taking the time to scratch out a verse or two to pass to me discreetly during class.   Simple.  Personal.  And life-lifting.

At first, I couldn’t even read them.  Why not?   Another  well-meaning friend approached me within the first 72-hours of Jamie’s death with this encouragement: “You know Heidi, the Lord doesn’t give us anything we can’t handle.  He’s prepared you for this.”  In my cloud of confusion and grief, I thought to myself, “What if this God holds me responsible for all I know of His Word?  What if he’s testing my reliance and resilience?”  Again… not enough.

I remember making a decision – not against God Himself for I still awed and revered Him- but against acquiring any more of His Word into my heart or mind out of pure exhaustion and fear of on-going testing.

However, His Word  found me in a quiet corner of a public high school.  I found sanctuary in His Love poured out in His Word hand-delivered on 3×5 cards by my friend who knew only one balm for my heart’s puncture wound.  I’m not sure I’ve ever thanked her enough.  Her simple obedience to keep reaching out quietly to me… rooted my -once rocky- faith in Jesus.

Through His Living Word – handwritten heart to heart~ “The things of this world will grow strangely dim in the Light of His Glory and Grace.”(3)  He’s referenced as the Lifter of Heads in the Psalms.  He tenderly reached out to me.  Personally.  Patiently.  Lifting my gaze.  He helped me distinguish the prowess perpetrators among us while also revealing His Presence pulsing within His people…within me.

“Discovering myself loved by God and forging new dimensions of intimacy with God’s Presence had brought healing to my fragmented life.”

C.S. Lewis The Problem of Pain pg.4

Entering every day recognizing, “He’s really gone.”  “He’s not coming back.”  No matter what vivid dreams of him in crowded halls or traffic-jammed parking lots, I awoke… still alone…wondering, “Do I have what it takes to make it through?”

James 1 became my heartbeat:

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, when you face trials of many kinds because you know the testing of your faith produces perseverance.  Perseverance must finish its work, so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.  If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without find fault, and it  will be given to him.” (NIV vs.2-5)
“Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love Him.” (ESV vs.1:12)

“Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.  And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.”  (Hebrews 10:23-24 NIV)

I don’t have what it takes to carry on… but I know Who does.

continued… “… light inaccessible …” (part 3)

 

(1)  Lewis, C.S.  The Problem of Pain HarperSanFrancisco ZondervanPublishingHouse, 2001  (2)  Lewis, C.S. The Weight of Glory HarperCollins, 1980                                                                      (3) Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus a hymn

 

“… light inaccessible …” (part 1)

/ orchidsandaloe / 3 Comments

photo (26).JPG

written by Heidi L. Paulec

The palpable difference between being alive and yielding to eternal living often pulses the brightest evidence in our darkest grappling.  “O, help us to see.”

“Our design… is only to discover how, perceiving a suffering world, and being assured, on quite different grounds, that God is good, we are to conceive that goodness and that suffering without contradiction.”

CS Lewis The Problem of Pain pg.27

After being privy to Jamie’s battling with depression & sinking under the shadow of death via suicide, I remember recognizing my own labored breath. The staccato, involuntary panting of shock slowly subsided. Each inhale and exhale… once instinct… now demanded mindful… labored efforts.  Efforts, I feared I simply wasn’t strong enough to muster and maintain.

For a time, my mind attempted to fight the coils of questions with self-sufficiency.  Soon, my own spirit collapsed within me. I may have been alive; I wasn’t the one our family buried in the ground.  However, grief prodded my broken heart incessantly.  Since Jamie and I were so close and everyone knew it, all eyes followed me.

However, the steps to this dark dance… I didn’t know… my stage expressions couldn’t conceal the seething weakness … the gravity of grief gives way to a raw reality that is too heavy for improv.

In the years since, I related to Jim Carey’s character in The Truman Show.  While it would have been utterly ego-centric of me to assume the remaining attention (which prior to his death, I would have snagged eagerly) ought to fixate on me, I felt the stare of focus.  In part,  my Mom worked in human resources of a large public school district.  Her access to counselors as well as statistical data spotlighted me as a possible copycat… Now, I don’t know that she ever even verbalized this to me, but as an intuitive only child, I  sensed the concerned squints hovering around me.

And for the first time in my life, all I wanted to do was escape and hide.  Maybe in silent isolation, this paralyzing ache would evaporate and normal could return.  Virtually, all of me paused. For quite some time.  The outside of me continued to go through the motions of my existence while the inside conflicted between containment and collapse.

While I recognized the loving desire of family and friends to genuinely care, their grief and confusion heaved and hid, too.  At the time, I could not have formulated words to describe it all.  I just knew I didn’t want to add to the burdens already there.  I felt responsible for them… I felt responsible for Jamie.   All more than I could bear.  And I hated feeling this weak.

If  living was what was left for me… I didn’t know how anymore.  High school fashions, gossip, pressures shrunk away… just as a grander purpose for living…and dying demanded a response.  A breathless banter.   In this heavy haze,  I heard the faint whispers of my own wondering prayers.

continued  “… light inaccessible …” (part 2)

Great-Grandparents Grieve (part 3)

/ orchidsandaloe / 1 Comment

Photo (19)

We did not think anything like this could happen in our family.  We love our family too much.  They love each other too much.  We still don’t understand.  For a while, we did not want to see or talk to anyone.  Grieving takes time.  Jamie’s mother sent us a copy of the funeral video, I (Grandpa Philip) just cannot watch it.  I still can’t bear it.  After Grandma watched it she look straight at me, pointed her finger and said, “If anything happens to Heidi, don’t tell me!”

Suicide.  How repulsive!  Before Jamie’s death, we thought someone who kills himself must be a coward or sick in the mind.  Only a troubled person in need of attention with problem that needed to be solved—seeing no other way out or seeking escape could consider such an act.  And now, we feel so sorry for a person (and his family) who ends his life… because he cannot seem to live it.  Oh, those left behind— how deep the grief!  Knowing we all ask the answerless questions, we wonder “What could we have done to help?” in hindsight.

We think of Job from Scripture.  Oh, how he suffered!  Losing his family, property and health, he cried out, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, naked I shall return.  The Lord gives; the Lord takes away.  Blessed be His Name.”  Yet, we continue to battle disappointment with God.  Not anger.  We know God does not make mistakes, but we struggle with the, almost, hopeless finality of suicide.  We forget the sovereignty of God for moments; we don’t want to do that.  So, we keep the Scriptures close.  I (Grandpa Philip), though retired, still write sermons which keeps me thinking and praying and healing, I hope.

A natural death seems easier to accept as God’s timing.  We lost one of our sons to an accident a few years before Jamie.  While inspecting a roof of a commercial building, our son fell through a sky light and never regained consciousness.  Oh, what pain we felt at his loss!  However, he enjoyed full life with wonderful children and grandchildren.  His loss was easier to accept than Jamie’s.

Knowledge and review of Scripture comforts us with peace, faithful assurance, and hope for eternal rest in heaven.  This is denied to those who blaspheme the Holy Spirit and reject Jesus.  All other sins are forgivable.  Jamie broke one of the commandments by taking his own life, but he also had confessed Jesus as Lord.  Romans 10:9-10 says, “That if you confess with your mouth, Jesus is Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.  For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved.”  We believe the Lord when He says, “He who comes to me, I will not cast out.” (John 6:37)

Jamie’s life reflected that of a faithful servant.  Even as a teenager, he volunteered in their church with children and the sound equipment.  He was gentle, kind, and thoughtful of others.  We could see his heart by the way he lived his life.

Yet, his mind was troubled.  We speculate his choice to go on a retreat at Christian camp was an effort to settle some of his thinking.  The torment must have been so heavy.  We know we don’t understand what he faced.  As time has past, picturing Jamie at peace… walking the streets of gold… free from that torment… does give us some comfort.  We believe we will join him in a joyous reunion one day.

As time passes, we go from seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and feeling our pain and misunderstandings to see how this kind of pain and loss can serve goodness as well.  First, we are drawn to seek God even more in our confusion and hurt.  We think harder about how we interact with others.  And we are reminded to value and communicate that value to those we treasure.

I (Grandma Ruth) speak of Jamie often.  Oh, how we miss that boy!  Grandpa can only handle so much talk of Jamie, so I share with several people in our assisted living building.  They are touched.  Then they ask questions which leads into sharing Jesus in such a personal way.  As Romans 8:28 says, “God is working all these things together for the good to those who are called according to His purpose.”

Pain and sorrow continue, but seeing the good restores our joy at the same time.  Mysterious metamorphosis occurs during grieving.  Our heart aches so much for our only remaining twin, Heidi.   Her sorrow must be so severe because they were so close from birth.  We wish we could take that pain away.  But, we just can’t.

We try not to dwell on the manner of his death anymore as it conjures up so many unanswerable questions:

What could we have done differently?

Why was his pain so deep?

Why didn’t anyone see how much he was hurting?

Additionally, these thoughts seem to reopen the wound.  I (Grandpa Philip) cry every time we speak of his death.  I hate suicide!  Not the person who dies, but the grief he leaves behind!  I hate it!  Some have said all this would get easier.  As the years go by for us, the reality of Jamie’s absence is still so difficult.  When Heidi got married, we thought Jamie should be standing up with Alex.  Imagine what a marvelous man -husband, dad, pilot, doctor- he could have become.  He had no idea his place in our family, in history, or his potential to better the world.

Oh, how we miss him!  If we live to be 100 years old, we will never understand it!  We just can’t.  Simply, we choose to remember Jamie’s life and the joy he brought to our family.

We share our perspectives because we still love Jamie and miss him terribly.  And we know we’re not the first family to face this, so we speak love and life into the silent places where the shadow of death has convinced the grieving they must sink in their deep sadness and remain silent because suicide is a shameful stain on a family.  We believe it is a wrong choice with painful consequences, but we also believe God is bigger.  He is Good.  His Grace is Sufficient.

Philip:  June 27, 1905 – January 26, 1999          Ruth: September 10, 1910 – April 6, 2003

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return.  The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; Blessed be the Name of the Lord.”

  Job 1:21 ESV

Great-Grandparents Grieve (part 2)

/ orchidsandaloe / 3 Comments

Photo (19)

We remember the day Jamie was born.  Instantly, we burst with pride!  Summering in the north, we stayed on the same farm where our daughter and son-in-law (Ken and Phyllis) along with Jamie and his parents lived in three different homes on the homestead property.  Simply, we had experienced nothing like the joys of retirement with strong bodies and minds.  This great-grandson was like no other.  We were blessed with other children before Jamie, but they lived more than a day’s drive away.  We experienced great-grand-parenting differently because he lived close to us.  We really got to enjoy him because we could focus on him.  We did not know the limitless love the Lord would provide us for other great-grandchildren until Heidi came along, and she stole our hearts as well.

Even before the great-grandchildren, oh, how we loved being grandparents!  We took our grandchildren to the lake on weekends to stay in our camper, fish in the lake, and enjoy God’s creation together.  What delight they brought to our lives!  However, we were still in the throes of pasturing churches with all the preparations, energies, tending and time required.  We did not realized exactly how amazing being great-grandparents would be until these two.

From our front porch on the farm, Ken and Phyllis’ home stood large to the right as Kenny had built on several times over the years to accommodate for the growing family, including a 24’x24’ living room. Oh, how we loved gathering there!  While our summer home nestled behind the big house, Carlton and Kathy lived in the smaller house to our left.  The summer of 1974, just before Jamie and Heidi were born, Kenny laid a concrete sidewalk connecting foot traffic of all three homes.

Anytime Jamie’s Mom needed a break, she would send Jamie on his way over to our place.  We had not idea how nice that side walk was going to be for those kids.  And for us, too.  With all that foot traffic, it sure helped keep the floors and entries cleaner.  Oh, how I can still see him, Jamie, toddling along the sidewalk or riding his little four-wheeled elephant.  We loved having those kids come over because they knew how to mind.

Now you must already know, idleness is one of the seven deadly sins, and we did our best to keep our kids busy.  Although we seemed to attract them with our generous supply of ice-cream, rice pudding, and peanut butter by the spoonfuls, we required them to complete jobs before we enjoyed sitting down with them to watch television (which was difficult to see because the reception was very poor on the prairie in those days).  Jamie, and Heidi too if she were over (as she lived on a different homestead), were often required to pick up sticks and took turns sweeping the porch.  They may have only been about three or four years old, but they knew what was required, how to do a good job (no monkey business), and they still loved being with us.  And we loved having them.  They would sit quiet and still for some time  just watching Grandpa’s room making fishing lures.  They would just sit there.  Then, we would often watch Hogan’s Heroes and The Flintstones together quite regularly.

We took our pontoon out on the lake, and those kids loved to go with us.  In fact, Jamie’s first night away from his Mommy and Daddy was with us in our camper at the lake.  Most of our memories from these years enter around Jamie and Heidi.  We use to sing the “Jack and Jill” nursery rhyme using “Jamie and Heidi” instead.  They smiled so big.  And when they looked at each other, oh they were just so cute.

Along with fishing, one of my (Grandpa Philip) hobbies was filming the family.  Oh what fun I had filming the grandchildren!  Moving pictures.  Can you even imagine such a thing?  Well, in your day and age, I suppose you can.  But this technology was new for us and fascinating for me.  So I naturally continued to film the new batch of kids in the family.  We could not get over how cute those two were together.  Jamie, always the smiley and happy one, endured Heidi scooting closer and closer to him trying to invade his space and tell him what to do or not to do.  Those two were twins to us, and other people told us that often as well.

Jamie’s parents remained on the farm for one year after their second born Michael was born (Jamie was about five years old at the time).  And that Michael.  He was something else, too.   Oh, how we loved every moment with those kids!  And nothing was the same after they moved off the farm.  Honestly, we felt sick over it.  With Michael, we hadn’t enough time with him.  And with Jamie, well we felt he was our own.  We mourned the loss as part of us seemed to vanish.  Between us, we just did not feel right about them moving.  We argued back and forth recognizing the right of the parents, but we also agonized over our own emotions and loss because we felt like those kids were ours, too.

We only saw them once a year for short visits after that.  And oh, how they changed from visit-to-visit.  Jamie’s Mom communicated with us as to the kids’ academic achievements, extracurricular activities, and sent photos from time to time.  We knew Jamie,  a very bright boy, worked hard and did very well in school.  As years passed, he seemed to become more shy and less smiley.  He struggled health wise with allergies and with horrible sores in his mouth.  They said the sores were stress related.  Why was a young boy stressed?  We didn’t know.

The last time Jamie was in our home he had traveled with Heidi and her parents to celebrate Thanksgiving at Ken and Phyllis’.  We invited Jamie and Heidi, now teenagers, to stay with us in our apartment at the assisted living facility.  They accepted our invitation.  As always, we were so glad they wanted to stay with us.

Jamie seemed to struggle going to sleep.  He mentioned he was suffering from headaches as well.  Each night they stayed with us, we had to say, “Now, Jamie, you need to put that light out, and get some sleep.”  He did not quarrel; simply and quickly, he obeyed.  He seemed restless much of the visit.  Yet, we also, saw him happy on that visit as well.  I (Grandma Ruth) slipped him $5 to take Heidi to Wendy’s for a light lunch.  He accepted with a familiar smile.  He and Heidi returned acting silly… so nice to see an older version of what we remembered of them… carefree kids… running around the sofa and finishing each other’s sentences.

We would shut the television off and just watch those two toddlers play together.    When they were, oh two or three, they would chase each other like puppies.  One chasing the other around one side of the sofa only to be chased around the other side.  We laughed and laughed.  Those two… they were so cute together. I (Grandma Ruth) remember speaking to him, “Say, Jamie, you are growing into a handsome young man!”  And he replied with a smirk, “I know, Grandma!”

I (Grandpa Philip) remember feeling sorry for him because something seemed to be haunting him, especially one night.  One evening, he was switching the off and on the button on the remote control for the television repetitively.  I rebuked him.  He did not quarrel.   And I still feel bad because I did not take the time to ask him what was bothering him. Instead, I rebuked him like that.  Oh, how I wish I would have taken the time to ask.  I think he would have told me… if only I had asked.

Early in the morning on Sunday, January 19, 1992, our even-tempered son-in-law Kenny (Swedish) came over- which was unusual at that time because we were still driving ourselves to church then.  He came in quieter than he normally did; his jaw clenched tight.  But he spoke sternly and said, “Dad, better sit down.”

Okay, the Italian in me went berserk.  We have no words adequate to articulate how we felt.  He could have put a bullet in MY head.  I (Grandpa Philip) went crazy!  I just kept shouting, “It can’t be!  Jamie committed suicide!  SUICIDE! It can’t be! Not Jamie!  Not our Jamie!  No! NO! No!”  As vivid as those initial moments were, the many days following remain a distinct and literal blur due to the constant flow of tears.  My eyes ached from the tearful drain.

As with the biblical character Job,

“My face is foul with weeping, and

on my eyelids is the shadow of death.”

Job 16:16

We knew we could not go to the funeral.  We could not see Jamie lying in that box.  We could not bear to face his parents…not yet.  We just knew seeing their sorrow, combined with our own, would ignite a ghastly scene of uncontrollable emotion.   Such a demonstrative demonstration would have been a disgrace.  My (Grandpa Philip) grief, my remorse, my sorrow are feelings too strong for me.

As a child, I attended many Italian immigrant funerals.  The emotional demonstrations included weeping, sobbing, and yelling.  The rest of Jamie’s family is not as demonstrative as I am, so I just knew I could not disgrace them.  Our grief, the week of the funeral, we bore alone.  That was the way we felt best to honor the family.

During the days following, we kept repeating, “His poor mother!  His poor mother!  Oh, his Dad!  What are they going to do?”  Jamie’s death took part of our life away.  Nothing compares to his loss.

Death is one thing, but suicide… “Oh, Jamie, didn’t you know how much we loved you?”

 

… to be continued   Great-Grandparents Grieve (part 3)

 

 

Great-Grandparents Grieve (part 1)

/ orchidsandaloe / 20 Comments

Photo (19).jpg

PERSPECTIVES:

When invited to participate in this perspective endeavor reflecting on Jamie’s life and subsequent suicide, most family members offered openness to share their story.   However, most did not feel either capable or comfortable to write their own perspectives.  Therefore, I conducted oral interviews to establish primary source material from which to write on their behalf in the first person.  In each perspective, you can expect “Reflections on the Interview” and “Brief History.”  Both sections are written in the third person.  Then, the voice will shift to first person for their Perspective.

We welcome you here.  This remains tender space for us.  So join us accordingly.  Know you’re also welcome to subscribe to receive email links as we publish pieces here.

_______________________________________________________

Our Maternal Great-Grandparents, Phil and Ruth,  share their grief over Jamie’s death.  Their perspective will be presented here in segments, so keep your eyes open for the remaining parts.

“Each family on earth is a magic kingdom,

and the spell that is casts

are long-lasting and powerful.”(1)

Frederick Buechner

            Oral Interview:  July 1997

Reflections on the Interview:

After 70 plus years of marriage and physical limitations (hearing loss) and the emotional weight of the conversation, I (Heidi) opted to interview our great-grandparents, Philip and Ruth, together.  Then, I compiled notes from the transcripts to write their perspective in a collective voice rather than conduct separate interviews resulting in individual voices.  Unless otherwise noted with “I (individual name),” their “we” voice reflects both of them.

They needed each other, even five years after his death, to even speak about Jamie and especially the manner of death.  I wish you could have heard the rising voices as well as the faint whispers.  I wish you could have seen her tenderly patting his arm as he wiped the endless flow of tears.   And the speaking turns… when one slowed thoughts and speech, the other spoke up.  Often repeating in agreement or possibly adding to clarify, a couple reflecting their enduring love.  They learned and lived a rhythm together for seven decades.

Our great-grandparents adored each other immensely.  And they spilled that adoration over to our entire family.  Our earliest lessons of discipline and love came from them.

Brief History:

Philip’s parents emigrated from Sicily just prior to his birth in the early 1900s.  He was the first American born of his immediate family.  His mother spoke only Italian.  He described his family as typical of Italian immigrants living in the Chicago area at the time.  (Due to mob complications, he eventually changed his last name…which is another story.)  When he married Ruth, he thought she was 18 years old.  She and her mother had stretched the truth a bit.  She was just 15 years of age.  When the family teased her about this, her characteristic response, “Oh phoo-eey, I was practically 16.”

Ruth, the youngest of a Scotch-Irish family, loved people with the absolutely most unique (I get these are ambiguous non-writer words… but with her, they are the only ones that fit.) blend of toughness and tenderness.  Standing tall at five feet, she nuzzled in with tight hugs, huge squinty-eyed smiles, and commonly pinched waists to determine how well we were eating.  She never lost her youthful sense of adventure or her uncanny ability to speak the tough truths with the deepest love to anyone from family to first time meeting her.   Although cultural Catholicism was the extended family norm, Philip & Ruth accepted Jesus as personal Savior and became practicing Protestants after they had three children of their own.

Eventually, Philip graduated from Moody Bible Institute, and he became a preacher of the gospel of Jesus.  He pastured congregations in the Great Plains including Colorado, Nebraska, and Wyoming.  His favorite hobby:  fishing.   Ruth actively served these communities.  And she fried his fish to everyone’s delight.  It was in one of the Swedish settlements in southeast Wyoming, their only daughter Phyllis would find her groom Kenneth, a World War II hometown hero.

During retirement, Philip and Ruth spent several years wintering in south Texas or Florida and summering on their son-in-law and daughter’s farm.  When age slowed their bodies some, they relocated into an all year round assisted living facility where they remained active socially.  Ruth commonly checked in on those who did not have many visitors, read many books, and kept an immaculately tidy tiny home.  Philip continued to watch boxing, write sermons, and find a good theological discussion wherever with whomever he could.

Philip:  June 27, 1905 – January 26, 1999  &  Ruth: September 10, 1910 – April 6, 2003

Additional Note:  Many question the theological implications of suicide.  Some prefer to avoid such questions altogether.  These questions are not my primary focus.  My primary focus remains our discovery of Living Hope beyond the shadow of death.  In a pluralistic day like ours, the inclusion of such wrestling as well as subsequent findings may stir additional discomfort and potential disagreement among readers.  I have intentionally not edited my great-grandparents’ theological conversational points on this because their words reflect both his and her hearts’ Life beat.

______________________________________________________

 Perspective:

 Great-Grandparents Grieve (part 1)

Before delving into this most difficult subject in our long lives, we must convey what has been most important in our lives.  The Lord Jesus Christ touched us when we young parents, and His touch has changed us.  Next only to Him, our family is of supreme importance to us.  Our definition of family includes blood relatives, their spouses, and every branch leading to us and flowing from us.  We feel responsible for them- no matter how old we are.  We love to be with our family as often as we can; they are the joy of our lives.

We lived a great many years with many trials and pains within the family.  Sadly, we endured loss in various forms…severed relationships, divorce, and death.  Oh, how these struggles have pained us!  When some of our grandchildren chose to divorce, we hurt so badly.  Oh, how we wished we could do something to patch-up the brokenness in those marriages!  However, nothing could have prepared us for the pain of losing Jamie…

“Ask the former generations and find out what their fathers learned,

for we were born only yesterday, and know nothing,

and our days on earth are

but a shadow.”

Job 8:8-9 NIV

to be continued…  Great-Grandparents Grieve (part 2)