Of Tears and Trees

Well, perhaps it’s time to give you a bit of an update since Mom died and went to her heavenly home.

I will share my perspective as Mom’s daughter. I’m sure other people in Mom’s life would have different stories to share, but this is my story.

First of all, let me share that losing Mom was a lot harder than I expected and also had a lot more joy. Strange though it may be, when Mom died, I was filled with joy. Mom and I talked a lot about heaven in the last years, months, weeks and days of her life. We read books about heaven, and talked about them. What would it be like in heaven? And we made plans. One of the things Mom was looking forward to most was jumping in the river of life. She longed for the day when the tubes would be gone from her body, and she could take a bath and splash around and not be inhibited by them. And she said, “When I get there, Jesus is going to give me a hug and wipe away all my tears and all my sorrow.”

As she grew weaker, her illness was harder to take. I remember sitting with Dad and Mom one day, and she said, “These legs don’t work so well anymore. This body isn’t so good anymore.” Shortly after that, she had to use a walker in the house, and as she weakened more, we had to wheel her on it to the bathroom, and finally, Dad had to carry her.

I loved watching the tender care my Dad gave my Mom. At the beginning of Mom’s illness, he was a farmer, with grease stained hands. During the last weeks of Mom’s life, I watched those same impossibly large fingers manage the clips on Mom’s peritoneal drain, tenderly holding her hand as he helped her be more comfortable. He boldly learned to cook, vacuum the way Mom liked, and administer needles. They fit together like this:

Two trees, that from a distance look like one tree. Through their marriage, Mom and Dad grew together, compensating for each other’s weaknesses and enjoying each other’s strengths, so they looked like one unit to other people. Bertina. You couldn’t imagine one without the other.

Those days of Mom’s weakness were very sad days. We cried a lot. I spent as much time as I could there, often sleeping over, but I was very grateful Aunt Wilma was able to be there every day to help Mom and Dad. She rubbed cream into Mom’s flaking, swollen feet (a symptom of Mom’s slowing body). When Mom was uncomfortable, the three of us scurried around, finding meds, pillows, different clothes, anything that would make her more comfortable. We cried a lot, and talked about things we wouldn’t have chosen. I wrote Mom’s obituary. Aunt Wilma picked out Mom’s clothes for the casket. Dad struggled to learn how to manage the household finances, which had always been Mom’s job. We shielded Mom from too much stimulation as she withdrew from relationships and people and turned her gaze to heaven. No, she didn’t want to hear about my kids’ antics anymore, and I cried about this with Aunt Wilma and Dad, and together we turned our gaze with her to heaven.

During this time, I asked her, “Mom, I’m so sad you are so sick and have to suffer like this. I just wish Jesus would take you home.” And she said, with tears, “I know, but God says, ‘I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you, not to harm, to heal and restore.’ And if God wants me here right now, he has a plan, and I am determined to be here to complete what he has for me.”  I could only stare at her, and hope that my faith would catch up to hers someday.

And then the day came. Dad called me early in the morning, and I drove the hour and a half drive, praying for Mom, praying I would be there in time. Passing their tree on the way. The afternoon before, I’d been with her, and I’d said good bye before I left. I said, “Mom, I need to go see my family, but if you need to go to Jesus while I am away, you just go to him. You go jump in the river.” She whispered back, “Make sure there’s a party.”

In the moments as she lay dying, her breaths becoming more irregular and ragged, we prayed her into the kingdom of heaven. And I know in my heart that she leapt from her broken body into the arms of Jesus. I have no way to prove this; I just know it to be true.

At the funeral, we cried through a whole box of Kleenexes, but I was also amazed at the blazing joy that flooded my heart. Mom’s journey was done, and she had endured to the end. Her suffering was done and she was safe with Jesus, whole and happy.

For me, I lost my Mom. But for Dad, he lost his wife. I don’t think anything can prepare you for the devastation of losing a spouse. Though we grieved Mom during the four years of her illness, Dad was surprised to discover that he wasn’t prepared for the reality of life without Mom. Even though she’d been sick, she’d still been with him. In the days after Mom’s funeral, Dad cried every time I talked to him on Skype. I don’t know about you, but seeing my Dad cry is not high on my list of good times. He struggled with overwhelming grief and crushing loneliness. Computer problems or figuring out financial things totally unglued him, as those were Mom’s area of expertise. He was lost and broken without Mom.

So I went to spend a few days with Dad, to be with him and help him with some paperwork. There is lots of paperwork that must be completed when someone dies, and it was wearing Dad down to tell people again and again that “Tina Visscher is deceased.” Dad wasn’t doing well when I was there. It was very difficult for me to see him like that. He broke down and cried when we had soup. We went to visit friends, and he broke down and couldn’t talk. He cried when we cleaned the dishes, when he bragged that he’d vacuumed, when we filled out paperwork.  We visited Aunt Sadie and Uncle Henry, and we carried the conversation while he cried beside me on the couch. And then I cried because I was helpless to take away his pain. I could only listen and cry with him.

On my way home from Dad’s house, I passed the tree, the tree I always saw as being a picture of  Mom and Dad and their great marriage. Today it looked like this:

Mom was gone, and Dad was struggling. Difficult, difficult days. I cried for my own loss, but I also cried for Dad. He had had a great marriage, and he lost his companion and friend and wife. The grief was agonizing, and he was struggling to go on.

One who understood was Aunt Wilma. When Mom died, she lost her sister. But she also understood what it meant to lose a spouse. Her husband, Uncle Paul and her son, Jeremy, were killed in a car accident 17 years ago. Dad asked her how to cope, and they talked, and she grieved with him.

And then, surprise of surprises, there grew something new from the death and devastation and loss. Feelings of friendship and family blossomed into tenderness, and then bloomed into love. Dad and Aunt Wilma tentatively began spending time together as more than friends.

On Valentine’s Day, also Dad’s birthday, he asked her to marry him.

She said yes!

Though not much time has passed since we laid Mom’s body in the grave, much time has passed for Dad. The suffering and pain of missing Mom has made time go slowly for him. And in truth, being with Aunt Wilma doesn’t end his grief or even by-pass it. They are both still grieving, and as a family, we still talk about Mom and grieve that she isn’t with us. I was with them shortly after they got engaged, and I missed Mom that night, and cried. Dad put his arm around my shoulder and cried with me. “I miss her too.” But he is so happy about this new love with Aunt Wilma, and I am too. For so many years I prayed for Aunt Wilma, asking God how he was going to turn good out of Uncle Paul and Jeremy dying. For Aunt Wilma, I think being with Dad is good. Dad is an amazing man and a gifted husband. In Mom’s illness, he learned much about being married and loving. And with Aunt Wilma, romantic feelings have grown, wonder of wonders. Who would have thought that was possible?

And now they work together to form a new marriage. It won’t be Bertina. It will be a new combination made up of Dad and Aunt Wilma, something unique, something precious. I pray they will grow together as my parents did in 41 years of marriage, that Dad and Aunt Wilma will be kind and sensitive to each other and have fun together. Already, I am blessed to see the joy in both of them, the fun they have together, the laughter we have as a family.

I know for some people, this is too soon.  A relationship this soon doesn’t fit the mold of ideal relationships. But it wasn’t ideal for Mom to die, and it wasn’t ideal for Uncle Paul to die. We don’t live in an ideal world. We live in a broken world, marred by sin, sickness, and death. I would give anything to have Mom still here with us, and Uncle Paul and Jeremy. But here we are, without them.

I thought of Mom in heaven, and I wondered what she would say. I do know that before she died, Dad found Mom crying one day, and he asked her if she was crying about her illness. She said, “Oh, I’m not crying for me, I’m crying for you.” She know the difficulty Dad would have missing her when she died, and she was sad for him. She would have done anything to spare him the pain of separation. So I think of her in heaven, where there are no more tears, no more sorrow, no more pain, and where people are not married anymore, as Jesus said. And I have to guess that she would be happy about this. First of all, she would be happy that Dad is finding some joy and isn’t drowning in grief. Secondly, I know she prayed for Aunt Wilma often. I think she would be thrilled for Aunt Wilma that she has found a husband after all these years. Yes, it is a bit strange that it is Dad, but oh my, what a good husband he will be. As a sister looking down from heaven, if Mom is allowed to see what happens here, I think she would be thrilled for both of them.

For me, it is wonderful. I love Aunt Wilma, and she has always been a close part of our family. She helped me pick out my wedding dress (long before she had her bridal shop). She cared for my Mom in the most tender ways, and showed great strength and love in those difficult months. She is already part of our family.

So, here’s to God’s wisdom, in making a new thing sprout from brokenness, in providing joy even in sorrow. Here’s introducing the new couple, with a wedding date to follow in October.

Love to you all, 

Jeanette

Well done

I want to close this blog with one final post (unless Dad wants to add more about the funeral later). Mom is done her journey, and has arrived home with Jesus. Today we celebrated her life at the funeral.

Thank you for everyone who participated in some way, and comforted and cared for us in many countless ways. To those who came to the visitation (and waited in a long, uncomfortable line), thank you. To those who came to the funeral, thank you. I realize sharing in the journey of grief is difficult. For those who were able to walk with us today, thank you. I know I have sometimes shied away from visitations and funerals as they are hard events, and I so appreciate the effort so many made to grieve with us.

Today, there were many tears, but also much joy. We started the funeral service by playing the worship video on the previous post "I will rise." Before, when I listened to this song, tears rolled down my cheeks at the difficult thought of my mom dying. Today, we worshiped with it and joy flooded my heart, because I knew Mom was now with Jesus. No more sorrow, no more pain. The difficult journey we made together is complete, and we safely delivered her into the arms of Jesus. Well done, good and faithful servant. Mom endured to the end, and we were able to hold her hands and pray her into the kingdom as she took her last breaths. At times it seemed impossible that we would endure, yet God helped us and taken Mom to safety in Him. Joy.

This verse has been running through my head often over the last couple of days: "The Lord is gracious and kind, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love."

To each funeral program was attached the beads that Fellowship of Christian Farmers gives out at farming events, beads that simply and beautifully explain the gospel story, how God's gift of salvation gives us life here, and everlasting life in heaven. Dad explained the beads to everyone. Then we sang some of Mom's favourite hymns together. Dad sang strongly beside me, and it was beautiful.

Mary and Rue, Mom's friends, shared stories of Mom. Then some of us in the family got up to share stories of Mom. We cried lots, but also laughed at stories of Mom's antics. A sermon pointed us to Jesus, and then we went to the cemetery. Perhaps I've forgotten something? My kids and I and Paul emptied a kleenex box, then filled it with soppy tissues.

At the cemetery, Willemina (dad's cousin) sang a beautiful blessing over us, a song by Michael Card "The Lord Bless You and Keep You." We prayed. Then together we sang a song that is very meaningful to us in the Dutch community: "Ere Zij God." Comforting to sing this old familiar chorus of praise "Glory to God and peace to men on earth...." Then the kids released some colourful helium balloons, a symbol of Mom's childlike heart and love for her grand kids. Close friends of mine who have walked with me through these four years stood with me at the graveside. It was so comforting to be surrounded by friends and family for this difficult task.

The gravestone was already there, as Mom and Dad had taken care of that a while back. The plot is right beside Uncle Paul and Jeremy, who died in a car accident about 17 years ago. That is Aunt Wilma's husband and son.  It was sad to also remember them as we stood there with Mom's casket. It was also close to my grandmother's grave. And Uncle Albert's. We shall see them all someday soon. Sometimes it feels like eternity is rushing towards us faster than we're ready for it.

Thank you to all who have been with us through all of this. We thank you for your love and support and prayers. Mom, we know you're running and leaping in heaven, in perfect joy.

Mom's gone home

Mom passed away this morning around 10:30 am. Dad and I were holding her hands and Aunt Wilma and Tanya were rubbing her feet. It went quick and peacefully. 

We are busy working on arrangements. The visitation will be tomorrow and the funeral on Wednesday (details in the obituary below). There is comfort here as we gather together.

Mom said months ago that she was looking forward to getting to heaven, when Jesus would give her a hug and wipe away all her tears and pain. She also said the first thing she wanted to do was to jump in the river of life and wipe away all her pain and sickness.

Obituary for Tina Visscher

Psalm 27:4 One thing have I desired of the Lord, that I may dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Entered her rest peacefully on September 24, 2012, Tina Cornelia (Vanderlaan) Visscher in her 66th year after a long journey with ovarian cancer.

Loved wife of Bert Visscher.

Loving mother of Henrietta Visscher; Jeanette and Paul Duncan; Peter and Sandra Visscher; Tanya and Pete Janssen; Harmony and Marco de Boer; and Marianne and Josh Byberg.

Adoring grandmother of: Dakota; Natalie and Marika; AJ, Ella and Mina; Andrew, Robert, Anna and James; Kelsey, Morgan and Owen; and Cohen.

Survived by siblings Sadie and Henry Post; Wendy and William Westerik; Jean Vanderlaan; Wilma Truemner; Mary and John Van Es; and many nieces and nephews. Daughter-in-law of Piet and Julie Visscher.

Predeceased by parents Ubel and Henny Vanderlaan, brothers Albert and Eddy and an infant sister, brother-in-law Paul and nephew Jeremy Truemner, mother-in-law Willy Visscher.

Visitation will be held at Haskett Funeral Homes, 370 William Street, Exeter, on Tuesday, September 25 from 2pm-4pm and 7pm-9pm. Funeral service on Wednesday, September 25 at 11am at Exeter Christian Reformed Church, 330 Huron Street West, Exeter, Pastors Bob Loohuizen and John Baker of Exeter Pentecostal Church officiating. Interment at Exeter Cemetery; luncheon to follow at Exeter Christian Reformed Church.

Donations to Canadian Cancer Society, Fellowship of Christian Farmers, or the charity of your choice.

Tina loved gardening and photographing birds. Her computer is full of photos she took of her beautiful flower gardens and close-ups of many birds. She enjoyed and marveled in God’s creation, and above all, she loved God. She worked faithfully in the family business, Visscher Farms, as office manager and bookkeeper, and raised six kids. She cooked dinner every night. In her younger years she played the organ at church. She was active in the Missions committee at her church, and went on many mission trips. She delighted in her grand kids, and especially loved giving them jelly beans. Her sense of fun was evident throughout her life, in particular when she did clowning to entertain kids. She was a good listener, and often encouraged other people. Throughout her four-year journey with cancer, she clung to Jesus and persisted in her faith, and was an example to many people. She will be greatly missed by her friends and family, but we release her to the care of Jesus in heaven.

Changes

Things have changed so much in one week.

Last weekend was a big change for Mom. She began to sleep more, and we realized that our window of being able to talk with Mom was growing smaller. Many of us siblings were able to come visit with her last weekend. It was tiring, but ok with Mom. My kids said Grandma seemed tired and less able to smile. She was able to talk and engage with us.

Today, I put my ear right in front of her lips in order to hear her whisper. She is not able to move around much. She can't use the walker anymore. This morning she sat on it and we used it as a wheelchair to move her. There have been big changes in one week.

Mom is sleeping most of the time, and we realized this week that she is detaching from us. This is common in the dying process, but it caught us a bit off guard earlier this week. She isn't interested in conversations or joking. Palliative care books have compared the dying process to having a baby. There comes a point in labour where the mother shuts out the world around her as she focuses on birthing the baby. Helpful husbands are swatted away. In the same way, the dying person has a small focus, busy preparing for death inside, but not communicating this to the people around. Lots of noise and conversations are bothersome. So we're doing our best to give Mom a quiet room. We are normally a noisy family, so now we are learning to talk quietly around her and we try to limit our conversations to simple things like "I love you" or meeting her physical needs.

This has been hard (many tears!). We think ahead of Mom going to heaven. I like this verse in John 14. The subtitle in the NIV version of the bible is "Jesus comforts his disciples." I think he comforts us too when he says, "Don't let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My father's house has many rooms. If this were not so, would I tell you I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me, that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going."

A Distant Perspective

Harmony here (in New Zealand). I asked if I could write a guest post, from a distant perspective.

Time and time again since mom’s diagnosis, it’s been said to me, “It must be so hard to be so far away during this time.” Yes. And no.

Yes, it’s been hard. Yes, I often wish I could just go sit with mom for an hour. Many times, especially in the first few years, I felt like I was sitting here in my corner of the world, bored, while everyone else was so busy and struggling to find time to help mom. I couldn’t help but feel like it was so unfair. I should be there doing stuff. Instead, I was here, not able to do anything.

But I would never say that it’s been harder to be far away than for those that live close. Honestly, I can often “forget” that my mom is sick. We’d Skype regularly, and frankly, we’d both be at our best. We’d both be smiling. We would both only show our faces, so I could never see the physical ailments. Also, because I can’t go help, I also haven’t had to change my life. My siblings are forced to juggle their careers, their families, and find time to help where needed. All I have to do is pick up my ipod once in a while and Skype. So, while I feel helpless that I can’t go, I also don’t have to sacrifice anything to help.

One of the hardest things about living so far away is that I feel like I was constantly asking, “Should I come?” Often the information that I received was filtered: filtered through positive thoughts; filtered through a mother wanting to protect her kids; filtered through just not knowing what questions to ask; filtered through not really wanting to know the answers. However, that often made it difficult to truly discern what was going on.

When mom was first diagnosed, it was scary. At first, I just knew mom wasn’t feeling well. Then she was going through tests. Then they thought it might be cancer. Then she started chemo. I wanted a timeline. I wanted a number. Was it Stage 1? Stage 4? Did she have a month? Five years? Where was it? What was going on?

Should I come?

Each time that mom started chemo again, I asked again, “Is it time, should I come?”

Over the past four years, I’ve been blessed beyond measure that I’ve been able to go four times. The first time was a fun surprise visit for just two weeks for me and Kelsey. The second time was when Morgan was five months old, during mom’s birthday, my birthday and mother’s day. That was the year the lilac bush was in full bloom. We came again one year later, also for mother’s day, mom’s birthday and my birthday. And finally, two years later, we came to introduce Owen and to say good bye. In May this year, mom went into the hospital and I was forced to ask again, “Should I come?”

The last visit was hard. Not lying. However, it was also a bit surreal. Everyone had been praying that mom would have a good visit with us, and frankly, she was doing so well (or just presented a brave front) that it was hard to really believe that this would probably be the last hug with my mom on this side of heaven.

But that’s just it. I will see my mom again. This life is just temporary. This is just my temporary home. We are all just visitors here. Like a great long holiday. And I know where my eternal home is. I serve a Great God who’s promised me that he’s preparing a home for me. I know that he’s putting the finishing touches on my mom’s new home. I imagine that the angels are busy making sure the lupins are blooming (they’ll never actually die), the lilac bush is smelling, well, heavenly, and the birds are perched perfectly singing His praises. I imagine the golden sidewalks are being polished and Jesus is about to welcome my mom with open arms. She’ll be pain free, and she’ll never again think she’s fat but will know how beautiful she really is. She’ll be able to dance and sing and play amazing music without needing to read the music.

So, is it hard to be so far away? Yes. And No. What is distance anyway? After all, at the moment we’re only an ocean apart and I know that my mom loves me more than the ocean. But even more than that, I know that my God’s loves for me is unfathomably more than the ocean. And nothing can separate us from that love, not even death. I’ll see you again, Mom, in our eternal home.

the weekend

I went to Mom's this weekend, and that was good. Mom had a bad night Friday night - lots of vomiting. I was sleeping in the other room, and I felt really bad when I got up to discover the night she'd had. Dad drained 2 liters off her abdomen, and then we called the nurse. Long story short, Mom is now on a new med for nausea. This is administered through sub-cutaneous port, so Mom has yet another tube in her arm. But it seems to be helping with the nausea.

Mom is sleeping a lot more - the med makes her sleepy - and it also makes her more wobbly, so she now needs someone with her all the time to prevent falls. We have to lift her up to standing position, and she can use her walker. Everything is very tiring for Mom, and she drifts off to sleep a lot. We did go for a walk in the beautiful weather yesterday afternoon when Paul and the girls came to visit. Most of the siblings dropped in on the weekend, so that was nice.

The living room is re-arranged with the hospital bed in it, and it is surprisingly cosy. The bed is next to Mom's Lazyboy chair, with her table between, so she doesn't have to move her iPad or water glass if she wants to switch between the chair or the bed. Mom still finds the chair more comfortable than the bed.

Pray for strength and the presence of Jesus with Mom, and everyone else in their home.
Thanks,
Jeanette

Another Update

I've been struggling to know what to write. Do I want to describe the step-by-step progression of the disease? It's sad and hard for us, let alone for others. And Mom instructed me a couple of days ago that I wasn't to put anything sad on the blog, because it makes people sad. :) So I wonder, what details should I share, while still protecting Mom's dignity?

Yet I realize we have many friends and family who love us and support us. So I will do my best to share to help you pray with us.

Truth be told, we need the presence of Jesus with us through these days. It's getting harder. Mom's been having more bad days than good days. The disease is progressing. Mom is having a harder time getting around, and more days of nausea and pain. Her voice is softer, and she just doesn't have that much energy.

Last week Thursday (Sept 6) we had a meeting with CCAC (nurses, nurse manager, case manager) to discuss Mom's care in the upcoming weeks. They told us what services were available. They also arranged to have an Occupational Therapist come in, with the result that on Wednesday a whole bunch of new stuff was delivered: a walker, bars for the toilet, and a new mattress for her hospital bed. This is a mattress that has air in it, so it is much more comfortable.

Yesterday (Thursday) wasn't a great day. Mom was very nauseous, so she took some gravol, but it made her fall asleep while she had visitors. She felt bad about that, but there was nothing she could do about it. I talked to her on the phone last night, and she told me she is getting tired of moving her books and ipad around when she goes to take a rest in the bedroom, so she wants to move the hospital bed out to the living room. Dad and Aunt Wilma are planning to tackle that today. Mom will be able to watch her birds in the living room. Mom has two bird feeders on the front bay window, and several more hanging in the trees nearby. It's always fun to watch the birds.
Thanks for your prayers,
Jeanette