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

Good Days, Bad Days

The oncologist told Mom this week that she will have a mix of good days and bad days. The day she saw the doctor, it was a bad day. She was vomiting constantly. Mom wanted to cancel the appointment, but when the nurses heard she was vomiting, they asked her to come in anyways. They found her a bed, gave her an iv, and checked her over for a bowel obstruction. Nothing major to worry about at this time. The doctor said Mom's gut is full of cancer, and things just don't work very well anymore. And he said she doesn't need to try to come in to London again, as the trip is too long and tiring. They will coordinate her care with her doctor in Exeter.

Mom is weakening, which is hard to see. She says, "I used to have such a good body." Mom and Dad always went for nice walks, but now we take her to the mailbox in the wheelchair. It's hard to adjust to this. I said to her the other day, "Well, hopefully tomorrow you'll feel stronger." But Mom said, "I'm afraid that isn't the way it is going." And she is right - the doctor said she won't be regaining the strength she is losing. I have to find new ways to comfort. We are used to saying to a sick person some variation of  "Tomorrow you will feel better." But that doesn't quite work for a person whose body is slowly shutting down.

Though I have seen other cancer patients go into the slow wasting phase at the end of their disease, to be honest, I didn't expect this with Mom. In May, when Mom went into the hospital, it appeared that a bowel obstruction would be her "exit." A bowel obstruction is a crisis. Everyone expected that the bowel obstruction would come back, as they usually flip between partial and total. Then Mom came home from the hospital, and we had some wonderful family time together. But now she is weakening. The catheter has been a good improvement on Mom's quality of life, but when they drain her abdomen to make her more comfortable, they are also taking nutrients away from her body (the ascites is rich in protein and other nutrients). So her muscles are getting weaker. Her feet and legs have also started to swell recently. It is an adjustment to get used to this new phase.

To be honest, I kind of expected Mom to go out in a blaze of glory, not slowly dwindle away with many sick and uncomfortable days. Kind of like Elijah in the Bible, who didn't die but got taken up to heaven in a blazing chariot. We've had days when Mom and I have cried on Skype together because it is a bad day and it just seems so difficult. On those days, we long for Jesus to take her to heaven. I now understand the spiritual "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot." (Swing Low, Sweet chariot, Coming for to carry me home...). It's a prayer, and a plea. Does Mom have to go through months of suffering, or can Jesus just send his chariot to carry her home?

I was talking about this with Mom the other day, and Mom reminded me of the verse in Jeremiah 29:  "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope." And she said that if God is choosing to keep her here, that He must still have plans for her to fulfill before she is done her earthly journey. And she rests her hope in that.

But though we have some bad days, we also have good days. On a good day, Mom enjoys watching the birds and her flowers. And she even managed to have a really fun day this week! Mom went to an anniversary celebration from several friends, Jake & Alice Bosch and Marg & Kees Vandaalen. They were all married the same year. On the menu was salad (with other food), which Mom can't have, so she invited Aunt Jean to come along as her "Salad Eater." Then, because it was the 41st anniversary, and Paper is for the first anniversary, they decided to make a paper bag for Aunt Jean's head, labeling her as the official "Salad Eater." They neglected to put holes in the bag, so they had to lead Aunt Jean in. Anyways, they had a lot of fun with that. That was a good day! They laughed so much and had fun together with their crazy antics. I'll put some photos of that below, and also of Mom enjoying her flowers.

Mom is resting more, and has more appointments at home with the nurse, so if you wish to visit, please call ahead. We appreciate your prayers through this time of tough days and also good days. Thank you,
Jeanette 

The paper anniversary gift bag, for Aunt Jean. 
Aunt Wilma made this (yes, she is talented!)

Fitting Aunt Jean.

They forgot to add eye-holes so they had to lead her around.

Mom and her flowers.