Category: death

Posted in death, Easter, Resurrection reflections

Spices and grief

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Jason Leung on Unsplash

“But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb, taking the spices they had prepared” (Luke 24:1).

I want to know more about the spices. If I open my spice cabinet, I find paprika, dill, cumin, nutmeg, sage, rosemary, and an assortment of peppers.

That’s not what the women brought to the tomb. The traditional burial recipe was a mixture of aloe and myrrh. It was a salve that honored the deceased by fending off the smell of decomposition.

I remember the purveyors of spices in the markets in Jerusalem when we traveled there a few years ago. The colors and smells were amazing. The blends were enticing. The varieties seemed endless. I wanted to take home some of each.

Spices can cover up the smell of death. But they can’t touch sadness or grief.

Posted in death, Life

A final farewell

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

The text came in the middle of my garage workout. Someone was in the hospital in hospice care, and I should go see them.

I’ve been retired from full-time ministry and the message came to me from someone I hadn’t seen in over a decade through another person I haven’t had contact with in over a year.

I didn’t respond.

More texts followed. “It’s not going to be long.” “They wanted you to know.” “You have to hurry, they are 100% going to pass.” “We’re going up there now.”

My wife was in the text group, and when poked she her head into the garage, I said, “Yeah, I saw it. Where are they?” We glanced through the texts until we found a location mentioned that doesn’t even exist. Hmm. Not helpful.

Feeling a bit convicted, I texted the current pastor and found out where she was. She was in a hospice care facility, not a hospital. I knew exactly where it was.

But I didn’t rush down. I know from experience that dying in palliative care often takes time. The dying will be comfortable but unconscious, and I will spend time talking with the family. Which in this case, were some who weren’t fond of me in the past. So I confess, I dragged my feet a little.

When I arrived, I greeted a daughter and her husband, a stepson and his wife, a couple of grandchildren and a great grandson. The husband was not there. They told me, “He just couldn’t do it.”

I understand, but I don’t understand. They had thirty-plus years of marriage behind them. Wouldn’t this be the “worse” that goes along with the “better?” But, I reminded myself, everyone deals with this differently.

The visit went okay. I said a prayer, chatted with the family a little, and left them to be with each other. My old friend wasn’t conscious, was comfortable, breathing slowly, and not yet close to death. She would receive good care for another day or two from amazing caretakers.

I glad I went. I’ve heard that the last sense we lose is hearing, so the person dying can hear and be comforted by those talking to them. So I’m glad I got to talk to her one last time. The folks who texted me? I don’t think they ever got there.

Posted in death, Ministry

He’s dead.

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Kevin Andre on Unsplash

I glanced at my buzzing phone on a Tuesday night and saw that one of my elders was calling.

“Hello, Pastor. I have bad news. I was making my regular monthly calls and found out that B. died last week.”

I’m not often blind-sided, but that news caught me off guard. “What? What happened?”

“I was just talking to M. and I asked how her husband was doing and she said, ‘He’s dead.’ He passed a week ago. I know, I was shocked, too. He had complications after open heart surgery. I wanted to be sure you knew.”

“Thanks. I’ll get in touch with her.”

I called her right away. I said I was so sorry to hear the news about B. She explained that he came through the bypass surgery just fine, but had problems after he came home. It was probably a blood clot, followed by liver and kidney failure, and then death. He didn’t want any kind of service, but the family might do something in a few months when everyone could get together.

On the following Thursday morning, at a men’s bible study, I let the group know what happened so we could pray for the widow and her family. A retired pastor who is a part of our group and knew her said, “I spent an hour and a half on the phone with her yesterday. She said they are having a service on next week and asked me to do the memorial. I told her, ‘Why don’t you ask Pastor Bill?’ She explained, “We don’t go to that church anymore.'”

I was puzzled. Didn’t I just see them in church a few months ago? Okay, they were one of the Covid-cautious members who I didn’t see often. But I had spoken to them regularly over the past two years. In fact we had a great conversation the last time we talked.

I learned a long time ago not to take something like this personally. She was grieving to be sure. People deal with death in many different ways. M. also hadn’t reached out in any way when her husband had surgery, was recovering, had problems, or was dying. If you let me know, I go. I go to the hospital, to your home, to hospice, wherever. But you have to let me know.

As I learned from experience, those who show up in your congregation from another church will eventually disappear. It might be months. It might be years. But they will move on.

I want to say this didn’t bother me, but here I am writing about it three years later. I’ve had it in my drafts for a while, wondering if this was a story worth telling. Someone once told me that our ordinary moments will fascinate others. Maybe this is one of those moments.

Posted in death, Stories

No one will snatch you from his hand

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I headed out to the funeral home about noon today to do a funeral for a young man, age 24, who suddenly died a week ago. I knew him well from confirmation classes and wrote a letter of recommendation when he was applying for colleges. But in the last five years he had finished the academy and had worked as a police officer, a job he truly loved and was well suited for. His father had worked for the sheriff’s department for many years, and was very proud that his son had followed in his footsteps.

When I arrived at the funeral home, the parking lot was packed. The shoulder of the road out front was lined with cars, too. I found my spot a few hundred yards away and walked to the main entrance. The entryway was packed with sheriff’s deputies, police officers and detectives who had come for the visitation and the service. Everyone he played baseball with was there. His sister said, “Everyone we grew up with is here.” It was an inspiring show of support for the young man and his family.

The funeral director greeted me as I walked in. The first thing he mentioned was that their sound system had been damaged by a lightning strike. “OK,” I said, “I’ll project the best I can.” As my wife often reminds me, my voice carries, and today that would be a good thing.

The young man’s grandparents were seated in the back of the room. Because of health issues and Covid quarantines, I hadn’t seen much of them for the past two years. It was a wonderful reunion. A few other members of our church were there. They assured me, “Just let me know if you need anything.” It is always good to have someone watching your back.

I was surprised to see a friend there whose daughter had been good friends with my youngest daughter in high school. As a teacher, she knew many of the young people who had come that day. It was great to catch up with her.

When it was time for the service to begin, the director led me to the front of the room. After the casked was closed, a police honor guard draped the casket with the United Stated flag.

A funeral in a funeral home with a gathering of strangers is very different than a service in the church. I knew very few of those in attendance. I am sure they represented a wide range of religious experience. But the family had asked me to be there, and I would give them the best I had: the gospel.

I read some scripture from Psalm 139, Romans 8 and John 11. I assured them that God was with us in the best and the worst times of our lives. I emphasized that nothing, not ever death can separate us from God’s love in Jesus Christ. I reminded them of the relentless love of Jesus, and that no one can snatch us from his hand. I directed them to Jesus, who is indeed resurrection and life.

The father, sister, girlfriend and coworker spoke after me. They shared some wonderful memories of the young man’s life, relationships and friendship. Speaking at these occasions is tough. They did an amazing job.

After a closing prayer and benediction, the police honor guard folded the flag and presented it to the young man’s mother. That is always a powerful moment. The crowd then filed out to leave the family alone for a few moments.

Outside, I spoke with a few more people I knew. I also spoke with a local deputy who mentioned, “Ten years ago, virtually no one would have turned out for something like this.” His comment made me think about some of the things that have happened in the past few years. The police-fire-first responder community has grown much closer, providing much needed support. I was privileged to be there today, bringing what blessing and hope I could.

Posted in death, virtual reality

My friends are dead.

Posted on by William Douthwaite

This post is going to be morbid. Just warning you up front.

I was poking around on Facebook and noticed the phrase “View Sent Requests.” I clicked on it and saw the list of people I had requested to be friends with who had not yet responded. As I read through the list of about twelve names, I discovered why some hadn’t responded.

They were dead.

Some had died recently. Others a few years ago.

I got curious. I wondered how many of my 948 friends were actually still alive? It took a little time, but I scrolled through the whole list. I had no idea who some of those people were. A few had duplicate entries. One was a closed restaurant? But another ten were dead. Some had been dead for years, but their page was still active. People were still wishing them a happy birthday. They hadn’t gotten the memo.

Isn’t that interesting? In the analog world they’re mortal. They’ve passed. I’ve been to some of their funerals. I’ve done some of their funerals.

In a digital sense, they still exist and they are still my friends. They have achieved a sort of immortality.

There is a whole underworld of Facebook users out there.

Posted in death

A shrine in the woods

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I (and Samson) have probably walked past this little shrine a hundred times. It’s about fifty feet off the road in an undeveloped lot next to a drainage ditch around the block from my house. I always knew there was something there on the tree, but couldn’t quite see what. Today we decided to take a closer look.

It’s there in memory of Justin, a twenty-three year old young man. A couple of American flags suggest he may have died in military service of our country. A rosary lets me know someone still prays for him. A solar-powered angel-light stands vigil at night. A small valentine sits right next to a small stone reminding us of the presence of angels. A small sign reminds us to count our blessings.

I’ve seen plenty of little shrines at intersections and curves in the road where crashes have taken the lives of loved ones. When words fail us, small crosses, stuffed animals, pictures, flowers and flags announce to the world, “We miss this person a lot.” These carefully erected shrines express a grief in ways that words can’t.

There is almost always a cross at the center of those shrines. A cross that reminds us of Jesus’ horrible death. A cross that reminds us of Jesus’ victory over death on the third day. The church may not be filled with all those who believe, trust or grasp for hope in Christ. But they are out there. They say it with a memorial that speaks volumes about their loved one, their faith and their Lord.

Posted in death, Ministry

Soon

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Tim Evans on Unsplash

A few days ago, I visited a member who had just been admitted to a hospice house. She was alone, comfortable and talkative when I stopped by. We had a great visit.

Early in the conversation, though, she said, “I have a question for you. I told God a long time ago I was ready to die. What’s taking him so long?”

Great question. Way above my pay grade. So I said, “I don’t know.” But then I said, “Do you remember when you were a child and your parents were driving somewhere for the day or for vacation? How many times did you ask them, ‘How much longer? When are we going to get there? Are we there yet?’ I’ll bet your mom or dad said, ‘We’ll be there soon.’ That’s our heavenly Father’s answer for us, too. Soon.”

As a dad that’s what I always said to my kids when they asked, “Are we almost there?” Whether we had fifteen minutes or a few hours to go, I always said, “Yes!” I answered the question and got a few miles or minutes of peace.

The last words our Lord says in scripture are, “I am coming soon.” What does that mean? Who knows? Time can fly or drag. But the word “soon” gives me hope and peace for the next few minutes or miles of life.

Posted in death

Death just isn’t convenient.

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I was talking to the last few people to leave church yesterday when a friend told me, “I had a question posed to me. Someone asked, ‘Why did you schedule ______’s memorial service for a Thursday?'”

“Well,” I said, “First of all, just about everyone he knew is retired, so I didn’t think it really mattered which day I picked. Plus the only family he has, his neices, will be in town that week, and I wanted to include them if possible.”

And then I added, “Death just isn’t convenient, is it?” We both just smiled.

That afternoon I pondered the wisdom and truth of my words. Death isn’t convenient. It always interrupts our schedules, routines and habits. Suddenly, we have to deal with funerals and memorial services, funeral homes and cemeteries, death certificates and insurance policies, family and friends, emotions and feelings. And none of it was on your calendar.

Death is never on my calendar. Neither my own nor anyone else’s. It’s funny. You know it’s coming. But you don’t know when. So for the most part, you never expect it to happen. You live as if you and everyone else were immortal. And then just like that, you are proved wrong. Death happens.

When a member dies, they immediately get a spot on my calendar for their funeral or memorial. Family gets slots on my schedule for visits. All kinds of folks flex their schdules or ask for time off to gather for a service.

Because death just isn’t convenient.

Posted in death, Ministry

“She’s not here.”

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I was just trying to do my job. Just doing pastoral care the best I know how. I figured if I timed it right, I could stop by to see one member in the hospice house and make another home visit before Good News Club this afternoon.

I walked into the hospice house and headed for the room I had just visited yesterday. It was empty. Oh boy. I’m glad I visited yesterday. She must have passed. The room was empty, clean and ready for the next patient.

As I walked out, I stopped by the front desk and asked about the person in room 2. “Oh, they moved her.” Really? “She was transferred to Fish.” Fish is short for another hospital in the AdventHealth chain. That’s unusual. Why would you move someone who was in the last hours of their life? I asked, “I know you can’t tell me much, but why would they move her?”

Someone who appeared to be a nurse said, “I don’t know. I hadn’t seen her.” Another front desk person said, “There could be a thousand reasons.” Another apologized, “I’m sorry.”

When I got to my car, I tried to call, then texted the daughter. A few minutes later I got a phone call from her. Her mom had died last night. That’s what I thought. But why didn’t anyone at the front desk or nurses station know that? Why didn’t anyone care to pass along that important detail?

I started to call the hospice house, just to let those at the front desk know that one of their clients had died. But I didn’t. Why waste my time?

I’m glad that God knows when a single sparrow falls to the ground, much less one of his loved ones. By grace, she was someone! By grace, so am I.