Faith and loss . . . struggling

Faith and loss

I used to think I was a strong Christian. After all, I have been through a great many things in my life. Overcame a lot of difficulties.
However, when I needed my faith the most, I seemed to lose it or at least be dead to it.
For years, I wanted my twin to be saved. I was very happy when he was. But when it became the most important thing for me to believe that I would see him again in heaven because we both believe in the saving grace of Jesus Christ, I faltered. I’m trying to come out of it. I sometimes force myself to go to church. Sometimes I feel real joy while I am there. Sometimes, I feel nothing. Sometimes I come home and feel only bleakness. Will I see him again? I certainly hope so. At one time, I would have said YES SURELY. Now I want to believe that. One of my dear brothers said to me at our last reunion that he wished he had the faith I had. Now I wish I had the faith I had. It is certainly not that I blame God, or Jesus. I don’t. I just don’t know anymore exactly what it is I feel or believe. But I do know this, if the Christ I have believed in and loved for years is as real as I always thought, He will understand all this and my pain and will love me through it.
How do any of you cope with these feelings? I’m sure I am not alone in them.

Another first

Easter has come and gone. With it has come and gone another first in a list of firsts that we as humans like to note. First Thanksgiving without _________, first Christmas without, first New Year without, now first Easter without ______________. Fill in the blank with the name of your loved one(s).

Easter was a gorgeous day in Pennsylvania. Beautiful like Friday, Nov. 13, 2009 had been. The sun had shone and the spot where Virg’s burial plot was lay ready to accept his remains. A slight breeze stirred and the bird’s sang. A day any farmer, as Virg had been for many years, would have loved. And Easter Sunday was sunny, there was a slight breeze, and the birds sang, and the plot where Virg lay buried had survived the winter and would now be reborn for a new crop of grass. But Virg would not be there to see it . . , ever again. That’s what makes all those firsts so hard for us, isn’t it? Our loved ones will never see it again. We’ll never share a laugh, a glance, a frown, nothing. Meals so lovingly prepared will be eaten without them. Enjoyed without them. And oh, did Virg enjoy holiday meals. He just plain liked to eat period. And he was a big man. A BIG man The last year and a half of his life when he was so limited to the physical things he could do, he loved eating even more. Many of the things he loved were no longer good for the body that was failing him but it did not really matter when it comes down to it. One slice of pizza, piece of fudge, or a cookie would not have changed anything.

We’ve gotten through it then. Another first without him. IT does not feel like something to rejoice in. In face, it does not feel exactly like anything I wish to describe. The chair was empty. And none of us wanted it to be.

We’re born to die. By the time we wrap our brains around that fact, we’ve experienced the worse life can deal us—the death of a loved one. Does death become us or do we become death? How many breaths do we expend, I wonder, in fearing we are going to die? Do we even fear our own deaths as much as we fear the death of a loved one? Of course, the biggest irony of all is that it ceases to matter when we are dead. All the ink, paint, clay in the world cannot change death. Nothing can bring us back. The best we can do then is live the best we can today and remember always those who have gone before us, honoring them which each breath we take. Virg and I drew breath Oct. 20, 1952, in the early hours of the day, with me arriving ten minutes before he did. Boy, did I love to rub that in! It was the only way, I could be the "big" sister seeing that in physical stature he towered over me. At birth we were only two ounces apart, both weighing in a little over five pounds apiece. We kept pace with one another for a couple of years but he began to grow and I did not grow much at all. He sure did not hesitate to take advantage of our size disparity! He was not mean, he just loved to pick on me! Something that never changed. In one of our last hospital visits, he managed to pick on me. I treasure that. There are many things I treasure about our lives and will endeavor to share them here.

In Memoriam

TWINSHIP

There are four little sets of hands

On each are perfect little thumbs

And sets of four fingers to join and clasp the other to make a perfect ten.

There are four little set of legs with knobby knees

And four sets of five tiny toes to lock together, knit together so close

There are two little heads, four little eyes, four little ears, two little mouths

Eyes to see each tiny thing about one another;

Eyes to marvel as they watch each other grow;

Ears to listen for the tiniest sound of distress;

Mouths to coo and gurgle words of encouragement

To say: I’m always here with you. Never be afraid.

Legs to kick and arms to swing

Eating, swimming, sleeping

We’ll take this journey together and no matter what travails there may be

I know you’re there for me and I’m there for you.

For the bond of the womb never breaks

Neither by distance nor by death

And wherever you are then I am too

And where I am then you are too.

Virginia in loving memory of Virgle 1952-2009

MY TRUEST HERO

I think most of us have heroes. I've not had many, not finding most people worthy of that title. When we make people our heroes, we put them on a pedestal of sorts and people simply are not meant to be on pedestals and ultimately they disappoint us.

Mine can be contained to one hand--all for different reasons. The late great Waylon Jennings, the late forever larger-than-life Dale Earnhardt, Lech Walesa, who many have probably forgotten but whom I never will, and my late twin, Virgle. Of the quad, Virg is the greatest of all . . . for me.

He lived the life handed to him, persevered as long as he could through it all and when he could no longer stay the course he had set for himself, he let go and those of us who loved him had to let go as well.

Just a little about those I have named as heroes. Waylon never saw a rule he could not overcome, an establishment that could not be taken on, a song that could not be sung the way he thought it should be. Dale Earnhardt never got into a race car expecting to be defeated. Lech Walesa dreamed of a free Poland. He never thought of giving up.

Virg was not unlike these men in his way. Struck with ulcerated colitis at the age of 21, he never thought of giving up his farm. Through years of pain and heartache, he never thought of giving up on his family and friends. If someone needed help, he was there to help them. When one tough thing led to another, he put personal feelings aside and did what needed to be done.

He loved his family above all else. He was someone I was proud to be related to. Don't get me wrong, he had his faults. All heroes do. All of us do. But his faults were outweighed by his strengths . . . by his can-do attitude. He will be remembered long after he is gone.