In September, 2000, Judy called me to say that she was worried about Mom. Her memory was slipping and Judy didn't think she should be living alone anymore. I told her I would come to visit as soon as I could. Unfortunately, while walking in Rosedale Mall, I experienced serious fatigue and chest discomfort. Having had a heart attack the previous April, I immediately called my cardiologist, who ordered me to the hospital for a stress test, which I failed miserably. The next step was to return to the hospital the following day to have a stent placed in my coronary artery. During the procedure, the artery went into spasm, shutting down and essentially producing another heart attack. The end result was that it was November before I got to Derry. I was surprised and dismayed to see Mom's mental state. Clearly, she could no longer live independently. The condition of the kitchen, refrigerator, and the house in general attested to that. I talked to Judy and we decided to try to find a place for her in a local nursing home. But finally I decided that the best thing to do would be to bring her to Minnesota with me and find a facility near me. Judy agreed and Mom and I flew to Minnesota. Nancy had arranged for her to be evaluated at Hennepin County Medical Center, so we took her there. The doctors' diagnosis was Alzheimer's or a related disease. The prognosis was steadily increasing dementia, with no hope of arresting the disease's progress. So we moved Mom to the Trevilla Nursing Home in New Brighton, just a couple of miles from our house. She stayed there for a year or so. During this time, she generally recognized Nancy and me, though not her grandchildren. We were able to bring her home with us for Sunday dinners and holiday celebrations. Her last visit was at Thanksgiving, 2001. After that time, we became concerned about her safety. For example, she came close to touching the hot stove, not realizing it was hot.
A couple of months later, her condition had progressed to the point where Trevilla had neither the facilities nor the staff expertise to provide the level of care she needed. So we moved her to Crest View Lutheran Home in Columbia Heights, also near our house. They were able to provide a locked ward and a trained staff. She never left Crest View. Over the next three years, her memory and general condition slowly worsened. Where she had frequently talked about Pap and Grandma, not knowing they were dead, but remembering them, she slowly lost those memories. Often, when I would visit, she would tell me that "Curtie came to see me today." She couldn't relate to the old guy (me) who came to visit. In the last couple of years, she called me by name only once or twice, though she often called Nancy by name.
On March 4, 2005, Mom died of aspiration pneumonia, as a result of her Alzheimer's. We took her home to Derry to be buried with Pap and Grandma, as she wanted. My daughter, the Reverend Sara-Jane Sosa, presided at her grandmother's funeral and gave her a wonderful and touching farewell. Mom would have been so proud. Here is Sara's eulogy:
Mary and Martha are grieving. You see, their brother Lazarus
has died. In fact, they are on their fourth day of mourning…confirmation to us that grieving the loss of
someone important, the loss of family takes more than a few hours. They are grieving and, in their grief,
they are waiting for a friend to arrive. While Lazarus was still alive, they had sent word to their friend,
that he might know the seriousness of the situation and have time to see Lazarus, perhaps even bring healing
to him. But their friend never made it. In fact, four days after Lazarus’ death and burial, the friend is
nowhere near the burial place. Mary and Martha are sad, disappointed, maybe even a little bit angry. But
mostly, they are grieving. Lazarus is gone. He is dead and buried. Dead and buried four days before their
friend finally arrives. Let’s hear part of the story:
A man named Lazarus was sick. He lived in Bethany with his sisters, Mary and Martha. This is the Mary who poured the expensive perfume on the Lord’s feet and wiped them with her hair. Her brother, Lazarus, was sick. So the two sisters sent a message to Jesus telling him, “Lord, the one you love is very sick.”
But when Jesus heard about it he said, “Lazarus’ sickness will not end in death. No, it is for the glory of God. I, the Son of God, will receive glory from this.” Although Jesus loved Mary, Martha and Lazarus, he stayed where he was the next two days and did not go to them… finally after two days, he said to his disciples, “Let’s go to Judea again…our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but now I will go and wake him up.”
The friend of Mary and Martha…the one they sent for…the one who didn’t come…the one who could have made a difference in the outcome of Lazarus’ illness if only he had been there was Jesus. How disappointed Mary and Martha must have been. They understood that Jesus had the power to heal. They understood what so may others had yet to figure out…that Jesus had the power of the heavens behind him. They knew Jesus in a way that most people did not. They had sent for him, knowing he had the power to save and hoping he would bring that healing power near. But he didn’t.
How many of us identify with Mary and Martha. How many times have we asked Jesus to enter our lives in some way, only to find that he isn’t available to us? What sickness do you have today that you wish someone would cure? What hurt are you carrying around that needs the touch of heaven to heal? How many days have you been waiting for Jesus to show up in your life? How many times have you asked Jesus to make his presence in your life real and believable?
Grandma, Mary Alice Patterson, is a wonderful woman in my memory. As we drove out from Minnesota, I was remembering many visits with Grandma. In almost every memory, she was smiling. In almost every memory, my great-grandpap, her dad, was there, too. I remember their house on First Avenue. I remember sitting on the front porch saying hello to people as they walked by. I remember a few nights when we watched a thunderstorm come over the ridge, saw the lightning streak the sky, listened to the thunder as it rolled around. I remember falling asleep at night to the sound of the train as it lumbered by at the end of their lot. My best memory of her is Grandma standing at the sink in Pap’s kitchen…laughing about something, scolding Pap for something, or telling a story about someone as she washed the dishes. I remember trying to kick her out of the kitchen so we could wash the dishes for her.
My memories are probably a drop in the bucket compared to all the memories contained in your hearts and heads. I’m sure we could wash all of Derry’s dishes while we shared those stories! But at the end of the day, we could all say that Grandma, that Mary Alice, was a fine woman who loved much. She may not have had a lot of possessions. She certainly didn’t have an easy life. She didn’t live in a mansion or drive a fancy car (although I remember her Delta 88 and that we were all worried when she chose to drive it). My guess is that much of the stuff of this world that we feel is necessary for life, Grandma would think unnecessary. But she knew how to love and, because of that love, she was loved in return.
In fact, as we sat in her room at the nursing home on Thursday, watching her struggle to breathe, three nurses came in to say goodbye to her because their shift was over and they didn’t know if Grandma would still be alive when they came back the next day. They touched her and held Grandma’s hand and I heard one of them say as tears came to her eyes, “Oh Mary…” You see, in the years that Grandma had been there, her laughter and love touched everyone around her. I want to be like Grandma.
I went home Thursday night and as I waited for sleep to come, I prayed… “Jesus, Grandma is sick. She needs you to come to her. Will you come?” Jesus came in the middle of the night…around 2:30 in the morning to take Grandma home. And while I’m sure the angels were rejoicing to receive one of their own, newly released from her pain and suffering, from her mental prison, I think that Jesus wept. Why do I think that? Let’s return to the story of Mary and Martha:
When Mary arrived and saw Jesus, she fell down at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping and saw the other people wailing with her, he was moved with indignation and was deeply troubled. “Where have you put him?” he asked them. They told him, “Lord, come and see.” Then Jesus wept. The people who were standing nearby said, “See how much he loved Lazarus.”
Jesus wept. He cried. He saw the raw emotion around him and the tears began to come to his own eyes. Jesus understands grief. He knows sadness. But understand something here. Jesus had come to Bethany, to the grave of Lazarus knowing that he was going to raise Lazarus back to life. He knew that! So why is he crying? He’s the Son of God, after all. He waited two days, until he knew that Lazarus was dead, to begin his journey. He told his disciples that he was glad they hadn’t been in Bethany so that he could give the disciples another reason to believe in him. Knowing all this, knowing the power within, the plan ahead…Jesus still cried. Why? Because he understands our pain, he understands our sorrow and he chooses to join us in it…even though he knows that one day, there will come a time and place where there will be no more crying, sorrow or grief.
Jesus is with us today. He understands our loss. He feels our pain. He cries our tears. And in his deep love for us, he extends the reality of new life in him. It’s the same life he gave to Lazarus. It’s the same life he gave to Grandma last Friday. It’s the life he offers to each one of us if only we will say yes.
Grandma…we love you, we’ll miss you, we’ll remember you and we’ll see you again because Jesus, through his tears, made it possible for us to say yes.
Amen.