Grief and loss

Last Friday night, November 7, what began as an evening of fun and celebration for so many of us culminated in tragedy and unspeakable sorrow. About 10 of us couples from our "New Directions" class at First Nazarene had gathered at Konny & Stan Zurcher's house for our annual fall picnic. I had wondered if I should even go because I had been sick from a horrific virus (intermittent fever and chills, chest congestion and cough) for the previous 4 days, but felt that I was on the downside of it, so decided to make the trek. Lots of good food, a roaring bonfire, story swapping, hugs and laughter all around...

Then, at about 9:30 p.m., as Konny was showing Pam and I around her home, Pam's cell rang. We were upstairs and I knew I couldn't get to it, so I yelled down and asked Lyndsi Smith to grab it and see who it was. Lyndsi read the caller ID and told me it was Pam's Mom; I figured Mom was calling to discuss next week's trip out to see us that she and Dad were planning to make. I bantered back and forth with Lyndsi in the innocence of the moment about how my cell showed "Mom and Dad" when my parents called, but "Satterfields" when the in-laws did, and Pam's vice versa; Lyndsi said she and Brent's cells showed similar readouts with their respective parents. (I wonder, are we always so blissfully unaware of the sands running out of the hourglass?)

About a minute later, my cell rang and I saw it was Mom. Alarm bells started way in the back of my mind, on a very subconscious level as I answered the call that would change our lives forever.

Mom's voice was quiet, but so panicked, as she said she didn't know who to call, but....Dad had collapsed after playing basketball. He was unresponsive and they had done CPR on him for some time now. My mind quit working as I groped for words. Was he going to be alright? Mom didn't know. Where were they now? On their way to the hospital. I do remember Mom asking me, with tears choking her voice, what we were going to do. I was in shock, possibly for the first time in my life. I don't remember how I concluded the phone call, but I had to walk out into the living room and break this news to my wife and those gathered around. Konny led in prayer for Dad's recovery and we began to call different people asking them to pray. I know I called my parents, Pastor David (I talked to Janet) and my friend Jed Hutchison.

Then Pam's phone rang. She answered it, spoke briefly, then wordlessly handed it to me with tears streaming down her face. I knew what it conveyed even before I answered and heard Pam's Mom whisper, "Glen, he's gone."

What numbing, crushing, incomprehensible grief! The sobs and groans came from deep within, from an untapped reservoir of pain over the unimaginable loss of a man I had loved as if he were my blood father, one that I had looked up to more than he ever knew. The thoughts surged through my brain: Did he know I loved him so? Was he aware of all the reasons I admired him? Why couldn't we all have had 30 or 40 more years together?

I pounded the walls with my fist as the emotion coursed through me, not caring who saw or heard. I somehow concluded the conversation with Mom, if you could call it finishing; I remember saying that I should be strong for her, but knowing I couldn't be right then. I somehow made it out to the living room, where the remaining guests, now somber and grave, were gathered. Stan and Konny seem to continually be present during the trials in our lives and it was an unfathomable comfort to be with them when this news was broken.

I will never forget asking God "WHY!" and crying out from the depths of my sorrow that I didn't want to be angry with God. Was I really angry with God? I don't know. I know I had never hurt like this before. I have, however, come away with this awareness since those moments: I am profoundly grateful for a compassionate Savior who DOES NOT WALK AWAY when we're at our weakest. When we scream out in our anguish and question His infinite wisdom, Jesus doesn't shrug and say, "I don't have to put up with this; I am God, after all." My friend, Katie Metz, says she likes to think that God knows that our feeble protests against the exercise of His will are just code for "I need you NOW, Jesus, more than I ever have." I believe she is right.

We somehow drove home, where my parents were waiting for us. I will always appreciate their help getting our house organized as we tried to throw belongings enough together for a stay two states away of undetermined length.

We finally pulled out of our driveway around 2:30 AM on Saturday morning, November 8. We drove through the night and morning and arrived in Indiana, PA around noon. What a lonesome feeling to drive up to the parsonage and know that that cheery face would never walk out the door to meet us again. Mom came out and burst into tears as I hugged her. Oh, what loss.

It all seemed so surreal. The family was all here, but the man at the center of it all was not.

We had a memorial service just for the church people the next morning, the only service of the day.

On Monday, November 10, the viewing lasted from 2-9. I said over and over that I hoped he knew how much he was loved as hundreds filed by the open casket. My brother and his wife and little girl drove 380 miles to be with us, from their home in Greenbush, VA. My parents and sisters also drove out from Indiana that day, then turned around and drove home. I will never forget it.

We have also received phone calls, e-mails and Facebook condolences from across the country. The support meant so much. (If there was anything I could be said to have "enjoyed" from this week of suffering, it was meeting some of the friends I have heard Mom and Dad speak of for so many years. Some of them read this blog!)

Dad's funeral was held on Tuesday, November 11, a very memorable ceremony, with a number of his preacher friends officiating with stories, Scripture, encouragement, tears and laughter. We buried him on the hillside cemetery in Cherry Tree, PA on a gray, bleak afternoon. Yet, we didn't leave HIM there, only the "earthly tent" that he left behind. Dad is in Heaven rejoicing with the one He served, although we mourn his loss and still shed our tears. One day, we will see him again, never again to be separated. In the meantime, we continue on, serving the One who gave Dad life and brought him safely Home.