Psalm 100:4 "Enter into his gates with _____________, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name."
Mom read this passage of Scripture to Dad yesterday and he supplied the word "thanksgiving" when she paused!
Thanksgiving. I was reminded again recently of having a thankful heart IN all circumstances. Tears stung my eyes as my husband prayed for my father, as we do so often, for Dad to be peaceful and comfortable and "thank you, Lord, for the gift of this extra time that we have with him."
Ah, truly it is a gift.
"Enter into his gates with THANKSGIVING and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name."
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Eye drops with "Dr. Grandson"
I watched my husband help his dad with eye drops and I was reminded of this picture. (A little blurry maybe, but you get the idea!) It's dated November 14, 2005, 6 1/2 years ago. (Dad was mostly healthy then, maybe showing a few random symptoms of the disease.) My son, at age 3, loved to help his Poppy with eye drops (notice Grammy's hand guiding the process!)
What is it about eye drops that are so intriguing to a little guy?
Here he is the same day, out "raking" leaves behind Grammy and Poppy's house:
Wow, Poppy was brave to let a 3 year old administer medication! Dad had just turned 72 the day before.
What is it about eye drops that are so intriguing to a little guy? Here he is the same day, out "raking" leaves behind Grammy and Poppy's house:
Wow, Poppy was brave to let a 3 year old administer medication! Dad had just turned 72 the day before.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Our New Normal
It's been some time since I posted about Dad's current condition.
The reason? There's really not much to say. Because Dad really does not have much to say. Recently, my brother went to visit him. When Dad saw him, he said, "hi, son."
I looked back over some old posts, at where we were and where we've come. Did I ever think then as we started this journey that only two words would be "significant communication"? Did I ever even know what Alzheimer's meant? It's not just forgetting, but it's losing everything you've ever known, and most of the time in a very irrational way. And then after that, nothing and emptiness.
When people ask me, "how's your dad?" what am I to say? They are kind in asking, but I imagine myself bluntly saying in a flat voice, "he's dying, in a slow, pitiful way." Most of the time, I politely respond, "oh, about the same." How could they know what that means? And that "sameness" is flickering down ever so slowly that I can hardly see the change until I compare now with then.
Today has been three years since Dad entered skilled care. My grief is different now. I step out. I press on. I have to. Mom also celebrated her 75th birthday without the one she loves (present tense) most on this earth. She was surrounded and honored by ones who love her. Mom has a husband and three children. She asked me for a copy of a picture taken today of "just the five of us." She frowned and corrected herself, "just the four of us."
~We live, we love, we forgive
and never give up
because the days we are given
are gifts from above.
And today we remember
To live and to love~
(Superchic[k])
The reason? There's really not much to say. Because Dad really does not have much to say. Recently, my brother went to visit him. When Dad saw him, he said, "hi, son."
I looked back over some old posts, at where we were and where we've come. Did I ever think then as we started this journey that only two words would be "significant communication"? Did I ever even know what Alzheimer's meant? It's not just forgetting, but it's losing everything you've ever known, and most of the time in a very irrational way. And then after that, nothing and emptiness.
When people ask me, "how's your dad?" what am I to say? They are kind in asking, but I imagine myself bluntly saying in a flat voice, "he's dying, in a slow, pitiful way." Most of the time, I politely respond, "oh, about the same." How could they know what that means? And that "sameness" is flickering down ever so slowly that I can hardly see the change until I compare now with then.
Today has been three years since Dad entered skilled care. My grief is different now. I step out. I press on. I have to. Mom also celebrated her 75th birthday without the one she loves (present tense) most on this earth. She was surrounded and honored by ones who love her. Mom has a husband and three children. She asked me for a copy of a picture taken today of "just the five of us." She frowned and corrected herself, "just the four of us."
~We live, we love, we forgive
and never give up
because the days we are given
are gifts from above.
And today we remember
To live and to love~
(Superchic[k])
Thirty-six and half years
Leaving the quick mart today, I was caught off-guard and transported back 25 years.
It was the smell.
Stale cigarette smoke mingled with a faint scent of coffee. Honestly, it stank. But the memory it evoked was dear to my heart, the smell was almost pleasant.
It was the exact smell on Dad's clothes when he came home from work each day. (Back then, indoor smoking was permitted in public buildings.) Even though my father was not a smoker himself, he would often reek of cigarettes from the habits of his co-workers. And coffee. Oh, the coffee. Dad was a heavy drinker when it came to a cup o'joe. In fact, he was known as the "Coffee Man" at work. He supplied the coffee, creamer and sugar for the office. He replaced the coffee maker when needed. And he purchased countless styrofoam cups for all.
Dad worked hard at his job. Thirty-six and a half years at one place brought stability and security for his family. Thirty-six and a half years is a long time. Dad was faithful and dedicated. I recall many early mornings of Mom ironing his shirts. And Dad sitting at the kitchen table wearing his white undershirt while he waited. He would be reading Our Daily Bread and the Scripture aloud while she ironed there in the hallway or cooked his breakfast--bacon and eggs and potato cakes or oatmeal. And Dad never reported off. He just went to work, illness or no illness.
Dad knew from experience the value of a good job. There were some lean days financially in his adulthood as he earned his way in this world, before he settled in to this one. I wish I could hear him tell again of his post-high school days of working in the greenhouse in Cleveland with Jamie (and falling through the roof, shattering the glass) and finding jobs in Detriot with Tom Sapp, living there with his sister Berta and hitch-hiking up and down the map. And his days of selling Watkins Products, and how he unintentionally almost killed his two young sons with those very products! (The details of those stories are becoming fuzzy to me.)
Today that one short unintentional whiff of rank odor reminded me of my Dad's loyal service to his employer and what he showed by example to his family.
It was the smell.
Stale cigarette smoke mingled with a faint scent of coffee. Honestly, it stank. But the memory it evoked was dear to my heart, the smell was almost pleasant.
It was the exact smell on Dad's clothes when he came home from work each day. (Back then, indoor smoking was permitted in public buildings.) Even though my father was not a smoker himself, he would often reek of cigarettes from the habits of his co-workers. And coffee. Oh, the coffee. Dad was a heavy drinker when it came to a cup o'joe. In fact, he was known as the "Coffee Man" at work. He supplied the coffee, creamer and sugar for the office. He replaced the coffee maker when needed. And he purchased countless styrofoam cups for all.
Dad worked hard at his job. Thirty-six and a half years at one place brought stability and security for his family. Thirty-six and a half years is a long time. Dad was faithful and dedicated. I recall many early mornings of Mom ironing his shirts. And Dad sitting at the kitchen table wearing his white undershirt while he waited. He would be reading Our Daily Bread and the Scripture aloud while she ironed there in the hallway or cooked his breakfast--bacon and eggs and potato cakes or oatmeal. And Dad never reported off. He just went to work, illness or no illness.
Dad knew from experience the value of a good job. There were some lean days financially in his adulthood as he earned his way in this world, before he settled in to this one. I wish I could hear him tell again of his post-high school days of working in the greenhouse in Cleveland with Jamie (and falling through the roof, shattering the glass) and finding jobs in Detriot with Tom Sapp, living there with his sister Berta and hitch-hiking up and down the map. And his days of selling Watkins Products, and how he unintentionally almost killed his two young sons with those very products! (The details of those stories are becoming fuzzy to me.)
Today that one short unintentional whiff of rank odor reminded me of my Dad's loyal service to his employer and what he showed by example to his family.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
I wish....he wished
My brother and his family moved into a big, rambling house yesterday. It's perfect for their family---not over the top enormous, but large enough that each person has their own space, especially to pursue their hobbies (rooms dubbed to fit those activities: "art studio", "workshop", "exercise room"). It's great!
I wish Dad could know.
(The extent of his responses these days are limited to slight smiles, the kind that just soften the lines around his eyes--like when he saw my son come into the room yesterday.)
I often heard Dad say to my brother, "I wish you could get a bigger house, son." I couldn't help but think how Dad would have loved to sit out on the screened-in back porch with a cup of coffee. He would have been just as happy for them as I am, probably more so, if he only knew....
I guess I'll just have to sit out on the porch for him.
I wish Dad could know.
(The extent of his responses these days are limited to slight smiles, the kind that just soften the lines around his eyes--like when he saw my son come into the room yesterday.)
I often heard Dad say to my brother, "I wish you could get a bigger house, son." I couldn't help but think how Dad would have loved to sit out on the screened-in back porch with a cup of coffee. He would have been just as happy for them as I am, probably more so, if he only knew....
I guess I'll just have to sit out on the porch for him.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
James Earl Ferguson - Obituary 9-12-2011
FAYETTEVILLE - James Earl "Fergie" "Boxie" Ferguson, 79, of Fayetteville, passed away Monday, Sept. 12, 2011, in Fayetteville VA Medical Center. His funeral service will be held at 7 p.m. on Sunday, Sept. 18, 2011, in Saint Pauls Funeral Home chapel in St. Pauls. A visitation for family and friends will be Sunday evening at 6 p.m., prior to the funeral service. Burial with full military honors will be held Monday, Sept. 19, 2011, at 11 a.m. in Post Cemetery on Fort Bragg. Special Forces will honor him as pallbearers at the graveside. He was a Master Mason in the Fayetteville Lodge, a Shriner and a member of the Special Forces Association. Mr. Ferguson served in the U.S. Army for more than 23 years, serving four tours in Vietnam and a tour in Korea. While in the service he was awarded with the Korean Service Medal with four Bronze Stars; National Defense Service Medal; Master Parachute Badge; Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal (Laos); Combat Infantryman Badge Second Award; United Nations Service Medal; Bronze Star Medal; Air Medal, Republic of Korea Presidential Unit Citation; Bronze Arrowhead; Medical Badge; Vietnam Service Medal; National Defense Service Medal First O.L.C.; Republic of Vietnam Campaign Medal with 60 Device; Presidential Unit Citation (Vietnam); Republic of Vietnam Cross of Gallantry with Palm; Army Commendation Medal; Presidential Citation (Korea); and Civil Actions Honor Medal Second Class (Vietnam). He retired as an E8. He is survived by a daughter, Debra Lowry of Lumber Bridge; son, Hank Martinez of Fayetteville; brothers, Roy Lee Ferguson and Donald Ferguson, both of Tennessee; sisters, Claudette Johnson of Alabama, and Ann Newcomer of Florida; five grandchildren; and 10 great-grandchildren. He was preceded in death by his wife, Oneida Ferguson; son, James E. "Jimmy" Ferguson Jr.; and brother, Guy Ferguson. Services are entrusted to Saint Pauls Funeral Home of St. Pauls.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Remembrances
This week, my mother gave me a picture of her parents, my grandparents, from 1980. It was taken on the occasion of their 50th Wedding Anniversary (September 13, 1930). The photo makes me smile because this is just how my little girl mind remembers them.
Today, September 17, marks two years exactly since Grandma went to heaven. Here are the words I read at her funeral. *WARNING: Lengthy*
My memories of Grandma Berkheimer
Some of my most vivid memories of Grandma are when she and Pop-pop lived in Quarryville. (For those of you who don’t know, my grandparents moved an outrageous number of times in their married life—was it over 30?) Once again, she made that house a home. Visits there usually included sitting around the dining room table with delicious smells wafting from the small kitchen mingling with the smell of wood smoke from the stove. I can remember reading books like The Little Auto on the settee (was it maroon or gray flowered?) while Grandma’s hand made braided rug bedecked the floor with bright colors, playing outside in the sandbox (with or without other cousins) or walking with Pop-pop through the forest. Often times we would visit on Sunday afternoon, as their house was a few short miles from my home church.
One particular visit sticks out in my mind. We arrived in the evening and instead of being welcomed in immediately, Mom, Dad and I were asked to wait outside for a few minutes. Once ushered into the living room, Grandma’s chair (which was positioned so that she could watch the 7 pm episode of “The Walton’s”) was surrounded by small white scraps and snips of white thread. I knew better than to question this oddity, why did we have to stand out in the cool dark night and why (when Grandma was a very tidy housekeeper) did her carpet desperately need to be vacuumed? I put the incident out of my mind until that Christmas when I opened my present from Grandma and found this apron that she had been making for me that night we dropped by for a visit. Jerelyn got one that year also, hers was blue!
Since Grandma and Pop-pop moved from Quarryville to retire in Ft. Myers, Florida when I was only seven, it wasn’t really until I was an adult that I began to appreciate Grandma for all that she was. Pop-pop died in Florida when I was 17 and Grandma continued to live Pop-pop’s dream of retiring in the sunny south for as long as she was able. The days were lonely and the nights were long without her beloved husband. Summers she would return to visit with the family in PA until she eventually came to live with her daughter Libby on a permanent basis. During the winters, she often had company—her sister-in-law Ann Rothrock spent months with her. Her niece, Anne Lucille also kept her company as well as various family members from PA who wanted an excuse to escape the snowy winters of the north. Grandma kept busy in her widowed years, with friends, “yard sailing,” reading, of course Scrabble playing and doing lots of handiwork. She seemed to always be trying some new craft—knitting pot scrubbies, making flag pins, bead angels, even necklaces made from strips of magazine.
She also spent a lot of time reading, which aided her in COUNTLESS games of Scrabble. Later in life, she couldn’t play Scrabble with her peers—it wasn’t even a challenge for her. Instead, at Garden Spot Day Center, she would play with the staff members! Even at her “ripe old age” Grandma was mentally sharp. Larry believes that she had a higher-than average intelligence level. At the nursing home where she lived for the last year of her life, she was the Spelling Bee Champion only a few months before her death.
She had a terrific memory and enjoyed reminiscing about days gone by, especially about some of her adventures in the mountains of Tennessee. She would talk about people like the Corvins and the Cunninghams and how Pop-pop’s first “convert” in his teaching ministry in TN was a little girl by the name of Dorothy Jean. And how “Brother Berk-hammer” had been involved in sharing God’s word with people on the mountain at the Tin-Can Church and Watson’s Chapel. It was a highlight of her later years in relationship to TN when she was able to return to that area for a visit in 1999. Miz Thelma Boynton still had an old sewing machine that Grandma had given to her when they left TN to return to PA and what joy when Miz Thelma gave it back!! It was the sewing machine on which Grandma’s mother; Hannah Jane (Watson) Jodon had learned to sew!
As an adult, I learned that Grandma had a very sad and painful childhood and life was not easy for the Jodon children; her sister Sarah and brother Marvin. Even in her married years, with all the moves and caring for her large family on a “faith-ministry” salary, times were tough. (She delivered her first born baby, Aunt Phyl, in a small confined attic containing only one window (?) on a hot July day—and with no medical intervention, no one told her she only had to push when the contractions came--she pushed the entire time she was in labor! She also delivered her third-born, my mother, Lois Jean, before the doctor even arrived at the house!) Some of her adult years were also seasoned with grief as her baby daughter, Deborah, died only hours after birth and her beloved son Johnny was tragically killed in an automobile accident at age 17. Her eyes would always fill with tears when anyone mentioned his name.
Even though throughout her years, she had learned to “do without” and not complain, Grandma did love the finer things in life as well. She surrounded herself with beauty—antiques, flowers (lilacs were her favorite—how fitting they bloom around her birthday each year), jewelry, poetry, (She could perfectly quote poetry that she had learned as a child.) and music (she told me that often times at night when sleep eluded her, she would sing hymns—and sing through the alphabet, each song titled accordingly to fit each alphabet letter.) In those waking hours in the dark of night, I am sure she prayed, too. Most likely, she prayed for me. I will miss those prayers. She was a great prayer warrior. She has told several of her children that she prayed for each one of her children by name, every day.
Grandma had a great sense of humor. She was pleasant, not easily ruffled and easy-going. She didn’t let life get her down. She loved to laugh and retell something cute that one of her grands had said or done. (Like the time that my son TJ, at the tender age of 3, wondered aloud why Grandma Bur-timer was wearing that plastic grocery bag on her head when she came to our house in the rain, her hair protected by a plastic tie-under-the chin covering. Isn’t it called a rain hat and not a grocery bag?!) Once, when leaving after a visit, she laughed heartily at my little son impulsively hugging her and calling out his good-bye, “I love you, sweep-heart!”
Grandma was literally a wealth of knowledge. Her many and varied life experiences would have rightly permitted her to express her opinion on how something that one of us tried could be done better or more efficiently, but she kept those negative comments out of the conversation. One time when I brought yellow delicious apples for her to help me make applesauce, she said, “Oh, I’ve never made applesauce with yellow delicious apples before.” Which was her way of saying to me—yellow delicious apples were not a good choice for making sauce! I knew that I could always call her to ask how to remove a stain from some article of clothing or for advice on child rearing (she had raised her own, of course, and had cared for some of the grandchildren as well, helping Melissa, in particular, to potty-train). Grandma never forced her opinion. “It’ll all come out in the wash,” she would say, not to brush me off or make light of my catastrophe, but to help me get perspective.
I also learned as an adult to realize how much she loved Pop-pop and was still in love with him long after he had gone to heaven. Even death could not sever their lifetime of love. She sacrificed and supported him so that he could do “God’s work.” Often times, they would have church together, just the two of them. And of course, anyone else that was visiting would be welcome to join. Grandma would wear a covering (a doily of some kind that she had stitched) and Pop-pop would “preach” what he had studied that week as the Lord had guided him. And they would sing, Grandma harmonizing with her quiet alto vibrato voice. And of course, at the close of the “service” they would share in communion with the Lord’s Supper. Looking back now—as I begin to comprehend true love—I believe a part of her died when he did. But she had to go on living. That’s why she stayed in Florida so long, because he would have wanted her to. She adored him and he doted on her. I can just hear her now, trying to get his attention because he was hard of hearing: “Woo-hoo-Millard!!” Now that Pop-pop can hear perfectly in his new glorified body, I wonder if she might have said it anyway, just for “old times sake.” J I can’t even imagine the joy at their reunion and the sheer joy and rapture that they are finally together for all eternity, but most importantly with Jesus--praising the Savior all the daylong. Because as a young woman, she trusted in Jesus as her Savior from sin, she believed God’s Word and its promises, now her faith has become sight. Hallelujah!
This is my little-girl Grandma at age 3 (1917). Grandma told that when a traveling photographer came to take her picture, she wouldn't hold still, so he gave her his pocket knife to keep her content. She's holding the pocket knife in her hand!
For some reason, I seem to miss her more in the fall of the year. Recently I thought aloud that I wished I could call her and ask her advice on a recipe. This is us in 1999 when she showed me how to can peaches and we made applesauce in my aunt's inviting farmhouse kitchen.
Grandma's dear friend, Marie Detwiler, her spunky kindred spirit even when miles kept them apart, is now free from the pain of this earth as her earthly mind and body are no longer ensnared by the monster of dementia. Marie passed from this life to heaven's glory on August 20, 2011. I was doing housework recently when it dawned on me what a joyous time they must all be having together with Jesus, the two couples: Millard and Iva, Julius and Marie finally reunited! And I bet they are singing! How they loved to sing the old hymns! I can remember being at Aunt Marie's house on Peach Lane for one Christmas gathering in particular when many were gathered around the piano singing (both Detwilers and Berkheimers had large families with lots of children)!
I overheard my children singing upstairs today as they did their Saturday chores,
"I'm so glad I'm a part of the family of God,
for I'm washed in the fountain,
cleansed by his blood,
joint heirs with Jesus
as we travel this sod,
for I'm part of the family,
the family of God."
This is the song sung by Peter's grandpop after each prayer at every extended family gathering. Grandpop would be proud, kiddos! Peter's grandparents, Harry and Thelma Johnson, both died in 2009 also. My husband and I had 3 living grandparents when we married and we lost all three within six months. Oh, how we miss them!
A rare photo when all three of these precious saints were together with us at church!! (circa 2001):
We got word this week of the death of my dad's first cousin, James Earl Ferguson.
He died a decorated military hero (for his acts of courage and bravery in Korea and Vietnam) on September 12, 2011. Read his obituary here. http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/fayettevilleobserver/obituary.aspx?n=James-Ferguson&pid=153661402
Dad always spoke of Jamey with the utmost respect. Even though the Martin Ferguson's lived on the other mountain growing up, the Ferguson blood that flowed in their veins united the brothers (Roy Lee, James Earl, Guy Allen and Donald) {along with sisters Ann Marie and Claudette} to their cousins Joe, John, Mitch, Marshall and Virgil (and sisters, Luella, Viola, Berta and Cora).
James Earl and Dad worked together in Cleveland and I recall Dad telling with great laughter the time he and Jamey went together to visit Miss Nell's husband, Frank Ferguson in the hospital!
It is with some sadness that I type this post, but grateful to have been a part of the lives of these wonderful people! And grateful, too, for the fond and cherished memories as we celebrate their lives, still living on.
Today, September 17, marks two years exactly since Grandma went to heaven. Here are the words I read at her funeral. *WARNING: Lengthy*
My memories of Grandma Berkheimer
Some of my most vivid memories of Grandma are when she and Pop-pop lived in Quarryville. (For those of you who don’t know, my grandparents moved an outrageous number of times in their married life—was it over 30?) Once again, she made that house a home. Visits there usually included sitting around the dining room table with delicious smells wafting from the small kitchen mingling with the smell of wood smoke from the stove. I can remember reading books like The Little Auto on the settee (was it maroon or gray flowered?) while Grandma’s hand made braided rug bedecked the floor with bright colors, playing outside in the sandbox (with or without other cousins) or walking with Pop-pop through the forest. Often times we would visit on Sunday afternoon, as their house was a few short miles from my home church.
One particular visit sticks out in my mind. We arrived in the evening and instead of being welcomed in immediately, Mom, Dad and I were asked to wait outside for a few minutes. Once ushered into the living room, Grandma’s chair (which was positioned so that she could watch the 7 pm episode of “The Walton’s”) was surrounded by small white scraps and snips of white thread. I knew better than to question this oddity, why did we have to stand out in the cool dark night and why (when Grandma was a very tidy housekeeper) did her carpet desperately need to be vacuumed? I put the incident out of my mind until that Christmas when I opened my present from Grandma and found this apron that she had been making for me that night we dropped by for a visit. Jerelyn got one that year also, hers was blue!
Since Grandma and Pop-pop moved from Quarryville to retire in Ft. Myers, Florida when I was only seven, it wasn’t really until I was an adult that I began to appreciate Grandma for all that she was. Pop-pop died in Florida when I was 17 and Grandma continued to live Pop-pop’s dream of retiring in the sunny south for as long as she was able. The days were lonely and the nights were long without her beloved husband. Summers she would return to visit with the family in PA until she eventually came to live with her daughter Libby on a permanent basis. During the winters, she often had company—her sister-in-law Ann Rothrock spent months with her. Her niece, Anne Lucille also kept her company as well as various family members from PA who wanted an excuse to escape the snowy winters of the north. Grandma kept busy in her widowed years, with friends, “yard sailing,” reading, of course Scrabble playing and doing lots of handiwork. She seemed to always be trying some new craft—knitting pot scrubbies, making flag pins, bead angels, even necklaces made from strips of magazine.
She also spent a lot of time reading, which aided her in COUNTLESS games of Scrabble. Later in life, she couldn’t play Scrabble with her peers—it wasn’t even a challenge for her. Instead, at Garden Spot Day Center, she would play with the staff members! Even at her “ripe old age” Grandma was mentally sharp. Larry believes that she had a higher-than average intelligence level. At the nursing home where she lived for the last year of her life, she was the Spelling Bee Champion only a few months before her death.
She had a terrific memory and enjoyed reminiscing about days gone by, especially about some of her adventures in the mountains of Tennessee. She would talk about people like the Corvins and the Cunninghams and how Pop-pop’s first “convert” in his teaching ministry in TN was a little girl by the name of Dorothy Jean. And how “Brother Berk-hammer” had been involved in sharing God’s word with people on the mountain at the Tin-Can Church and Watson’s Chapel. It was a highlight of her later years in relationship to TN when she was able to return to that area for a visit in 1999. Miz Thelma Boynton still had an old sewing machine that Grandma had given to her when they left TN to return to PA and what joy when Miz Thelma gave it back!! It was the sewing machine on which Grandma’s mother; Hannah Jane (Watson) Jodon had learned to sew!
As an adult, I learned that Grandma had a very sad and painful childhood and life was not easy for the Jodon children; her sister Sarah and brother Marvin. Even in her married years, with all the moves and caring for her large family on a “faith-ministry” salary, times were tough. (She delivered her first born baby, Aunt Phyl, in a small confined attic containing only one window (?) on a hot July day—and with no medical intervention, no one told her she only had to push when the contractions came--she pushed the entire time she was in labor! She also delivered her third-born, my mother, Lois Jean, before the doctor even arrived at the house!) Some of her adult years were also seasoned with grief as her baby daughter, Deborah, died only hours after birth and her beloved son Johnny was tragically killed in an automobile accident at age 17. Her eyes would always fill with tears when anyone mentioned his name.
Even though throughout her years, she had learned to “do without” and not complain, Grandma did love the finer things in life as well. She surrounded herself with beauty—antiques, flowers (lilacs were her favorite—how fitting they bloom around her birthday each year), jewelry, poetry, (She could perfectly quote poetry that she had learned as a child.) and music (she told me that often times at night when sleep eluded her, she would sing hymns—and sing through the alphabet, each song titled accordingly to fit each alphabet letter.) In those waking hours in the dark of night, I am sure she prayed, too. Most likely, she prayed for me. I will miss those prayers. She was a great prayer warrior. She has told several of her children that she prayed for each one of her children by name, every day.
Grandma had a great sense of humor. She was pleasant, not easily ruffled and easy-going. She didn’t let life get her down. She loved to laugh and retell something cute that one of her grands had said or done. (Like the time that my son TJ, at the tender age of 3, wondered aloud why Grandma Bur-timer was wearing that plastic grocery bag on her head when she came to our house in the rain, her hair protected by a plastic tie-under-the chin covering. Isn’t it called a rain hat and not a grocery bag?!) Once, when leaving after a visit, she laughed heartily at my little son impulsively hugging her and calling out his good-bye, “I love you, sweep-heart!”
Grandma was literally a wealth of knowledge. Her many and varied life experiences would have rightly permitted her to express her opinion on how something that one of us tried could be done better or more efficiently, but she kept those negative comments out of the conversation. One time when I brought yellow delicious apples for her to help me make applesauce, she said, “Oh, I’ve never made applesauce with yellow delicious apples before.” Which was her way of saying to me—yellow delicious apples were not a good choice for making sauce! I knew that I could always call her to ask how to remove a stain from some article of clothing or for advice on child rearing (she had raised her own, of course, and had cared for some of the grandchildren as well, helping Melissa, in particular, to potty-train). Grandma never forced her opinion. “It’ll all come out in the wash,” she would say, not to brush me off or make light of my catastrophe, but to help me get perspective.
I also learned as an adult to realize how much she loved Pop-pop and was still in love with him long after he had gone to heaven. Even death could not sever their lifetime of love. She sacrificed and supported him so that he could do “God’s work.” Often times, they would have church together, just the two of them. And of course, anyone else that was visiting would be welcome to join. Grandma would wear a covering (a doily of some kind that she had stitched) and Pop-pop would “preach” what he had studied that week as the Lord had guided him. And they would sing, Grandma harmonizing with her quiet alto vibrato voice. And of course, at the close of the “service” they would share in communion with the Lord’s Supper. Looking back now—as I begin to comprehend true love—I believe a part of her died when he did. But she had to go on living. That’s why she stayed in Florida so long, because he would have wanted her to. She adored him and he doted on her. I can just hear her now, trying to get his attention because he was hard of hearing: “Woo-hoo-Millard!!” Now that Pop-pop can hear perfectly in his new glorified body, I wonder if she might have said it anyway, just for “old times sake.” J I can’t even imagine the joy at their reunion and the sheer joy and rapture that they are finally together for all eternity, but most importantly with Jesus--praising the Savior all the daylong. Because as a young woman, she trusted in Jesus as her Savior from sin, she believed God’s Word and its promises, now her faith has become sight. Hallelujah!
This is my little-girl Grandma at age 3 (1917). Grandma told that when a traveling photographer came to take her picture, she wouldn't hold still, so he gave her his pocket knife to keep her content. She's holding the pocket knife in her hand!
For some reason, I seem to miss her more in the fall of the year. Recently I thought aloud that I wished I could call her and ask her advice on a recipe. This is us in 1999 when she showed me how to can peaches and we made applesauce in my aunt's inviting farmhouse kitchen.
Grandma's dear friend, Marie Detwiler, her spunky kindred spirit even when miles kept them apart, is now free from the pain of this earth as her earthly mind and body are no longer ensnared by the monster of dementia. Marie passed from this life to heaven's glory on August 20, 2011. I was doing housework recently when it dawned on me what a joyous time they must all be having together with Jesus, the two couples: Millard and Iva, Julius and Marie finally reunited! And I bet they are singing! How they loved to sing the old hymns! I can remember being at Aunt Marie's house on Peach Lane for one Christmas gathering in particular when many were gathered around the piano singing (both Detwilers and Berkheimers had large families with lots of children)!
I overheard my children singing upstairs today as they did their Saturday chores,
"I'm so glad I'm a part of the family of God,
for I'm washed in the fountain,
cleansed by his blood,
joint heirs with Jesus
as we travel this sod,
for I'm part of the family,
the family of God."
This is the song sung by Peter's grandpop after each prayer at every extended family gathering. Grandpop would be proud, kiddos! Peter's grandparents, Harry and Thelma Johnson, both died in 2009 also. My husband and I had 3 living grandparents when we married and we lost all three within six months. Oh, how we miss them!
A rare photo when all three of these precious saints were together with us at church!! (circa 2001):
We got word this week of the death of my dad's first cousin, James Earl Ferguson.
He died a decorated military hero (for his acts of courage and bravery in Korea and Vietnam) on September 12, 2011. Read his obituary here. http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/fayettevilleobserver/obituary.aspx?n=James-Ferguson&pid=153661402
Dad always spoke of Jamey with the utmost respect. Even though the Martin Ferguson's lived on the other mountain growing up, the Ferguson blood that flowed in their veins united the brothers (Roy Lee, James Earl, Guy Allen and Donald) {along with sisters Ann Marie and Claudette} to their cousins Joe, John, Mitch, Marshall and Virgil (and sisters, Luella, Viola, Berta and Cora).
James Earl and Dad worked together in Cleveland and I recall Dad telling with great laughter the time he and Jamey went together to visit Miss Nell's husband, Frank Ferguson in the hospital!
It is with some sadness that I type this post, but grateful to have been a part of the lives of these wonderful people! And grateful, too, for the fond and cherished memories as we celebrate their lives, still living on.
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