Margaret (8)

I’ve been putting this one off. My first post about Margaret was when I came upon a photo of her and was taken back to her story. I wish you could have known her, in the midst of her physical and emotional pain she was reflective, considerate of others, kind. Her husband, Frank Jr., was appreciative of the town’s support and the church’s care for his family - support and care which continues to this day, years after his loss.

Margaret’s memorial service was standing-room only; there were extra chairs in the aisles but still some had to stand. In addition to Cat Mountain folk, there were medical people who had walked with Margaret through the cancer, as well as many business associates who traveled from D.C. and other areas. The service had a time in which people could share their thoughts and memories; there were many. The praise team played and we worshiped God, gave thanks for Margaret, and did our best to let her husband and children know that we loved Margaret and that we loved them.

In my message I shared about Margaret coming to know Jesus, what that means, and about Christ’s victory over death, His Resurrection, and His love for us. Of course I shared my own memories of Margaret, including how deeply she loved her husband and children. As much as I enjoy officiating at weddings, there is something about being with people during grief and loss that makes it a particularly sacred time for me, a humbling time - I am deeply aware of eternity and of God’s love for us in the midst of our sorrow.

Ah yes, my last visit to Margaret, I must write about that. Frank Jr. called me to tell me that things had taken a bad turn and that they didn’t know how long Margaret would live - I told him that I’d be right over. When I got there Frank Sr. opened the door and said, “She’s in her bedroom - Frank (his son) has gone to pick the kids up from school.”

During my drive to Frank and Margaret’s, I prayed and visualized seeing Margaret, just being with her, and trusting God to direct my words, prayers, actions. Opening the bedroom door I walked into a room without any light on and with the curtains drawn, it was dark, I could hardly see Margaret, hardly see the bed. I sat on a dining room chair positioned a couple of feet from the head of the bed. I sat without saying anything - Margaret was restless...after a few moments I softly said, “Margaret, it’s Bob Withers.”

“Get out! Get out! Get out! I don’t want to see you!” I was shocked, confused, taken aback.” I didn’t say anything; I quietly got up, left the room, closing the door.

Frank Sr. was in the hallway between the bedroom and the living room. He looked at me and said, “I told you that she wouldn't buy into your crap. I told you that she’d come to her senses.”

“Thanks Frank,” I said. “Please let Frank (his son) know I’ve been by.”

Instead of driving to my office I drove home. I needed to be by myself for a few minutes. I had not anticipated the experience; I wanted to help, to comfort, to just be there and not say anything, to just pray...anything but be told to “Get out, I don’t want to see you!”

Then there was Frank Senior’s satisfaction on seeing me leave the bedroom after only being there for a minute or two. His satisfaction at thinking that Margaret had come to her senses and rejected the “crap” he termed the love of Jesus. Those moments don’t quite have the edge that they once did, but they are still real - and I wonder why Frank Sr. derived such satisfaction from his perception that Margaret had rejected faith in Christ.

Well, as I described above, Margaret’s memorial service was poignant and holy. I knew that Margaret was so heavily medicated when I visited her that her actions and words didn’t represent the person I’d come to know. Do I wish my last visit had been different? Of course; but I’ve seen how medication can disorient a reasonably healthy person, and I know what it can do to those gravely ill. Some of us tolerate drugs better than others - I’ve watched people close to me react badly to medications and hallucinate - to the point where they would rather deal with the physical pain than the emotional and psychic distress and fright that comes with hallucinations. As I recall, Pope John Paul II wanted to die without drugs during his last illness - he wanted to know what was going on, he wanted to commune with God, he wanted to be an example to us all. Well, God is gracious to us wherever we are in our tolerance of pain; we all handle these things differently. We can be assured that our Father in heaven is kind and merciful to us and that He cares for us in our distress and sickness and weakness.

Our relationship with Frank Jr. and the children continued, and Fran, Margaret’s mother-in-law, started attending church with her son and grandchildren. I continued to see Frank Sr. from time to time about town, and was always cordial to him. Frank Jr. moved back to the D.C. area before the next school year, and after a few years remarried. Fran has become more and more involved in church life, attending an ALPHA course and then working as an ALPHA group leader.

We exchange Christmas cards with Frank Jr. with little notes updating one another - the kids seem to be doing well and their new mom is a blessing.

Margaret's photo will continue to remind me of a remarkable woman who came to know Jesus in the little town of Cat Mountain.