This story is wrong. The “wife and mother of three” died of an aneurysm, not an “emphesymal bleb.” Some lazy reporting there, I’d say.
And the whole story is about the “bleb.” No mention of the husband, the three children, the grief-stricken parents and siblings. Typical crap jouranlism.
My brother and I drove to Oklahoma this weekend to be with those people. We packed dark suits and headed north, not sure what at all we could do to ease the pain of this loss. I mean, what words could we say to lessen their dispair, their shock at a sudden unfair loss of such a beautiful, faithful loving person? A good person who touched the lives of so many people?
And while Oklahoma is known as a state of tornadoes, divorce, meth labs, and mullets, it is also the home of some simple, wise, hardworking godly people. The Clarks of Oklahoma are some of those people, and none more so than Shannon, my cousin.
They read this from Proverbs 31 at her funeral, and everyone listened, nodding their heads. Yep, that was Shannon.
10 A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.
11 Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value.
12 She brings him good, not harm,
all the days of her life.
13 She selects wool and flax
and works with eager hands.
14 She is like the merchant ships,
bringing her food from afar.
15 She gets up while it is still dark;
she provides food for her family
and portions for her servant girls.
16 She considers a field and buys it;
out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
17 She sets about her work vigorously;
her arms are strong for her tasks.
18 She sees that her trading is profitable,
and her lamp does not go out at night.
19 In her hand she holds the distaff
and grasps the spindle with her fingers.
20 She opens her arms to the poor
and extends her hands to the needy.
21 When it snows, she has no fear for her household;
for all of them are clothed in scarlet.
22 She makes coverings for her bed;
she is clothed in fine linen and purple.
23 Her husband is respected at the city gate,
where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.
24 She makes linen garments and sells them,
and supplies the merchants with sashes.
25 She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
26 She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
27 She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
28 Her children arise and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:
29 “Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all.”
30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.
31 Give her the reward she has earned,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.
The good thing about that is that we were all confident that, in whatever fashion we can imagine Heaven exists, she is most certainly there. The bad thing about someone like that is that their sudden departure leaves people truly lost. I understand the phrase “grief-stricken.” Stricken indeed.
And so David and I went to be there for the family. We went to hug people. Let them cry on us. To listen. We were invited to come help carry her coffin about 50 feet. But mainly we were there to just Be There.
Being There is hard work. It takes a lot of effort to just “Be there” and not get wrapped up in yourself. You gotta put aside your personal fear of death, your fear of loss, your guilt over your relief that it’s not you, your discomfort at not having the right words, your impulse to try to cheer people up, all that. You want to try to help make the hurt go away, but you just can’t.
I did okay until at the funeral when I saw the husband, Jay. I cried my first self-absorbed tears as seeing him touched a sliver of fear I hold in my own heart over losing my own wife. People say that losing a child is the greatest pain a parent can encounter. But at least my wife and I could help each other through that. If I lost Heidi, I’d feel totally alone. Alone to grieve and raise my own three kids. And so when I saw Jay, my heart touched a little of the hell of what he must be going through.
When we talked at the burial, I told him to “fall down and let others hold him up for a while.” I also wanted to tell him that it’s okay to be pissed at God (I certainly would be) but I thought better of that, standing at the graveside with my god-fearing relatives and all.
God showed up this weekend. I felt his presence. When Shannon’s family “fell down” in their grief, dozens of people dropped everything and ran to pick them up. It’s amazing how Love can bark orders and loving people can jump like that. I saw a bunch of people put themselves and their lives aside and for a while dedicate their lives to the comfort and aid of someone in desperate need. And so I saw God, Being There.
I’m glad, in my Being There, I was there to see it. I was touched.
But God, that doesn’t let you off the hook with me. No Sir. I’m still pissed about you taking Shannon. Your ways are mysterious, Sir, but, from my perspective, your timing sucks. Help me in my anger and disbelief. That’s the least you could do.
