Grieving

John was one unique guy. An eternal optimist. An always encourager. He was deeply committed to his wife and three children. { Landon (11), Gavin (7) and Malia (3) }. He loved a good crowd and was always inviting people over, and as was mentioned at the funeral, Kim was usually the last to know that he had invited a crowd! John was a people person extraordinaire. Always connecting people. He loved sharing whatever he had; whether that be his home for meals or his 3rd floor home theatre for sporting events or his boat to haul load after load of people tubing. He was an entrepreneur and a salesman. He always, always had time for other people. So relational. So others-centered. He was an "Oh sure" guy. You suggest something or ask something and he always said, "Oh sure!" John lived life. If the kids asked to go fishing. He took them fishing. If they needed a tube ride. He did it. I would say he lived life to the fullest. Always.

And he loved the Lord. He was missions minded, having gone on numerous international missions trip. He was a youth group leader for years, taking time out of his busy schedule to invest in the lives of dozens of high school students at their church. In more recent years he could be seen up on stage doing drama. He loved God. He loved his wife. He loved his family. He loved people. That sums him up.

He was always up for something new. Just a few weeks ago we introduced him to 'banana boats', a banana/marshmellow/chocolate concoction that you cook over the open fire. He was game and Jack came home and said, "John invited us over to try out banana boats tonight!" So off we went. Tin foil. Check. Bananas. Check. Chocolate. Check. Marshmellows. Check. John started up the fire and we began the new tradition. Banana boats at the Talmages.

John loved them and started handing them out to neighborhood friends as they wandered by. He was just that kind of guy. There was always room for one more. Always more food to cook up. Always welcoming. Always including. As one friend put it this week, "John didn't know a stranger."

{The next part of this post is simply stream-of-consciousness. Doesn't really flow. Just conveys my feelings.}

But somewhere over the last several weeks it became evident that John's heart was heavy. So very, very heavy. And less than a week ago he made the choice to end his life, leaving behind his beautiful wife and three young children.

Tragic.

Which leaves those of us behind somewhat stunned and overwhelmed with grief and sadness. The range of emotions goes wide. When the initial word came on Friday one of my initial responses was anger. While that emotion has somewhat subsided, it is still there. I have been nauseous since I found out on Friday. Just that under-tone of wanting to vomit all the time. I've done the why? And the "what if I had ..." And the, "Oh Kim. How will she go on." {But I know she will.}

I have caught myself so many times just slowly shaking my head, beginning to tear up and just saying quietly, "Lord, no. This is so wrong. This wasn't what You wanted for him. Why did he give up?" Even as I write those words I feel them deeply.

This was so unnecessary. But the reality is, it happened.

So now what?

This was the first time ever that I had no desire to go up to the Lake. I didn't want to go. Because somehow it felt like going was facing the reality that we were going to bury a friend and to comfort his wife and children whom he left behind.

The wake on Monday night and the funeral and internment yesterday were the hardest things I've ever had to face. Ever.

Seeing Kim on Monday was almost unbearable. She held up beautifully under the circumstances, which I'm convinced was because of the prayers covering her. But hugging her that night, knowing that on Friday morning she woke up as a wife and on Friday night she went to bed a widow. So hard. So wrong. So tragic. I think the only thing I could muster up to say to her, while we hugged, was "I'm so sorry." There's simply nothing to say. At least not now. And maybe not for a long time.

The funeral on Tuesday was even harder. John was a music guy. He loved Christian contemporary music. We arrived very early as we figured it would be packed (and it was - some said about 600 people were in attendance). And the whole time we waited, beautiful music was playing. If you know me at all, you know that music moves me. So that was very hard to sit through, but a perfect way to honour John. {And something I'd want done at my own funeral some day, like when I turn 90. So someone remember that, would you?}

And then came Kim, holding Malia, with arms around Landon and Gavin, walking to her place in the front row. The place no mother with young children should ever have to sit. But she was brave and strong.

Gavin (7) is Maddie's buddy - they're less than 3 weeks apart in age, and for years they've played at the lake together, catching frogs and turtles, celebrating birthdays and so many memories.

So seeing him just broke my heart as I knew it would. No more daddy to play ball with.

And little Malia. Three years old. Jackson's little buddy.

They're one month apart in age and play so well together. Just last weekend they spent tonnes of time splashing in the water. Following each other around the shallow end. Giggling. Chasing. Playing. Uggghhhh.

I don't know if you've ever experienced this, but I don't think I ever have, until this week. I found all week that I had to physically put my hand over my mouth to contain my sorrow because I didn't trust how loud my grieving would be. I've never moaned like this before. So when I saw Kim and the kids it was just heart wrenching and so many times instinct led my hand to my mouth, somehow containing the sobs just below the surface.

There was a touching video production that had not only still pictures of John and his life but also video clips. The music began and I lost it. {Background: Nine years ago this past weekend my brother got married and the song that was sung by Ben at his wedding was "I Can Only Imagine" by Mercy Me. And at the moment of hearing it at his wedding I declared that I wanted that sung at my funeral some day. By Ben if at all possible.} So when that music began John's tribute video I inwardly sobbed. The pictures made the crowd laugh. John was a nut. Always up for an adventure. And then there were other parts in the production where they included actual video footage that were almost more than one could bear. Seeing John walking away from the video, holding Malia's hand. Ahhhh. To know that she won't have her daddy's hand to hold ever again. It's just not right.

The funeral, as difficult as it was, truly was a tribute to John's life. It was beautiful and meaningful. It was. Kim wants us to remember John as "John" and not the John of the last few weeks ... And that IS how we will remember John. The John I described at the beginning of this post. Pastor Larry did an amazing job at carefully touching the nature of his death, yet focusing on who John was and how he loved Jesus and was now with Jesus in heaven.

After the funeral we assembled outside the church, around the casket, while Pastor Larry prayed and then the pall bearers lifted the casket and placed it inside. There were probably 15 minutes of silence as we waited for all to assemble, so when the men finally began lifting the casket into the Hearst, little Malia, in her precious three-year-old voice, and being held in her mother's arms, said loudly enough for all to hear: "Where's my daddy going? Why are they taking him? I want daddy." {or something to that effect}.

Oh, you cannot even begin to imagine the heartbreak. Kim started to shake and cry. The crowd collectively sighed and sobbed. I'm sobbing as I write as I can see her sweet little face turning toward the casket, wondering where they were taking her daddy.

It's just so not right. So sorrow-filled.

My heart is so heavy and has been for the last several days. I feel raw and emotionally exhausted. I think most of all I feel so burdened for Kim and the kids. I wish this wasn't so. I wish she didn't have to walk this long, long journey.

And so in the rawness and the sad place I find myself in, I have been running to the only comfort I know. God and His word, specifically the Book of Psalms. Whenever I am discouraged, this is where I end up. Perhaps not right the very second something hits. But eventually I always end up there. With God. Wrestling. Crying. Questioning. Asking. Fearing. Wondering.

And so I have also found myself thinking this week, "What do those that do not know God do in times like this?" I truly cannot imagine facing this type of tragedy without the HOPE that Christ offers. Reality is and the Truth of the Bible states that some day, those of us that know Jesus as our personal Lord and Saviour, WILL get to see John again. That being said, that does bring me great comfort. Not only for me. But for Kim. She will see John again. Not that it takes away from the pain experienced now for the loss of life. But I cling to the promise. The Truth.

John's life verse {which I didn't know was his life verse until the funeral yesterday} happened to be one that I have loved for years so I have found myself all day today opening up my Bible. Whether sitting at Chicago stoplights that seem to last forever. Or here in the house. John's verse:

Psalm 46:1
"God is our refuge and STRENGTH, an ever-present HELP in trouble."

I also find great comfort in these other verses that I have turned to over the last few days. I've not only been reading and praying them for myself, but also for Kim and the kids. And Jack. And John's family. And our family.

Psalm 55:22
"Cast your cares on the Lord and he WILL sustain you; .... but as for me, I trust in you."

Psalm 62:1 and 8
"My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. He ALONE is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken. ... Trust in him at all times ... pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge."

And one of my all-time favorite verses in the Bible:

Psalm 34:18
"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

I have been thinking, just this evening, about what God has been teaching me over the last 15 or so months. That is, to care for the poor and the needy and the orphans and the widows. And how that charge to care for the widows just got incredibly personal. We will walk through the valley of the shadow of death with Kim. Whether that's in fervent prayer for her from a distance in our Chicago home. Or tangible help for she and her kids when we're at the Lake. We will care for our friend and are honoured to do so.

And so tonight I ask that you fervently pray for Kim, Landon, Gavin and Malia. And as Kim said, she's praying that her children "would climb into the arms of Jesus." And I'm praying that our amazing Heavenly Father would sustain Kim, both now in the short-term, and in the months and years ahead.

That she would feel His supernatural peace.

A peace that goes beyond all human understanding.

A peace that only can come from God.

{Philippians 4:7}