The Cruise: On countering a year of loss, with celebration of life

Death and loss had become an unwelcome companion in 2019. First my father, then three months later, my mother.

Never mind that for both -- one afflicted with severe arthritis and dementia at 96, the other with Alzheimer's and in a near vegetative status at 91 -- the end of life on this planet was a blessing.

It was still . . . death. It was emptiness, where once resided the breath of parents who had loved unconditionally for 66 of my years on Earth.

While I firmly believe we will be reunited in God's light and love, But until then,  I must live in the here and now. And now, they are gone.

So, having saved up for several years, Barbara and I booked a 10-day cruise along the Northeast Coast, from New York City to Boston, Portland and Bar Harbor, Maine, and Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, in Canada.

We chose to break the cycle of mourning with celebration of life, of seeing places and people we had never seen before.

New Jersey, New York and Boston were fascinating for all the usual reasons -- their mere size, density, skyscrapers, and historicity. And, they were confirmation that we would never want to live there . . . and underscored our appreciation for less crowded, more amiable and beautiful for raw outdoor variety of mountains, forests, rivers and deserts of the West.

I'm going to take my time recounting our cruise and excursions over the coming several blogs.

It is a time of life, and set of experiences, worth tasting in full.

Stay tuned.

The pain of grief, the joy of release: Until we meet again, Mom

 

I lost my 96-year-old father, the Rev. Robert Mims, in January. On Friday, my mother, Katherine, 91, joined him.

Dad left this world while holding her hand earlier this year at Cheney (Wash.) Care Center. Their separation was brief, their reunion eternal.

Like him, she passed away in her sleep, her internal organs having finally failed, long after Alzheimer's disease had robbed her of her memories, and her ability to speak or understand. But, until the last couple weeks when she lost consciousness and remained nonresponsive, this horrible disease had not taken her smile, or her spontaneous laughter.

Like Dad, her passing was a mercy, the end of her suffering a blessing.

As an Orthodox Christian, I am again beginning a 40-day period of the Akathist Prayer to Christ for the Departed, an ancient vigil for her soul and peaceful reunion with Dad, in the light and love of Our Lord.

I wonder how she feels about that.

A Pentecostal preacher's daughter and wife, she is now the subject of the prayers of the Theotokos, her guardian angel, and her son, amid votive candlelight and soft, gray clouds of incense.

I would imagine she is delighted, surprised and in wonder at how truly indescribable paradise is.

I see her in my father's arms, bathed in the love of God, discussing it all.

That makes me smile, amid the tears.

---------------

Katherine Mims 1928-2019

Katherine Alberta (Powell) Mims, beloved mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, and wife of the late Rev. Robert Elliot Mims, passed away on June 28, 2019 of causes related to old age. She was 91.

Katherine, known for her open acceptance and love for all, especially those hurting from the sad vagaries of life, was a prayer warrior, unafraid witness for her Christian faith. Even as Alzheimer’s disease robbed her of memories, speech and physical health over the past few years, she always had a smile for visitors, especially children.

Katherine died at Cheney Care Center, where six months earlier she had held hands with her husband of 71 years, Robert, as he quietly passed. Their separation was blessedly brief, their reunion eternal.
Born Jan. 10, 1928 in Helena, MT, she was the daughter of the Rev. Luther and Bessie Powell, one of 14 children. Katherine is survived by one brother, John Powell (wife Kathleen), of Spokane, WA; one sister, Marlynn (husband Robert) Castor, of Lake Stevens, WA.; son Robert Mims Jr (wife Barbara), of Salt Lake City, UT; daughter Carolyn Mims, of Airway Heights, WA.;  two grandchildren, Robert A. Mims (Rachel), West Valley City, UT, and Brenda (Idal) Tchoundjo, Towson, MD; and great-grandchildren Joshua Mims, West Valley City, UT, and Lela, Gabriel and Nathan Tchoundjo, of Towson, MD.

Katherine, whose energetic gospel piano style was a perfect companion to Robert’s banjo, was also an equal partner in the more than 75 years of ministry they shared as a couple. Together, they worked first as evangelists, and then as a pastoral team with the Assemblies of God and Open Bible fellowships. Their last pastorate was non-denominational, at the Garden Springs Community Church in west Spokane, from where Robert retired from fulltime ministry in 1970.

Katherine worked for several years after that at Sacred Heart Medical Center’s switchboard, where her willingness to pray personally with co-workers and patients alike won her many admirers and friends.
A graveside memorial service is being planned for Aug. 22, 10:30 a.m., at Fairmont Memorial Park, 5200 W. Wellesley Ave., Spokane, WA.

The family requests that in lieu of flowers, contributions be made to either the Life Services Pregnancy Resource Center & Maternity Home (https://lifeservices.org) or The Alzheimer's Association (https://www.alz.org/nca/donate).

 

Grief: A sneaky, relentless foe, demands to be heard and felt

Grief is a sneaky, relentless foe. It fades, then suddenly reappears, trumpeting its arrival in emotional cacophony . . . demanding to be recognized, to be felt, to be heard.

I buried my father’s ashes last Friday on a sunny spring day in Spokane, Washington. I blessed his grave, a 2.5-foot deep hole in the dark, damp earth, with holy water from my church, Sts. Peter & Paul. Said prayers of the Trisagion.

Lord have mercy, we Orthodox Christians plead repeatedly. Glory to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, both now and ever and unto ages of ages, amen.

 Dad was not Orthodox, but I am. And so, I prayed for him from my new tradition. Somehow, I know he appreciated it.

Heavenly king. Comforter. Spirit of truth. Everywhere present, filling all things. . . . . Save our souls, O Good One.

We mourners offered our words to Dad, each other. Memories were shared. Tears shed. Hugs given, and received. Farewells. The urn was placed in the ground, freshly turned earth packed over it, leaving a rich, dark brown mound interspersed with grass blades and pine needles.

Goodbye, Dad. But not goodbye to the grief.

Yesterday afternoon the Box arrived. It contained the few mementos, packets of photos, this and that saved from Dad’s nursing home room and shipped to me in Utah from Washington by UPS. I opened it, and with it, once more, opened the grave. Or so it seemed.

Having contemplated it once more, I will try again to close the grave with the soft soil of my heart. Not to forget, but to honor. Grief does not end, I’m learning.

It is, however, transformed. And transforming. Grief will take me where it will, and with prayer serving as my hand touching paradise, I will step ahead through the miles left in my own life.

I will do so with, I pray always, more and more love, and less sadness.

Layoff. 'Reduction in Force.' 'Right-sizing.' Whatever you call it, it's still gonna hurt

 

My last feature package for the Salt Lake Tribune before the May 14 layoffs, on hospital chaplains, has gone worldwide thanks to AP (a long ago employer). Spotted in Europe and Korea, etc.

A bittersweet thing, though I hang on to the idea that at least I went out doing my best work. Connected to that story, however, was an offer made by one of the chaplains I interviewed to provide me with "grief counseling." 

What? But now, almost three weeks out, I get it. The stages of grief in suddenly, unexpectedly losing a job are indeed similar in some respects to loss of a loved one. (

1) Denial, as in erecting an emotional buffer, downplaying the impact of the loss on one's finances and self-esteem. I did that, filling my initial days to appointments to arrange 401k rollovers, Medicare coverage, a ton of long-neglected domestic repairs and tasks, just to feel like I was accomplishing . . . something.

(2) Anger. This didn't last long, actually, but it was there for a while, and when one hears how well those last articles were accepted, it validates self-worth, sure, but also elevates the question, "Then why?"

The answer, honestly, has to be "Why not?" especially when it's not all about you, after all, and realizing that 33 other great people are asking the same questions.

(3) Bargaining. Well, there was none of that, since no alternatives were provided . . . unless scrambling to fill the now-empty hours with other work -- any work -- counts; I actually did that, filled out the employment forms, took training, and then realized I just could not be happy in the offered position -- truly, a square peg/round hole situation.

(4) Depression. Didn't really come until earlier this week, culminating with the pits on Wednesday.

Long story short(er), you give yourself time to process, once you realize this is your new reality . . . and, despite how it feels, you now must explore the long-dormant other values of life, allow faith, introspection and learning to re-invent, or resurrect your long shelved dreams and interests.

(5) And so comes Acceptance. As a former editor of mine used to say, ad nauseum, "It is what it is."

In both the loss of a loved one, or of a job that so defined you for decades, you must eventually bury the dead.

Truly, it stinks, but that's OK. Once in the hallowed ground of memory, suitably mourned and honored, you take your eyes off the freshly turned earth and walk toward the sun.

It will get better; there is more of life ahead, and you will, eventually, find ways to embrace the freedom.

For me, that means more time to pursue a part-time avocation, now as a vocation: freelance writing and editing. I've co- or ghost-written a dozen books and hundreds of articles over the last couple decades through my DBA, MimsMedia; I hope to do many more.