Psalm 100
Sing to the Lord all creatures!
Worship Him with your joy; Praise Him with the sound of your laughter.
Know that we all belong to Him, that He is our source and our home.
Enter His light with thanksgiving; fill your hearts with His praise.
For His goodness is beyond comprehension, and His deep love endures forever.
Yesterday and today mark the passing of Doris and Marian Storer into the arms of their beloved Savior, one and seven years ago respectively. They both loved Psalm 100.
I wrote this two years after Marian died.
Your voice will forever remain protected in my mind
Your beautiful smile, and the simple warming 'yes' that was spoken so often
Kind, deep, loving gaze
Forever you, the strong woman of God
In life's frailty still loyal to your sisters and to your Savior
Fall free away
Bring heaven to your feet
walk every day
Through pure and golden streets
But I'll still miss you forever and today
Sometimes I think that I grieve differently and longer than other people. But really, how do we mark the years as they go by? Close family is supposed to grieve and struggle and find ways to move on with their life. but there is little different about my life in the absence of a childhood model of kindness. I don't have routines to be altered, places in my home to trigger happy and sad memories. There is very little different except this deep sadness that doesn't seem to ease as the years go on.
I think my parents tried to protect me from death. Whenever someone close was dying they were deemed too sick to visit. I was told that I should remember them how they were when they were healthy, not sick and dwindling, that I didn't really need to visit them and that I would understand when I was older. But I think I did need to see them. My dad was right though, When I think of Doris I think of her lying in bed, like a small child, barely making an impression where the blankets were draped over her. I think of all of her kind words and smiling face. I think of the time that I visited and she came outside to greet me even though she needed help down the steps and didn't recognize me at all. I see the true end of her physical life, drawing breathes so shallow they could barely be heard, and that is what I want to remember. I know that she died in beautiful ignorance in the house that she was born, raised, and lived in. That is worthy of remembering.
