Good Lord, How I Miss Her

(Image provided by StoryBlocks collection)

I celebrated my birthday a couple of days ago; for the last five years, that’s been a relative term in my family, especially for my wife, her dad, and me. Five years ago it seemed that a meteor struck and Janet Hall Mauk suffered a horrific stroke. That’s when the grieving started, when the angst opened up like a crater and the waters of worry and doubt flooded in. For nearly five years I treaded water, sinking at times only to bob up and gasp for air, or for a period, laying back and floating on the surface. Make no mistake, I didn’t leave the bowl that formed the lake and even when swimming I failed to feel as though I made progress. The gloom at the depths of the lake have been ever-present.

The loss of our fare Janet was made official on October 2, 2018 as she passed away with family gathered around her. It was fitting that they were at her side because she was such a faithful mother and wife and she relished family gatherings. My greatest regret on the trail from her stroke to her death is that I did not grab her hand and pray The Lord’s Prayer with her. I’ll carry the regret right to the throne room on my own final day.

Good Lord, how I miss her and these few words scarce do the feelings justice. All the wonderful words, psalms, and scriptures we Christians offer upon the passing of a person of faith seem like clichés when they are being said to me. It is a strange feeling during the early days of grief to hold these words as weapons against the loss in one hand and rail about their seeming inadequacy with the other. This seems especially poignant when someone has suffered, or at least the family has suffered, for so long as Jan.

I miss my mother-in-law, miss her quiet wisdom and the look on her face that said she knew more than she was sharing – and found it humorous. She laughed with an ease that bespoke of great practice. It was one of the things about her that continued after the stroke took her from us. We could see glimpses of our beloved Jan when she joined in the laughter during our frequent family gatherings around her. She loves her family; husband, sons and daughter, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Cousins, aunts, and uncles all knew the warmth of her heart.

I miss my sister. Jan worked my spiritual butt off. She grabbed hold of some sort of faith for me that I could never fathom the reason for. (Yes, she’d grind her teeth at that dangling preposition; probably is now as she stands in God’s Throne room.) But that’s faith in a nutshell. Jan got me to serve on our church’s Session, an elected group of ruling elders, when most people couldn’t. I was called, and she knew it, and I couldn’t say no to her. I suspect the nominating committee she served on then knew that as well. She called on me to say prayers at family dinners and was a quiet source of support as I plied the waters of youth ministry.

I miss my fan. I first started writing for the Messenger, our church newsletter when the Student Ministries Director ask me to write the group’s monthly articles. I loved doing it. It was different than the business writing that I was doing on a daily basis and I relished the opportunity to write about cool kids and the faith they inspired in me. Jan loved it too and made the effort to let me know how much she liked each article and was as sad as I was when the next director came in and took back the responsibility. Aside from my own mother, Jan was my biggest supporter and the hole left behind is significant.

I miss my mother-in-law and the identity she brought to family gatherings. I love the deference she is shown by her sons and daughter. The love and devotion shown by her husband could be written as a chapter by Paul on love in one of his epistles.

Rest well sister. While your works did not earn your way into heaven they nevertheless stand as evidence of a life well lived, well served, and well loved.

jerry