LEARNING TO DIE IN PIECES

2026 has not gone according to script as of the end of the first quarter. It hasn’t gone according to resolution either, because I finally learned the secret . . . don’t make any!  A long time ago I heard the secret to happiness is having low expectations. Sad . . . but kinda true. Sigh. But my sad start to the year actually had nothing to do with resolutions.

Many of you know that I lost my father recently, after a lengthy time in the hospital, and an even lengthier battle with daily and debilitating pain (38 years), after an auto crash. It was impossibly hard, but he handled it with such grace. My final words to him were, “I’m so very sorry for all the pain you’ve had to endure.” But those days are over. Forever. The picture you see is his gorgeous pine casket covered with 36 roses, one for each rose bush in his yard he so lovingly cared for. But those rose bushes always took a back seat to his family. I’m of course still trying to come to grips with this new reality, along with all who are grieving today.

A month later we got confirmation that the lump my mom found is indeed breast cancer. The good news is they caught it early and it will be removed via lumpectomy soon. We’re thankful she ignored the medical recommendation to cease getting mammograms in your 80’s. My mom is cut from the same cloth as her parents who endured the Great Depression, and many other setbacks, with such incredible grace. As owners of the Amanda Park Mercantile, they were responsible for getting many through that depression by not collecting on overdue store accounts. My grandparents, and my parents, are the most giving people I’ve ever known. They are also the most determined. You. Just. Keep. Moving. Forward.

I recently read a Substack (my new addiction) by Mike Glenn. In an article titled More Road in my Rear View he says, “We learn how to die the same way. We start with a thousand little deaths until we understand the life we want is always on the other side of death.” We learn to die. How is it that some people, like my father, die with such grace? We learned later he had told a nurse he had “lived a good life” and was ready. Huh? He was raised in abject poverty by an angry and at times abusive father. He supported his parents by working in a sawmill in Bellingham, WA, while putting himself through school at Western Washington State College. When he and my mom were married, he added another job to that equation. And did I mention he lived in awful pain his final 38 years . . . everyday?

But somewhere along the way he learned the secret not only to a good life, but a graceful death. I think part of the equation is he “died in pieces” along the way. I watched him go from the life of the party to a recluse who didn’t want to leave home. I watched him go from not missing a day of exercise to struggling to get out of his lazy boy. I watched him give, and give, and give without asking for anything in return, knowing he wouldn’t take anything with him across the thin veil. I watched his faith grow and bloom like his beloved roses through each and every season of life, including the thousand little deaths he suffered along the way.

I pray I can eventually learn to live meaningfully, and die peacefully, just like my daddy. One piece at a time.

JAY

“As we walk the Easter road this year, I pray we’ll learn this lesson of faith at an ever deeper level. Life waits on the other side of death.” (Mike Glenn)