By Joan Endicott
“I can’t believe she’s really gone!” My body ached from weeping as I lay across her lavender, orchid-covered casket on that foggy, frigid February morning. I just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her there. It was so cold. Like me, my sweet Penny hated being cold. It was just weeks earlier when we were in the ICU with her that I covered her with my heated vest to help her warm up so she could rest comfortably.
Even after her days in the ICU, we were lying on her bed in her bedroom, laughing hysterically about our college-day antics—which began 45 years prior when we met and instantly loved one another as soul-sisters—but the lasting joy those memories brought made them feel so very recent.
Like the time we wanted to get a pretty Coppertone tan for our upcoming double date to the Junior/Senior banquet, so we borrowed a tanning lamp. The directions said to put it six feet away for 15 minutes. Since we were in a hurry, we reasoned that if we put it three feet away for 30 minutes, it would work twice as fast! (Um, that’s a hard NO!) Painful, not pretty, second-degree burns later…sporting ice packs and healing salves on our faces for the next 72 hours…the date was almost canceled and would have been had we not been going with the best guys around. (I married my date!)
Or that fun sunny afternoon when Mark, Penny and I were goofing around after chapel, and we started talking like the characters from The Wizard of Oz—then began skipping down the sidewalk, arm-in-arm, singing “Follow The Yellow Brick Road.”
There was also the time with her parents at the Western Idaho State Fair when Penny and I discovered a llama that had a straw stuck in its throat. We just knew that if we could successfully demonstrate to Lucy Llama how to hawk that thing up, she could finally be free of it. Since that was before cell phones, there is no evidence of this, but hearing and seeing the hootin’ hollerin’ laughter, first from her parents and then others who were enjoying the show, it seems we could have been one of the featured attractions.
Then there’s the rodeo-gal Penny! If you haven’t seen a rodeo with Penny, you ain’t seen one, pardner! She had more “Yee haw’s” and “Let’r bucks” and sang more rodeo songs at the top of her lungs than any cowgirl West of the Mississippi! Getting to experience years of these and so many other best memories with her, Dave, and our kids—well, those are the most valuable treasures ever!
Such special memories give life to the past and present and serve as proof that the grief is so deep because the love was so strong. “How lucky (blessed) I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” —Winnie the Pooh
Though expecting the dreaded call, it hit like a tidal wave crashing against my soul when it did come. Disbelief—yet—not. I can’t believe she’s gone. My Penny’s gone? I don’t know this life without her. What happened, Lord? What could/should we have done/not done? We prayed—we hoped—we pleaded—we believed for miracles—even confident they were coming—certain we had seen some. For two and a half years, we expected God to touch her and heal her body completely from this illness.
We had hoped for so long…so much hope…until the moment the doctor asked us to step out into the hallway. “I’m sorry, but her body is shutting down. There’s nothing else that can be done for her. Now it’s a matter of making her as comfortable as possible.” No idea what he said after that. It didn’t matter. The rest was a blur. You know that out-of-body experience where shock sucks the oxygen right out of you like a vacuum?
Then even greater heartbreak: Watching my dear “brother” Dave, her grief-stricken beloved husband (Davey to her), share the doctor’s piercing words with his beloved bride—his heart crushing even more with the weight of those words. She, too, was shocked and later shared that she never thought she would actually die from this horrible disease of cancer that started in her breast.
So many months later, it feels surreal—a fog of disbelief at times. Other times, tears just start streaming down my face with no warning—just a hurting heart missing my soul-sister. That’s how grief is; it sneaks up and grabs you from behind and squeezes the air out, leaving you to wonder if or when you will ever fully catch your breath.
When you watch your loved one transition from this life to the next, it’s a gut-wrenching, bolt-of-lightning reminder of the uncertainty and brevity of this life. In those moments, we are crystal clear about what matters and what doesn’t. Crisis creates clarity.
Grief is the heartbreak no one escapes. It’s a reminder of our mortality and a motivator to, as country artist Tim McGraw sings, “Live Like You Were Dying.” Living with an eternal perspective rather than a temporal one changes absolutely everything.
Though there are various parts to grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance), they are not linear but rather like an out-of-control roller coaster. The grief journey is as unique as we are. There’s no right or wrong way to grieve. There’s no how-to manual. It’s a private, personal journey. Yet we Christians have the one thing that makes everything different—HOPE!
“He will wipe away every tear from our eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away” (Revelation 21:4). This verse offers hope beyond grief, envisioning a future without suffering.
Faith and grief co-exist. Christians grieve differently, yet we grieve deeply. Life has changed—but it’s not over. Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Our hope is in our eternal home, not this temporal one.
Where I am now is looking at my precious Penny’s life and asking, “So what will I do with these memories, these examples, this clarity that life is 100% uncertain?” The days we have are unknown, but we get to choose what we do with each and every one of them. As long as you and I still have a pulse, we have a purpose! We get to see every day as a fresh, clean slate.
Lamentations 3:22-23 says, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” We get to choose right now to live with a renewed eternal perspective, on-purpose—by design, not by default.
Penny inspired me and everyone who knew her. How? By her loving example! Her priority was to live for Jesus every single day. So, what do we do with it all? Do we go into that black pit of grief and stay there? I did for months—still want to at times. I wish there was a more comforting answer to the question, How long will this take? other than, As long as it takes.
“Grief never ends…but it changes. It’s a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor lack of faith…it is the price of love.” –Elizabeth I
Lessons from Penny’s Life Well-Lived:
Penny was a beautiful example of being present, engaging with those around her while squeezing every possible ounce of joy out of each moment. She made everyone feel special, included, and loved. (She disliked using a phone, so was never tempted to be distracted by them.) Her life reflected Jesus’ love and she would tell you it was because the Joy of the Lord was her strength (Nehemiah 8:10).
I’m eternally grateful for my soul-sister Penny’s love, life, and legacy—may it inspire us all to live every day with an unwavering love for our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, living on-purpose for His eternal purposes! And…getting to spend eternity together—how great is that?
Grab your FREE copy of Joan Endicott’s “I Get To!”® book at www.JoanEndicott.com. Also, be one of the first to get her 2nd book, “I Get To!”® Own My Worth! Joan is an Award-Winning Keynote Speaker, Author and Coach whose coaching has reached over 30 countries. Find out more about her speaking and coaching here: www.JoanEndicott.com.
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