My wife Janalee, now residing up in Heaven, doesn't have to endure being treated like an evil space alien because she _didn't_ get an abortion when she was raped as a teenager. But all of the physicians who tried to help her during her long struggle against disability are close to being treated like evil space aliens if _they_ refuse to _perform_ abortions.
When my _first_ wife Mary--also now in Heaven--was with me in Japan, she learned that Japan _requires_ abortion on demand; any Japanese doctor who refuses to kill babies loses his license. That's coming here in America, if the Lord High Savior Barack Obama wins this election.
Just to be clear, I'm talking about the same Lord High Obama who makes the pitch about "spreading the wealth around"...but whose _actual_ degree of spreading HIS OWN wealth around has been documented on Paul Caron's "TaxProf Blog" as follows.
Here is a summary of the figures:
0.5 percent in 2001.
0.4 percent in 2002.
1.4 percent in 2003.
1.2 percent in 2004.
4.7 percent in 2005.
And 6.1 percent, whoop-dee-do, in 2006.
Paul Caron writes: "What is surprising, given the recent controversy over Obama's membership in the Trinity United Church of Christ, is how little the Obamas apparently gave to charity -- well short of the biblical 10% tithe for all seven years. In two of the years, the Obamas gave far less than 1% of their income to charity; in three of the years, they gave around 1% of their income to charity. Only in the last two years have they given substantially more as their income skyrocketed -- 4.7% in 2005 and 6.1% in 2006. (Of course, it is possible that the Obamas may have made gifts to other worthy causes that were not deductible for federal income tax purposes.)"
I (Joseph Ravitts) can state as a concrete fact that I, a military retiree, give away a higher percentage of my annual income than the oh-so-compassionate Lord High Obama does, including "gifts to other worthy causes that were not deductible for federal income tax purposes." That's because my idea of compassion _doesn't_ mean forcibly taking away _your_ money to pay off my voting base. But I confess that I didn't give to one cause which Obama has heavily supported with his own money: the ACORN organization, which is dedicated to falsifying election results in his favor.
If enough real and fictional voters are swayed by the mindless mantra of "Change!" to put Obama in the White House, he'll get the chance to prove what he means by "Freedom Of Choice." He means just what the "pro-choice" movement has ALWAYS
meant by its double-talk: "freedom" in ONLY ONE DIRECTION, always and everywhere FOR abortion, and too bloody bad for anyone who has a conscience.
But that's okay, dear Change Zombies, because you won't have to listen to the voices of morality objecting. The Lord High Obama is also an advocate of the Fairness Doctrine--"fairness" having of course the same one-way meaning as "choice." It isn't enough in the great Obama's eyes that the hardcore left in America already has ALL the major broadcast television networks, ALL the country's biggest newspapers, ALL the slickest movie and music-video stars, and other media resources besides, totally and one-sidedly on its team. Any and every communications outlet that conservatives do still have must be diminished and restricted, until we have one-party airwaves to match a one-party government.
To doctors who DO remember the Hippocratic Oath...and to radio station owners who naively think they have the right (under the same First Amendment which leftists appeal to when it suits them) to run the programs _they_ prefer...and to "bitter Americans" who are so primitive as to believe they should be allowed to defend themselves against criminal assault inside their own homes...and to Christians who _don't_ think marriage needs to be redefined as "any sleeping arrangement anybody likes" ...and to our military personnel to whom Obama has said that military service warps their personalities...I say, I'll be praying for you, praying for us all.
And Janalee, I trust you'll be praying for us from up there.
JOSEPH RICHARD RAVITTS
Ut fidem praestem in difficultate!
Monday, November 3, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
A Not-At-All-Pleasant Greeting From Hallmark
I have often had cause to think about what evils my Janalee may have been spared from by being called away to Heaven so early and quickly. I was mostly thinking in
terms of horrible disasters and plagues in which Jan might have died slowly and painfully. But one thing I _didn't_ foresee for her to be _spared_ from was the
poisoning, the defiling, of something that she cherished.
I mean the Hallmark Corporation, whose cable-TV channel provided my darling "penguin" with hours of enjoyment in the form of Michael Landon's "Little House on the Prairie" program, and Michael Landon Junior's adaptations of Janette Oke novels. It would not surprise me if I could find out that Jan has by now gotten the elder Landon's autograph up there. But Hallmark is now getting its hall all marked up, with a mark alien to the Ingalls family.
Today I learned that, in its original sector, Hallmark is now selling....HOMOSEXUAL WEDDING CARDS.
I had already smelled a rat when I saw the Hallmark Channel give huge publicity to a TV movie featuring the fanatically anti-American, anti-Christian, pro-Communist and pro-terrorist Vanessa Redgrave. But this move with card merchandising still caught me by surprise.
How long will it be now before the cable-TV outlet is instructed by corporate HQ to start conforming to the philosophy reflected in the new cards, that homosexuality
is completely normal? Will my Jan, and Mr. Landon Senior, have to turn their eyes away from Earth, as the Hallmark Channel premieres a new "family" series called "Little Gay Bathhouse on the Prairie"? Actually, the mortal viewers down here may scarcely even notice, with all the gay-matchmaking programs _already_ airing on basic cable.
Even before Hallmark sold out to the sodomizing tail that wants to wag the national dog, a local newspaper here in Colorado had shown its loyalties by going out of its way to spotlight a gay-male couple when it wanted to do an article on choices in home decoration. And the McDonald's chain has adopted the so-called "Out & Equal" program to advertise homosexuality. Their defenders pretend that this is "only" a matter of allowing suppliers owned by gays to do business with the restaurant chain; but this is a transparent LIE, since there is nothing that would stop McDonald's from going ahead and buying beef and potatoes from gay suppliers _without_ specially trumpeting the glories of homosexuality as such _while_ buying the groceries.
It probably is not too soon to start betting pools about which other "alternative lifestyle" will be _next_ in line to demand that society declare it normal, complete with its own Hallmark cards. I hear that incest is getting a boost, with Julianne Moore starring in a movie about a mother having sex with her son. But don't count polygamy out of the race, what with Muslim audiences increasing in numbers. Maybe necrophiliacs can derive some leverage out of the current fad for vampire novels. And, I'm sorry to say, the beloved British TV series "Doctor Who" has not only started featuring gay characters, but also did a story in which we were told that an Earth woman had been able to bear a child to a space alien who was not at all humanoid in his true physical form; whether intended by the BBC writers or not, this episode might be grabbed onto by proponents of bestiality.
I invite _anyone_ to give me a convincing reason why I should _not_ expect ALL these "variations" to demand public respectability as loudly and petulantly as homosexuality has demanded it.
Are those crickets I hear chirping in the silence? Will someone please tell Chuck Norris what they're doing to the company that's been airing his pro-Christian "Walker, Texas Ranger" series?
JOSEPH R. RAVITTS
terms of horrible disasters and plagues in which Jan might have died slowly and painfully. But one thing I _didn't_ foresee for her to be _spared_ from was the
poisoning, the defiling, of something that she cherished.
I mean the Hallmark Corporation, whose cable-TV channel provided my darling "penguin" with hours of enjoyment in the form of Michael Landon's "Little House on the Prairie" program, and Michael Landon Junior's adaptations of Janette Oke novels. It would not surprise me if I could find out that Jan has by now gotten the elder Landon's autograph up there. But Hallmark is now getting its hall all marked up, with a mark alien to the Ingalls family.
Today I learned that, in its original sector, Hallmark is now selling....HOMOSEXUAL WEDDING CARDS.
I had already smelled a rat when I saw the Hallmark Channel give huge publicity to a TV movie featuring the fanatically anti-American, anti-Christian, pro-Communist and pro-terrorist Vanessa Redgrave. But this move with card merchandising still caught me by surprise.
How long will it be now before the cable-TV outlet is instructed by corporate HQ to start conforming to the philosophy reflected in the new cards, that homosexuality
is completely normal? Will my Jan, and Mr. Landon Senior, have to turn their eyes away from Earth, as the Hallmark Channel premieres a new "family" series called "Little Gay Bathhouse on the Prairie"? Actually, the mortal viewers down here may scarcely even notice, with all the gay-matchmaking programs _already_ airing on basic cable.
Even before Hallmark sold out to the sodomizing tail that wants to wag the national dog, a local newspaper here in Colorado had shown its loyalties by going out of its way to spotlight a gay-male couple when it wanted to do an article on choices in home decoration. And the McDonald's chain has adopted the so-called "Out & Equal" program to advertise homosexuality. Their defenders pretend that this is "only" a matter of allowing suppliers owned by gays to do business with the restaurant chain; but this is a transparent LIE, since there is nothing that would stop McDonald's from going ahead and buying beef and potatoes from gay suppliers _without_ specially trumpeting the glories of homosexuality as such _while_ buying the groceries.
It probably is not too soon to start betting pools about which other "alternative lifestyle" will be _next_ in line to demand that society declare it normal, complete with its own Hallmark cards. I hear that incest is getting a boost, with Julianne Moore starring in a movie about a mother having sex with her son. But don't count polygamy out of the race, what with Muslim audiences increasing in numbers. Maybe necrophiliacs can derive some leverage out of the current fad for vampire novels. And, I'm sorry to say, the beloved British TV series "Doctor Who" has not only started featuring gay characters, but also did a story in which we were told that an Earth woman had been able to bear a child to a space alien who was not at all humanoid in his true physical form; whether intended by the BBC writers or not, this episode might be grabbed onto by proponents of bestiality.
I invite _anyone_ to give me a convincing reason why I should _not_ expect ALL these "variations" to demand public respectability as loudly and petulantly as homosexuality has demanded it.
Are those crickets I hear chirping in the silence? Will someone please tell Chuck Norris what they're doing to the company that's been airing his pro-Christian "Walker, Texas Ranger" series?
JOSEPH R. RAVITTS
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Playing House And Playing Victim
Written on the third anniversary of the day when I proposed marriage to my Janalee, who now has a Heavenly mansion to dwell in--close to my first wife's mansion, there in the Kingdom where there is no rivalry or jealousy.
Long ago, around the time I got married to my Mary, there was a vacant house across the street from the formerly-vacant house we were homesteading under a city program. The owner of this unused house was hoping to rent it to someone. What he got was fifty percent of what he was looking for: that is, he got all of the burden and none of the reward. What happened was that a homeless family literally BROKE INTO the house, just like burglars, and began helping themselves not only to shelter, but also to heat, light and water that were being paid for by the owner.
The owner of the house hated to turn poor people out on the street, so he WENT ON paying for these utilities, which he could have cut off--much as the government of Israel in recent times has shown mercy to the very Palestinians who shoot rockets at them from Gaza, by NOT instantly cutting off their electrical power supply. The house owner, however, was so evil and mercenary and wicked and inhuman as to ask if the thieves using his property might consider paying him rent.
When months had passed with no rent forthcoming from the thieves, the owner of the property finally decided that he had given them a free ride at his own unrewarded expense long enough. So he called on the police to evict the long-term burglars. That's when the real fun started.
The liberal establishment in our city immediately erupted in furious outrage against this EEEEEE-vil, GREEEEE-dy landlord who had so cruelly turned out his poor "tenants." That's right, the thieves were spoken of as "tenants." The leftwing establishment was careful not to mention the inconvenient fact that the squatters
WERE NOT tenants, that they were nothing but burglars in the very truest sense of the term. It made a better story for the owner of the house to be dressed in a Snidely Whiplash outfit, complete with top hat and cape. The thieves, being white American citizens, didn't have the race card to play; but the class-envy card was enough to make them innocent victims. They weren't evil right-wing capitalists, so they could not be wrongdoers, that wouldn't fit the script.
As I say, this happened a long time ago. Enough time has passed that the children of that family may by now be doing their own break-ins just like Mom and Dad. But I've been reminded of the incident because of recent mortgage problems nationwide.
Now, I've never pretended to be an economics expert. My grown daughter (who, with her husband, actually PAID FOR the place where they live) works for a credit union, and understands far more than I do about Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. But I don't need to be a degreed economist to notice a slant in the public discussion. When home-buying is the subject, almost all I ever hear is how EEEEE-vil the sellers and lenders are. I don't deny that there are crooked businessmen and heartless rich people; my Mary came up against privileged, pampered crooks in a different context in the course of her honorable career as a nurse. But I know for a certainty that
there's ALSO such a thing as irresponsible behavior by some buyers, borrowers....and thieving squatters.
If you insist that the EEEEEE-vil rich people by themselves constitute the entire and complete explanation of the mortgage crisis, then you're not really looking for a complete explanation; you're only looking for a convenient villain, and you figure
that "Thou shalt not steal" should only be binding on the wealthy whom you want people to envy.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Saturday's memorial service in Colorado went well.
People who had only met Jan--and therefore had come to love her--in her last year on Earth, got the chance to find out more about her life previous to Colorado. Not so entirely new to Jan, and paying their respects, were my daughter Annemarie with her husband Anthony Martinez, and my cousin retired USAF General Wayne Schultz with his wife Susan. One person among those present whom I had _not_ met before was a young mother named Dawn, who had received the last one of the baby blankets Jan had knitted to give away via our church (along with a mitten set). Dawn showed us her treasures, mementoes of Jan, and told me that she had at least glimpsed Jan on several occasions when Jan was volunteering in the church's childcare space.
Although I lack the technique to post pictures directly onto this weblog, a kindly brother in Christ has made it possible for me to provide a link to the last photo of Jan ever taken in mortal life. The very timing of this picture even occurring revealed God's merciful providence, ensuring that there would be a very recent image to let those who love Jan remember her in a happy time.
http://royalmagi.org/janjoe.jpg
After all, we can't look straight up into Heaven from here and behold Jan as she is NOW--apart from the one dear girl who was given the vision of Jan seated at ease up there. But while all trace of illness, pain or aging will now be gone from Jan's immortal features, her same lovely smile will doubtless be recognizable.
Although I lack the technique to post pictures directly onto this weblog, a kindly brother in Christ has made it possible for me to provide a link to the last photo of Jan ever taken in mortal life. The very timing of this picture even occurring revealed God's merciful providence, ensuring that there would be a very recent image to let those who love Jan remember her in a happy time.
http://royalmagi.org/janjoe.jpg
After all, we can't look straight up into Heaven from here and behold Jan as she is NOW--apart from the one dear girl who was given the vision of Jan seated at ease up there. But while all trace of illness, pain or aging will now be gone from Jan's immortal features, her same lovely smile will doubtless be recognizable.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
God's Gestures Of Consolation Are Diverse
Lots of mail accumulated for me in Colorado while I was in Illinois and points east. upon coming home and picking it up, I found many kindly cards. One was especially intriguing.
It was from a Colorado address, and the sender was a woman I had never heard of. So a thought came to me: "Wouldn't it be neat if this person turned out to be one of
the impoverished young mothers for whom Jan made baby garments under the auspices of our church?"
Then I opened the envelope, and that's _exactly_ what it was. The woman told of receiving a blanket Jan had knitted, and said she would cherish it gratefully. A
piece of Jan's bread cast on the waters thus returns.
The picture on the front of the card featured a yellow butterfly. And on the long walk I took today, precisely at times when I had been thinking about the
heartwarming condolence card, two yellow butterflies at separate moments flew past close to me. This is the kind of occurrence I call "a postcard from Heaven;" and for
that matter, the first comforting "butterfly incident" I experienced after MARY'S passing also involved a yellow one. God likes to show patterns in events, letting us know that we are not struck in a coldly meaningless universe.
It was from a Colorado address, and the sender was a woman I had never heard of. So a thought came to me: "Wouldn't it be neat if this person turned out to be one of
the impoverished young mothers for whom Jan made baby garments under the auspices of our church?"
Then I opened the envelope, and that's _exactly_ what it was. The woman told of receiving a blanket Jan had knitted, and said she would cherish it gratefully. A
piece of Jan's bread cast on the waters thus returns.
The picture on the front of the card featured a yellow butterfly. And on the long walk I took today, precisely at times when I had been thinking about the
heartwarming condolence card, two yellow butterflies at separate moments flew past close to me. This is the kind of occurrence I call "a postcard from Heaven;" and for
that matter, the first comforting "butterfly incident" I experienced after MARY'S passing also involved a yellow one. God likes to show patterns in events, letting us know that we are not struck in a coldly meaningless universe.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Fruit From A Fallen Grain Of Wheat Includes The Revival Of My Ability To Compose Music
Before I share the lyrics of the new song I've written, let me mention that God had a distinct reason for letting me seem to hear Jan calling my name as already described. It was leading up to something. On the Friday after Jan's homegoing, I received a sympathetic e-mail from a pastor's wife Jan and I had known in Maryland. In it, this good lady included Isaiah 43:1, in which God says to the believer, "I HAVE CALLED YOU BY NAME." That is just one of the ways in which God has come to my spirit's aid in this loss.
The following song was initially inspired by our use of a wheelchair during Jan's final earthly weeks. The part about the mountain and the breeze acknowledges another of God's signs of comfort. A teenage girl we were acquainted with, who had recently come to Jesus, was granted a mental image of Jan up in Heaven, sitting at ease on a cliff edge where she could look down and see me. My thanks to that sweet girl for sharing the vision with me; it is now the way my mind sees Jan. And the Scriptural phrase "Taste and see" came to mind because one of Jan's effects from her head injury in 2001 was a near-total loss of her sense of taste. The angels must now be bringing her hot-fudge sundaes, which now she CAN taste.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
"LADY JANALEE WAITS"
Under dark brown hair, green eyes are aware
Of all others do to love and to care.
When I step away, she waits for me there;
I always have returned.
In her chair she waits, with trust on her face;
The carriage will come, to find her in place.
Her body so frail will feel my embrace,
My love once more confirmed.
Lady Janalee, you came to me
Afflicted by your burden;
When I met your need, I gained indeed,
Loved by a fellow servant.
I'm so glad we had our dance
While your strength remained;
Your sweet hands could knit romance
From the yarn of pain.
Maidens who are wise, as mentioned by Christ,
Will watch for the groom with oil for their lights.
And my love as well, through uneasy nights,
Is waiting for her King.
I can see the haze of pain in her gaze;
She needs help to walk; she totters and sways.
But almighty love has numbered her days,
And soon her soul takes wing.
Lady Janalee, your faith in me
Inspired me to be worthy.
Would that God on high would say just why
He called you home so early!
But it was your setting free,
Never your defeat.
Henceforth, there'll be fruit to see
From your grain of wheat.
Now the other side is home to my bride;
From there, ever since the day she arrived,
She can, when she likes, behold him who tried
To lighten her hard load.
On a mountain fair, with breeze in her hair,
She waits for the day when I'll be up there.
For now, Janalee can still offer prayer
To help me on the road.
Lady Janalee, eternity
Has been made even richer
Since your childlike heart became a part
Of Paradise's picture.
Taste and see that God is true,
Till I find you there;
Those green eyes will prove it's you,
Under dark brown hair.
(c) Joseph Richard Ravitts
The following song was initially inspired by our use of a wheelchair during Jan's final earthly weeks. The part about the mountain and the breeze acknowledges another of God's signs of comfort. A teenage girl we were acquainted with, who had recently come to Jesus, was granted a mental image of Jan up in Heaven, sitting at ease on a cliff edge where she could look down and see me. My thanks to that sweet girl for sharing the vision with me; it is now the way my mind sees Jan. And the Scriptural phrase "Taste and see" came to mind because one of Jan's effects from her head injury in 2001 was a near-total loss of her sense of taste. The angels must now be bringing her hot-fudge sundaes, which now she CAN taste.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
"LADY JANALEE WAITS"
Under dark brown hair, green eyes are aware
Of all others do to love and to care.
When I step away, she waits for me there;
I always have returned.
In her chair she waits, with trust on her face;
The carriage will come, to find her in place.
Her body so frail will feel my embrace,
My love once more confirmed.
Lady Janalee, you came to me
Afflicted by your burden;
When I met your need, I gained indeed,
Loved by a fellow servant.
I'm so glad we had our dance
While your strength remained;
Your sweet hands could knit romance
From the yarn of pain.
Maidens who are wise, as mentioned by Christ,
Will watch for the groom with oil for their lights.
And my love as well, through uneasy nights,
Is waiting for her King.
I can see the haze of pain in her gaze;
She needs help to walk; she totters and sways.
But almighty love has numbered her days,
And soon her soul takes wing.
Lady Janalee, your faith in me
Inspired me to be worthy.
Would that God on high would say just why
He called you home so early!
But it was your setting free,
Never your defeat.
Henceforth, there'll be fruit to see
From your grain of wheat.
Now the other side is home to my bride;
From there, ever since the day she arrived,
She can, when she likes, behold him who tried
To lighten her hard load.
On a mountain fair, with breeze in her hair,
She waits for the day when I'll be up there.
For now, Janalee can still offer prayer
To help me on the road.
Lady Janalee, eternity
Has been made even richer
Since your childlike heart became a part
Of Paradise's picture.
Taste and see that God is true,
Till I find you there;
Those green eyes will prove it's you,
Under dark brown hair.
(c) Joseph Richard Ravitts
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
God Has Taken ANOTHER Loved One Away From Me
This morning (Wednesday, 30 April) at about 10:25 a.m. Rocky Mountain Time, Janalee Ravitts, born Janalee Green, was launched up to Heaven from an emergency room in Aurora, Colorado. The cause of death was a massive heart attack, for which no warning signs of any sort had been detectable. In fact, only two days before, she had had a doctor's appointment in which her vital signs looked good. None of us knows when God will summon us to meet Him. But I do know that my Jan, like my Mary before her, went there clothed in the righteousness of her Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.
The biggest apparent problem Jan had been facing in her last earthly weeks had been her worsening mobility. The chronic headaches which had plagued her since well before I married her were at least somewhat under control, as she regularly took no less than six prescription medications in this connection. (Maybe those very medications were exhausting her heart, though I have no evidence that this was so.) In the area of sensory impairment arising from her brain injury in the car crash in 2001--in fact, EXACTLY seven years ago yesterday--she had been enjoying some "breakthroughs" of being able to taste and smell things. But her ability to walk was dramatically worsening, making her feel embarrassed to be seen outdoors. And she was losing enthusiasm for life; her appetite was less, and she was not so often eager to have me read books to her, though on her last afternoon she did have me read some to her (from Janette Oke's Christian novel "A Quiet Strength") in the bedroom where she lay.
Part of the walking problem was in her mind. Poor Jan had fallen down several times over the last two months, and a fear of falling was practically paralyzing her. I enrolled her for physical therapy--ironically, at Spalding Rehabilitation Hospital, where my Mary had once been an employee!--and I was experimenting with what was the best way I could hold her up walking. A side-by-side "promenade" stance was working best, as long as she had any strength left; but in the last few days, the only way she could move appreciably forward on her feet was while actually held in my arms, face to face, with me retreating before her. This was more and more turning into outright carrying her.
Yesterday, she said her legs were hurting--which at first I logically supposed was muscle cramping from the vigorous therapy of Monday afternon. But the real trouble was that, for reasons that were never determined, her left leg had swollen up hideously. I had her lie with the leg elevated, and called her physician to get the soonest possible appointment to examine it.
This morning was when she was supposed to be seen about the swelling. It gives me some little comfort to be able to say that, when Jan opened her eyes in bed this morning, she saw me right there beside her and smiled. After breakfast (cooked by me as usual), Jan said she wanted to brush her teeth. So I wheeled her in her wheelchair (bought only a matter of weeks ago) as far as our bedroom door, where I had to lift her out. As I was "embrace-walking" her toward the bathroom, Jan said to me, "I'm sorry I'm such a pain." I replied, "I'm sorry you are, too." Based on our many past conversations, she knew that I was not saying this to suggest that she was at all to blame for her disabilities. I went on: "But you can't help it. And I'll never stop loving you, because you're my sweetheart. A mobility-challenged sweetheart, but still my sweetheart." This pleased her.
I thank God that I did say this to her; because not long afterward I was nagging her on to make an effort to keep her feet under her, as I took her out of the wheelchair at our front door and tried to help her to the van, intending then to bring the wheelchair along. In our last two-way conversation on Earth, Jan said little else but "I can't!" As we reached the van, she could no longer keep her feet under her at all. I tried to place a lawn chair for her to rest on...but she was already sagging down like a wet sandbag...and then her eyes rolled back.
She did not die instantly, though. She coughingly breathed for a little while, not responding to anything I said. So I dialed 911 on my cellphone, then tried to give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation while awaiting the ambulance and paramedics. Saying that she was "agonal," they worked furiously over her on the driveway, then loaded her into the ambulance, in which I rode with them to the hospital.
A chaplain named David Reeves waited with me in a "quiet room." Then Doctor Robert Howe came in and told me that Jan's heart was totally non-functional, despite everything they could do. As soon as they gave up the CPR, she would die. But on the basis of his extensive medical experience, he assured me that Jan would be able to hear me if I came and spoke to her at once. I therefore went to where she lay, bristling with medical hardware, and said approximately these words:
"Jan, sweetheart, it's Joe. I hope you know I've tried to do what was best for you. I wish I could have done more. I'm sorry if I failed you in anything, but you know I love you. If there's anything you would have wanted to say to me, just remember it while you're waiting in Heaven; and you can say it to me when we're together again, in the place where there is no jealousy or pain." (The reference to jealousy was because Jan had sometimes been jealous of her predecessor Mary.) "I promise you I'll try to help comfort your family. Pray for us up there." Shortly after I said this, Jan was hearing another voice saying, "Welcome to Heaven, My dear child."
Doctor Howe was later to explain the evidence which proved people on the edge of death could still hear speech. Thus he promised he was not making it up when he insisted that Jan had heard my loving farewell. And he added that, veterans of life and death though he and his staff were, my words had moved them all to tears. (Perhaps this was a very early start in fruit being borne by Jan's grain of wheat fallen into the earth.)
Because I experienced chest pains after Jan passed away, they detained me at the hospital for EKG's, blood-enzyme work and X-rays. This was the first medical attention of any kind I had received since I retired from the Navy. Stuck at the hospital, but having with me both my cellphone and Jan's, I made many calls, mostly to Jan's family members. My cousin Wayne afterwards drove me home from the hospital--as I struggled with realizing that I would have to stop calling it "our" house. Then I was mobbed by sympathetic neighbors for a time, before I could commence my first session of talking to Jan in Heaven while seated in a lawn chair. As with Mary, I make no stupid attempts to conjure a REPLY by self-delusion. And yet..you never know.
Twice during my writing of this, I have felt certain I could hear Jan's voice calling me, as so often she would call me away from the computer when she needed something. So each of those times, though I didn't think it was actually Jan speaking, I went up to the bedroom and spoke to Jan for awhile. The days to come will be chaotic; but I will speak to Jan again.
I often used to fear that Jan, in her vulnerability, might end up dying a long and miserable death in some disaster. But she has been spared from that; her departure was quick and sudden. I wish that she were still here. But I remember how she used to say she wished she were normal; and now, she's BETTER than normal. I also wish I had a recording of her singing in her sweetly childlike voice; but when I see her in Heaven, I'll ask her to sing in that voice for me before she goes back to her angelic voice.
The biggest apparent problem Jan had been facing in her last earthly weeks had been her worsening mobility. The chronic headaches which had plagued her since well before I married her were at least somewhat under control, as she regularly took no less than six prescription medications in this connection. (Maybe those very medications were exhausting her heart, though I have no evidence that this was so.) In the area of sensory impairment arising from her brain injury in the car crash in 2001--in fact, EXACTLY seven years ago yesterday--she had been enjoying some "breakthroughs" of being able to taste and smell things. But her ability to walk was dramatically worsening, making her feel embarrassed to be seen outdoors. And she was losing enthusiasm for life; her appetite was less, and she was not so often eager to have me read books to her, though on her last afternoon she did have me read some to her (from Janette Oke's Christian novel "A Quiet Strength") in the bedroom where she lay.
Part of the walking problem was in her mind. Poor Jan had fallen down several times over the last two months, and a fear of falling was practically paralyzing her. I enrolled her for physical therapy--ironically, at Spalding Rehabilitation Hospital, where my Mary had once been an employee!--and I was experimenting with what was the best way I could hold her up walking. A side-by-side "promenade" stance was working best, as long as she had any strength left; but in the last few days, the only way she could move appreciably forward on her feet was while actually held in my arms, face to face, with me retreating before her. This was more and more turning into outright carrying her.
Yesterday, she said her legs were hurting--which at first I logically supposed was muscle cramping from the vigorous therapy of Monday afternon. But the real trouble was that, for reasons that were never determined, her left leg had swollen up hideously. I had her lie with the leg elevated, and called her physician to get the soonest possible appointment to examine it.
This morning was when she was supposed to be seen about the swelling. It gives me some little comfort to be able to say that, when Jan opened her eyes in bed this morning, she saw me right there beside her and smiled. After breakfast (cooked by me as usual), Jan said she wanted to brush her teeth. So I wheeled her in her wheelchair (bought only a matter of weeks ago) as far as our bedroom door, where I had to lift her out. As I was "embrace-walking" her toward the bathroom, Jan said to me, "I'm sorry I'm such a pain." I replied, "I'm sorry you are, too." Based on our many past conversations, she knew that I was not saying this to suggest that she was at all to blame for her disabilities. I went on: "But you can't help it. And I'll never stop loving you, because you're my sweetheart. A mobility-challenged sweetheart, but still my sweetheart." This pleased her.
I thank God that I did say this to her; because not long afterward I was nagging her on to make an effort to keep her feet under her, as I took her out of the wheelchair at our front door and tried to help her to the van, intending then to bring the wheelchair along. In our last two-way conversation on Earth, Jan said little else but "I can't!" As we reached the van, she could no longer keep her feet under her at all. I tried to place a lawn chair for her to rest on...but she was already sagging down like a wet sandbag...and then her eyes rolled back.
She did not die instantly, though. She coughingly breathed for a little while, not responding to anything I said. So I dialed 911 on my cellphone, then tried to give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation while awaiting the ambulance and paramedics. Saying that she was "agonal," they worked furiously over her on the driveway, then loaded her into the ambulance, in which I rode with them to the hospital.
A chaplain named David Reeves waited with me in a "quiet room." Then Doctor Robert Howe came in and told me that Jan's heart was totally non-functional, despite everything they could do. As soon as they gave up the CPR, she would die. But on the basis of his extensive medical experience, he assured me that Jan would be able to hear me if I came and spoke to her at once. I therefore went to where she lay, bristling with medical hardware, and said approximately these words:
"Jan, sweetheart, it's Joe. I hope you know I've tried to do what was best for you. I wish I could have done more. I'm sorry if I failed you in anything, but you know I love you. If there's anything you would have wanted to say to me, just remember it while you're waiting in Heaven; and you can say it to me when we're together again, in the place where there is no jealousy or pain." (The reference to jealousy was because Jan had sometimes been jealous of her predecessor Mary.) "I promise you I'll try to help comfort your family. Pray for us up there." Shortly after I said this, Jan was hearing another voice saying, "Welcome to Heaven, My dear child."
Doctor Howe was later to explain the evidence which proved people on the edge of death could still hear speech. Thus he promised he was not making it up when he insisted that Jan had heard my loving farewell. And he added that, veterans of life and death though he and his staff were, my words had moved them all to tears. (Perhaps this was a very early start in fruit being borne by Jan's grain of wheat fallen into the earth.)
Because I experienced chest pains after Jan passed away, they detained me at the hospital for EKG's, blood-enzyme work and X-rays. This was the first medical attention of any kind I had received since I retired from the Navy. Stuck at the hospital, but having with me both my cellphone and Jan's, I made many calls, mostly to Jan's family members. My cousin Wayne afterwards drove me home from the hospital--as I struggled with realizing that I would have to stop calling it "our" house. Then I was mobbed by sympathetic neighbors for a time, before I could commence my first session of talking to Jan in Heaven while seated in a lawn chair. As with Mary, I make no stupid attempts to conjure a REPLY by self-delusion. And yet..you never know.
Twice during my writing of this, I have felt certain I could hear Jan's voice calling me, as so often she would call me away from the computer when she needed something. So each of those times, though I didn't think it was actually Jan speaking, I went up to the bedroom and spoke to Jan for awhile. The days to come will be chaotic; but I will speak to Jan again.
I often used to fear that Jan, in her vulnerability, might end up dying a long and miserable death in some disaster. But she has been spared from that; her departure was quick and sudden. I wish that she were still here. But I remember how she used to say she wished she were normal; and now, she's BETTER than normal. I also wish I had a recording of her singing in her sweetly childlike voice; but when I see her in Heaven, I'll ask her to sing in that voice for me before she goes back to her angelic voice.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
