March 15, 2018
It seems we are programmed to see what we want to see. At my twenty-fifth High School reunion, one of my class mates said, “Wesley, you haven’t changed a bit.” I told her I must have been the oldest 18 year old in the history of the world (No one made such mention at my 50th reunion). Of course I have changed in more ways than one. She was remembering me as I was 25 years earlier—that was the picture of me she had stored in her memory bank.
Janice had squamous cell carcinoma. I cared for her for nearly two years 24/7. I heard the doctor’s diagnosis, treatment plan, took Janice to 38 radiation treatments and countless infusion sessions, was in and out of the hospital five times in seven weeks, sat as the lady from Hospice explained what palliative care really is —the whole nine yards, but I never really saw what was happening right before my very eyes.
Over two months after Janice memorial service, I was looking through my phone deleting some duplicate pictures. The process was progressing at a fast clip when I saw some photos taken when our French family, the Urbans, was visiting in August. We were celebrating two birthdays and two anniversaries—when you live six thousand miles apart, you make the most of every opportunity–-and we did. I had forgotten that Janice had come up stairs to sit with us for the celebration. All of a sudden I saw her picture and realized what I’d missed seeing for so many months. The picture didn’t have the filters I had imposed, although unwittingly, on Janice day after day. I saw then what I wanted to see. The picture told the plain truth. I was cut to the heart. I said, “Dear Lord, Janice was really, really sick.” I am sure others who visited saw what I refused to see.
While the old adage might be true, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” I have learned that a picture can be worth "a thousand wounds."
Now after nearly four months, I am beginning to sense a deep sadness that at times crushes my heart. My dear friend, Dr. Hugh Morgan, gave me this definition of grief. “Grief is a gift from God to help us properly appreciate and value what is really important in life—our relationship with God and our loved ones.” I never dreamed I would be on this “grief” road, but it must be traveled—no choice. I am taking that trip now.
In her last days, Janice would often say, “I hate to leave you alone.” After 52 years, 3 months and 20 days of marriage, for the first time in my life I know what it feels like to be alone.
I also know what it means to “feel” the prayer support of my church family and friends. Jesus said I will never leave you or forsake you, but be with you until the end of the age. On that promise I take my stand and am holding on for dear life. Thank God for the hope we have in Jesus. Heaven is sounding better everyday, but now I must press on and finish my journey “. . . looking unto Jesus the Author and Finisher of Faith.”
As I reflect on this experience of not being able to see the daily decline in Janice’s health, I realize this also is a mercy and gift from God. Had I seen what was happening, perhaps I would have lost hope-–not a good thing. Perhaps seeing how sick Janice was would have rendered me unable to give the level of care that was needed. All in all, I see my “blindness” to the real life situation as a gift from God. The old Scottish proverb, “God tempers the wind to the shorn sheep” is true. God knows just how much we can handle and since He is the true Yoke Fellow, He always divides the load enabling us to bear whatever comes our way.
[Editor's Comment: I commend my friend Wesley Russ for writing about his grief following the death of his beloved wife, Janice Robinson Russ. His grief is reminding me that Melvine and I are not getting any younger, and I could lose her. I really don't know what I would do. I don't like to think about it.
I have three best friends. I met them 10 years apart:
Lonnie Rex--1954 in Washington DC at the National P. H. Church
Wesley Russ--1964 in Brownville, Alabama at the Brownville P. H. Church
Leroy Baker-- 1974 in Bethany, OK, at our General Headquarters at a Chaplains Retreat
Wesley Russ is an excellent writer and an even better preacher. I knew Janice was very sick, but I kept believing God for a creative miracle for her complete healing.
Although my prayer was not answered like I wanted it to be, I trust God always to do what is best. We thank the Lord Janice Robinson Russ is now in heaven where there is no sickness, sorrow, tears, or death. She will be in the resurrection when Jesus Christ comes back to earth for His Bride, the Church.]
It seems we are programmed to see what we want to see. At my twenty-fifth High School reunion, one of my class mates said, “Wesley, you haven’t changed a bit.” I told her I must have been the oldest 18 year old in the history of the world (No one made such mention at my 50th reunion). Of course I have changed in more ways than one. She was remembering me as I was 25 years earlier—that was the picture of me she had stored in her memory bank.
Janice had squamous cell carcinoma. I cared for her for nearly two years 24/7. I heard the doctor’s diagnosis, treatment plan, took Janice to 38 radiation treatments and countless infusion sessions, was in and out of the hospital five times in seven weeks, sat as the lady from Hospice explained what palliative care really is —the whole nine yards, but I never really saw what was happening right before my very eyes.
Over two months after Janice memorial service, I was looking through my phone deleting some duplicate pictures. The process was progressing at a fast clip when I saw some photos taken when our French family, the Urbans, was visiting in August. We were celebrating two birthdays and two anniversaries—when you live six thousand miles apart, you make the most of every opportunity–-and we did. I had forgotten that Janice had come up stairs to sit with us for the celebration. All of a sudden I saw her picture and realized what I’d missed seeing for so many months. The picture didn’t have the filters I had imposed, although unwittingly, on Janice day after day. I saw then what I wanted to see. The picture told the plain truth. I was cut to the heart. I said, “Dear Lord, Janice was really, really sick.” I am sure others who visited saw what I refused to see.
While the old adage might be true, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” I have learned that a picture can be worth "a thousand wounds."
Now after nearly four months, I am beginning to sense a deep sadness that at times crushes my heart. My dear friend, Dr. Hugh Morgan, gave me this definition of grief. “Grief is a gift from God to help us properly appreciate and value what is really important in life—our relationship with God and our loved ones.” I never dreamed I would be on this “grief” road, but it must be traveled—no choice. I am taking that trip now.
In her last days, Janice would often say, “I hate to leave you alone.” After 52 years, 3 months and 20 days of marriage, for the first time in my life I know what it feels like to be alone.
I also know what it means to “feel” the prayer support of my church family and friends. Jesus said I will never leave you or forsake you, but be with you until the end of the age. On that promise I take my stand and am holding on for dear life. Thank God for the hope we have in Jesus. Heaven is sounding better everyday, but now I must press on and finish my journey “. . . looking unto Jesus the Author and Finisher of Faith.”
As I reflect on this experience of not being able to see the daily decline in Janice’s health, I realize this also is a mercy and gift from God. Had I seen what was happening, perhaps I would have lost hope-–not a good thing. Perhaps seeing how sick Janice was would have rendered me unable to give the level of care that was needed. All in all, I see my “blindness” to the real life situation as a gift from God. The old Scottish proverb, “God tempers the wind to the shorn sheep” is true. God knows just how much we can handle and since He is the true Yoke Fellow, He always divides the load enabling us to bear whatever comes our way.
[Editor's Comment: I commend my friend Wesley Russ for writing about his grief following the death of his beloved wife, Janice Robinson Russ. His grief is reminding me that Melvine and I are not getting any younger, and I could lose her. I really don't know what I would do. I don't like to think about it.
I have three best friends. I met them 10 years apart:
Lonnie Rex--1954 in Washington DC at the National P. H. Church
Wesley Russ--1964 in Brownville, Alabama at the Brownville P. H. Church
Leroy Baker-- 1974 in Bethany, OK, at our General Headquarters at a Chaplains Retreat
Wesley Russ is an excellent writer and an even better preacher. I knew Janice was very sick, but I kept believing God for a creative miracle for her complete healing.
Although my prayer was not answered like I wanted it to be, I trust God always to do what is best. We thank the Lord Janice Robinson Russ is now in heaven where there is no sickness, sorrow, tears, or death. She will be in the resurrection when Jesus Christ comes back to earth for His Bride, the Church.]