Dear Norm

Hi Dad.
We miss you. Did you know you've been gone for four years? Sometimes it feels like that time has gone so quickly. "Has it really been four years?" we ask ourselves.  But now is not one of those times. Now I ponder on the last four years without you and think, "It sure has been a long time." We're all surviving without you. But we miss you so so much.
Your advice, your deep and sincere love, your passion for industriousness. There are times, dear friend, when we ache for that. When we ache for you. Thank you for touching our lives in a myriad of ways from the other side of the veil. Thank you for loving us still.  We feel it. And we love you, too.

Big hugs,
Us.

Pop

Abby and I went on a lunch date last weekend. She sat there looking out at the ocean for several minutes, contemplating something. Finally she said, "Mom, please don't laugh at me or think this is silly, but whenever I look at the sea I think of Pop.".
This is where I try not to break down into tears in the middle of a cafe. I said, "Oh sweetheart, that's not silly at all. That's wonderful. I think that's Pop's way of reminding you that he loves you and is watching over you."

This next Saturday will mark two years since his passing. We miss
him. But thanks to his grandkids and that beautiful sea, Pop is ever in our hearts.

On a Windy Day

All In The Lord's Time

As I, Peggy, was finishing up my editing today, I noticed a post by Lynda that was still in draft form.  Forgotten perhaps, or the realizations too early and too sensitive to share?


I have decided to post it.  But not chronologically.   


This brief moment that Norm shares reveals him making the most of each moment.  I appreciate the words he uses in describing his situation. In this encounter he finds "help", "His", "humbled", "have" and "heal" to reveal his feelings.  And, even the title engages us to remember, "all in the Lord's time."  


I encourage you to read all of Norm's few but powerful posts at the very beginning of the blog.  They are tender, smart, and true.

_________________________________________________

On Thursday, April 29, 2010 Norman started having seizures on the left side of his body while working on his boat at dock. He was rushed to Southhampton Hospital where a CT scan showed swelling on his brain and 2 MRI's showed a regrown glioma in the same place as his first. He was transported to NY Presbyterian Hospital late Thursday night and is currently being treated with chemotherapy and physical therapy. His neurosurgeon and neurologist insist that further surgery and radiation is impossible and that if any current tumor is killed by chemotherapy, a new one will inevitably regenerate. The following story happened on Thursday, May 6 in the early morning, as told by Norm:

 This was a wonderful training opportunity for me. And to get the complete picture also. I have the Lord directing those around me to do what's necessary to help me through this ordeal. The Lord would not allow His children to wander without guidance. 


 On this particular morning, I was humbled by the slick floor and disorientation, that I needed a special messenger to counsel me that it will all take time and just to slow down and take things a little at a time. The counsel was important because I was getting ahead of myself in expectations. The Hispanic man who helped me by picking me off the floor and later giving me a message from the Lord, as a witness that the Lord is in control. 


 I have certainly been humbled this day by the disorientation and rescued by a messenger that the Lord sent to me. I'm so thankful to Heavenly Father that I have the gospel in my life and I'm grateful for the love he shows for us each day. We need to listen and be obedient to God's commandments and stay close to him by studying the gospel and teaching our children the principles. I need to slow down and in this healing process get the therapy I need, and the rest and nourishment my brain needs, to heal.

Small and Big News

Small: Norm's introduction in the sidebar was changed to past-tense today.
and
Big: The newest grandchild in the Edwards Family, Anne Elizabeth, arrived this week. Congratulations to Zack and Jessie!

Women and Children First

Have you ever heard of the Christian Boys' and Men's Titanic Society?  Their mission helps us learn about the once firm, but now fading, resolve to put "women and children first" in a crisis.  If one thing is to be remembered about the Titantic it is the bold men and boys from every deck and station of this maiden voyage.  They risked and gave their lives ensuring the safety of the women and children aboard.  Even more, we learn the origin of this law, once engrained in the soul of the Western World.


The Society states, "Three days after the Titanic sank, churchman Henry Van Dyke offered this: Where did this rule which prevailed in the sinking of the Titanic come from? It comes from God through faith of Jesus of Nazareth. It is the ideal of self-sacrifice. It is the rule that the strong ought to bear the infirmities of those that are weak. It is the divine revelation which is summed up in the words: Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. . . . Only through the belief that the strong are bound to protect and save the weak because God wills it so, can we hope to keep self-sacrifice, and love and heroism, and all the things that make us glad to live and not afraid to die."

In this centennial year of remembering the Unsinkable Ship and those who perished in hopes that all would be saved, we are also witnesses to the sad and sorry state of today's world in 2012 when a Captain abandons his ship.  These matters have weighed on my heart as we remember Norm and his passing one year ago today.  He was not perfect but he was good.  He was always late, but he was always there.  And I think Norm, the Captain, would have a lot to say about Cowards and Keeping Promises.

It is fitting that, during this week, Sam should be away tending his family-ship in New York while I remain busy at home.  Warily, I sense the same feelings of last year return to me: Loneliness and Exhaustion.  And Hopelessness made this a paralyzing trio.  With the uncertainty of Norm's health, Esra's health, and my health looming over me, Sam precariously balanced caring for all of us.  I didn't think it would end.  But Rescue and Relief came for all of us.  We said good-bye to Norm, who was courageous to the last moment.  I found a diagnosis for myself and help caring for Esra.

This time, one year later, as I feel the solitude and fatigue overcoming me, I remember that third companion is nowhere to be found. Instead I am hopeful.  And with that comes last year's lesson that everything comes to an end.   This Separation will end.  We will be reunited. We will be healed.  I am thankful that this Loss has not made me bitter.  Only more mindful of Covenants, time and space, and that I look forward to seeing Norm again, as he welcomes us on his ship, that has been "gone from [our] sight..." (quote from Henry Van Dyke's poem, "The Ship") 

Capt. Norm

When a loved one passes on, he is always missed.  Terribly, in most cases.  And although Norman's absence leaves a definite void in the lives of those of us to whom he means so much, his death is not a mournful abyss.  His was a life well well lived.  His was a life worthy of celebration.  There was no soul that he touched in his sincerely loving way, that ever forgot their association with him.  And that was his way.  That is his way.


At Norm's wake, there was a constant stream of friends and family stretching along the funeral home's main viewing room, its entrance halls, and out the door.  His funeral was filled with laughter and tears--wonderful memories being shared of a uniquely honorable man.  Nights were spent gathered around the kitchen table in the home he built on family land.  The table was covered with photographs, certificates, letters, newspaper clippings, and hovering above them all was the constant hum of faithful wife and children's memories.  This is a man who's been given all the love anyone could ever wish for.  This is a man who gave to his family all the love a heart could possibly hold.


But that's not all he loved.  Capt. Norm lived and breathed the sea.  And even in his death, there is passed down to his posterity a quiet yearning for the salty breeze, the sound of the waves, the essence of eternity that pours itself into our deepest hearts as we look out over that ocean horizon.  A fisherman at heart, Capt. Norm is gone, but not dead.  He is sailing a Heavenly sea, fishing eternally with the greatest Fisherman.  And, as is tradition, we can't wait to see all that he's done, when we meet him at the harbor in Paradise.


The Ship
by Henry Van Dyke


I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.


She is an object of beauty and strength, 
and I stand and watch her until at length she is only a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky meet and mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side exclaims, 
"There, she's gone!"


Gone where?  Gone from my sight, that is all.
She is just as large in hull and mast and spar as she was when she left my side,
and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of her destination.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.


And just at the moment when someone at my side says, "She's gone,"
There are other eyes watching for her coming
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, 
"There, she comes!"


And that is dying.