Two Weeks After Easter Sunday

[All – this post is a lot different than the normal fare of dog pictures and corny jokes around here. Things will be back to normal tomorrow, but I had promised an explanation of why I suddenly disappeared the week after Easter, and this is it.]

I am lucky enough to have spent the first decade or so of my life living in the same small town as all four of my grandparents. Even though I was young, it gave me a chance to get to know all of them and spend more time with them than I think is normal these days. Even when we moved, we were only two hours away and I still got to see all of them regularly.

As time went on, my grandparents began to pass away. My grandma passed away when I was in 6th grade, and she was the first person to pass away in my life whom I knew well and when I was at an age where I could fully understand what was going on. She always wore dresses, and I can still just shut my eyes and remember how she smelled and felt to hug – exactly how I expect a grandma is supposed to smell and feel, comforting and soft.

A few years later, my grandpa passed away. In the few years between my grandma’s death and his death, we got to see him on his own, and it meant that my siblings and I got to know him apart from my grandma. When she passed away, whatever messiness had existed at their house suddenly disappeared, thanks to Grandpa finally getting a chance to clean things up. My grandpa had been a farmer, and during the fall, he came to our house in Wisconsin and spent hours removing the hulls from the black walnuts that litter the ground in the woods around what was then our summer house, and I still think of him every fall when the walnuts start falling to the ground. On the day he passed away, he was with our family, riding up to our house in Wisconsin for Christmas. On the way home, he pointed out places where he had spent time, telling us stories about his younger life, as if he knew he wouldn’t have another chance to do so.

Only a few years ago, my papoo (Greek for grandpa) passed away. He’d been battling dementia for a few years, but even as that happened, he would still talk of all the traveling he did in his life – and travel, he and my grandma did. They took cruises, they visited family on different continents across the globe, they took road trips. He would be planning the next trip before they were home from the current trip. He also fished, and I was lucky enough to spend time with him engaging in this activity he loved. After serving in WWII, my papoo became a lawyer, and he was able to come to my own law school graduation to see me become one as well – the third generation of lawyers in the family.

The last of my grandparents in my life was my grandma. For the last few years, I had been lucky enough to spend a lot of time with her. I’ve posted a couple stories from her place on the blog. She lived in between my home in Indiana and my parents’ home in Wisconsin, so when I lived in Indiana, I could drop in regularly when I went home. Sometimes it was for a few minutes and sometimes it was for a few hours, but I always enjoyed getting to spend time with her. We talked about traveling, this guy Paul I had known forever and was dating (then marrying, then married to), and whatever was on her mind, from books she was reading to the news to Dancing with the Stars. Sometimes, we went out for lunch or I brought in food to the apartment where she had moved after my papoo passed away, but always, we talked and just got to enjoy each others’ company. She often talked of how much she missed my papoo, and how much joy she had gotten out of the time she had spent with him.

On Easter, my grandma passed away.

I was lucky enough to spend time with her the week before she passed away – even though her body was failing her, we still talked together like we always did, if a little slower than normal. She knew she didn’t have much time left with us, but she was still happy and made sure to say the things she wanted to tell me before I left that day. She was ready to go. She had told me many times how much she had enjoyed her time here, with her friends and family. She’d seen the world, loved someone with all her heart, and had a great life. I am glad I could be a part of that life, and I am going to miss her.

My Uncle Christ gave a beautiful eulogy for her at her funeral. She didn’t like funerals (who does?), but this was a great send off for someone I loved, and to close this post, I wanted to share it with you, so you could get at least a small sense of this person I was lucky enough to have in my life:

On Resurrection Sunday, our mother, Marion Roberts Troupis, bid us bon voyage, turned her eyes toward heaven and hugged Dad and Jesus, probably in that order. Fittingly, Mom’s departure was just as beautiful, indeed miraculous, as her long, wonderful life. 

Mom was Irish and died Sunday, and it seems appropriate to have this service on Wednesday in accord with the Irish blessing that says, “May you be three days in heaven before the devil knows you’re gone.”

Master storytellers say that sometimes the best stories begin with the ending. Let me follow that advice. Saturday evening, we thought Mom was about ready to leave us. Mom’s five children—myself, my brother, Jim, my sisters Jeanne, Diana and Ann—were at her bedside that night and early Sunday morning. But Mom didn’t die; she hung on through the night and the next morning. Then, just before 2 pm, on Easter Sunday, as we all sat around her with her daughters holding her hands, Father Beau walked into the room. No one had called him; his arrival was completely unexpected and fortuitous.  It is true he knew Mom was dying, but he could not have known the time was imminent. Father Beau was just going out of town to see his relatives, and wanted to check in on Mom before he left. Coincidence? I don’t think God works that way.

Father Beau anointed Mom with oil and then, as we all prayed together, our mother, Marion Troupis, slipped peacefully into the arms of our Lord. No one could ask for a better transition into glory.

But this beautiful ending was just the last bookend of our Mom’s life. The other one was in 1942 when she met our Dad, Christ Troupis. Christ and Marion had a storybook wartime romance. They met at a USO dance in St. Louis. Shortly after that, Dad shipped out to the Pacific. Penmanship is a lost art, but back then, our mother had the most flowing elegant handwriting, and long lovely letters kindled the long distance romance between Mom and Dad. About four years after they met, Marion and Christ joined hands in marriage, on January 2, 1947. They were inseparable from then on, until dad passed away on December 19, 2011, just two weeks shy of their 65^th anniversary.

There are countless ways to describe our Mom. She was full of life, zestful, energetic, joyful, intensely curious about everything around her, a voracious reader, avid conversationalist, quick to make new friends, always optimistic, the life of the party, loved to dance. The list could go on and on. But if I had to distill our mother’s essence, it would be this: Marion Troupis was a woman with substance, with spirit, with savor. After all, her nickname was “Sparkle.” And that’s precisely what she did.

In Biblical terms, we would say our mother was ‘excellent.’  As King Solomon wrote in Proverbs: “An excellent wife, who can find? For her worth is far above jewels. The heart of her husband trusts her…Strength and dignity are her clothing and she smiles at the future. Her children rise up and bless her; her husband praises her, saying: Many daughters have done nobly, but you excel them all.”

Our excellent mother had Substance. A woman of substance is someone whose life has meaning and purpose. She lives life with intention, love and passion. I’ll give you just one example.

Since the 1950’s, families of migrant workers journeyed from Mexico to Mendota every spring to work in the fields for Del Monte. Their lives were very hard; they endured miserable conditions, and people treated them as strangers in a strange land. The migrant’s plight in Mendota was echoed in rural communities throughout the Midwest. Well, Mom saw their need, and didn’t turn a deaf ear or blind eye to it. She committed to do something about it. So she worked tirelessly to help found the Mendota Migrant Council at Holy Cross Parish, and then she dedicated countless hours to collecting food, clothing, and other necessities for these families. Mom wanted to do something tangible; something meaningful to meet these migrant families’ material needs, but she also wanted to do something else. She wanted to show these good people that somebody cared about them, that they were loved and respected, and most important, that they were welcome in Mendota.  Paul in Galatians 6:2: “Bear one another’s burdens, and thereby fulfill the law of Christ.”

In a vision of judgment day, the Apostle Matthew says that the King of Kings will say, “Come, you who are blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited me in; naked, and you clothed me. Then the righteous will answer and say, Lord when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink, a stranger, and invite you in, naked and clothe you? And the King will answer “Truly I say to you, when you did it to one of these brothers of mine, even the least of them, you did it to me.”

We don’t always get to see the fruits of our labors. But sometimes God gives us a glimpse. Mom was blessed with the companionship and care of loving caregivers in the last few weeks of her life. And Mom loved talking with them. One night, she was talking with Yolanda, and mentioned her work as a founder of the Migrant Council. Yolanda told Mom that her family came to Mendota in the 60’s as migrant workers when she was a child, and she remembered those summers as the happiest times of her life. Why? Because she got to go on field trips on a bus for the first time ever, and enjoyed activities with the nuns, all because of the outreach of the Migrant Council. In fact, she told Mom the kindness shown her family by the Mendota community was the very reason she and her family came back to Mendota to live.  The circle of life was complete. The help Mom gave Yolanda’s family in the 1960’s came back to her in the last few weeks, all in the fullness of God’s time. Mom cared. Our mother was a woman of substance.

Mom also raised 5 children, who had 14 grandchildren and 6 great grandchildren. What an accomplishment. We all owe our lives to her, but also, the values and qualities she instilled in each of her children, passed down to theirs, including a positive attitude, belief in ourselves, the ability to dream big, the desire to continue to learn new things, see new places and meet new people, the willingness to challenge ourselves without fear, the importance of fun, and how to find joy in each day.  Mom gave each of us a bit of her “sparkle.” She was a woman of substance.

Mom was also a woman with spirit.  Spirit has many facets, but I want to talk about her gentle and quiet spirit. When the Apostle Peter talked about a Godly wife, he said: “Your adornment must not be merely external—braiding the hair and wearing gold jewelry, or putting on dresses; but let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the imperishable quality of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is precious in the sight of God.“  1 Pet 3:3.

My mom had that gentle quiet spirit. And God tested it when Dad started a long, steady decline into dementia.  Over the last seven years of Dad’s life, as he gradually lost the ability to communicate verbally, and his physical condition deteriorated, Mom assumed an almost impossible burden to care for him. But right up to his death, Mom never left her husband’s side. She personally saw to his every need. Although everyone recommended it, Mom refused to send Dad to a nursing home. While she allowed nursing aides into her home to help with his care, Mom was always Dad’s primary caregiver. Not once in all that time did I ever see her lose her cool; show anger; or even frustration, although I am sure she must have felt it many times. For seven long years, Mom demonstrated agape love for her life partner. She modeled patience, kindness, and tenderness for us in her care to our father, tending compassionately to his every need, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, without complaint, –, in fact, with consummate joy. What a blessing, and what a witness of her faithful, loving, gentle spirit.

But I don’t want to paint Mom as a Mother Theresa. After all, our mother was all Irish. If my dad was larger than life, and he was, our mother was unquestionably full of life, — and she was. She was the life of the party, often, she was the party. That’s why I describe her as a woman with savor. 

Whether it’s a feeling of joy or a piece of pecan pie—when you savor something, you enjoy it to the fullest. When you savor something, you enjoy it so much that you want to make it last forever.  Savor carries a connotation of doing something slowly. If you savor that flourless chocolate tart, then you eat it slowly, bit by bit, deliberately picking every last crumb off the plate. You hold it in your mouth and savor every bite. Our Mom savored life—the grand things and the little things—right up to the end. Mom lived at the local library. She loved biographies because she loved people and their stories. Just a couple weeks ago, instead of complaining about her failing health, we were talking politics, and Mom asked me to find her a book about a certain woman from Ottawa. Victoria Woodhull was a woman after Mom’s own heart. She was the first woman to open a Wall Street brokerage firm in 1870, the first woman to address a Congressional Committee, and the first woman to run for President in 1880, choosing former slave Frederick Douglass as her running mate. Just like Victoria, our Mom didn’t believe she had any limits at any age. In fact, just a few months ago, she took up painting, and we found out she had a tremendous unknown talent at it.

Mom also loved a good conversation. When I came home from high school I routinely sat down at the kitchen table with our mother, and we just talked. For the past 35 years, we have made it a practice to talk on the phone every Saturday. When I look back at the more than 1500 hours of those talks, I couldn’t tell you a single important thing we ever talked about. But what I can tell you is that we laughed. And not just little giggles or chuckles. When my Mom laughed, she was all in. Our mom found the humor in everything, loved good jokes, or even my bad ones.

Mom also loved throwing a party. When we were growing up, a lot of the parties she hosted were costume affairs. One night they had a Mexican Fiesta.  Mom worked all day making tamales in big casserole dishes. She put them in the oven to bake when the guests arrived, and while they were enjoying hors d’oevres and margaritas in the living room, we kids were banished to the kitchen, observing the festivity through the slatted door.  When it came time to serve dinner, Mom whooshed into the kitchen, put on two oversize kitchen mitts and seized the casserole dish, whisking it out of the oven. But then tragedy struck. The dish flew out of her mitted palms and overturned on the kitchen floor—right next to our long-haired Persian cat’s half full food dish. Without missing a beat, Mom grabbed a spatula, swept the tamale casserole back into the dish, said, NOT A WORD. Then danced out of the kitchen and with a flourish, announced, Dinner is served. No one but us was the wiser.  In fact, they thought it was delicious, cat hairs and all.

Mom savored her family and savored her friends, which is probably why she had so many good friends. In 90 years, she lived long enough to see many of her dear friends pass away, and recently told me how much she missed them. She said she didn’t want to live beyond all of her friends, and she remarked to each of her children, that she didn’t understand why God chose to bless her with such a wonderful life.

Mom was ready to leave us and be with Dad and her friends again. But she understood that everything happens in God’s time. He is never early, and never late. Mom knew the concept the Bible calls, “The fullness of time.”  Abraham’s wife Sarah waited many years to have a child; Joseph waited many years in Egypt to be reunited with his father; the world waited many years for a Savior. All in the fullness of time.

Patience is always part of the foundation of God’s plan. There is a fullness of time that has to happen before the desires of our hearts are fulfilled. In Ecclesiastes, the poet says, “There is a time for everything, a season for every activity under heaven.” This verse says there is a time and a season for everything under heaven.  Everything means everything.

It also says, “He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end.”

Every day for the past four years, Mom missed Dad. She kissed the picture she kept next to her bed, and every day told him she wanted to be with him again.

Four years ago, I gave a eulogy for my Dad and said this:

My dad’s love for fishing is legendary. He closed his office every Thursday to go fishing. We went on many fishing trips to Canada, Minnesota and Wisconsin together. We have countless wonderful memories that we will treasure for a lifetime. Dad took one of my favorite pictures on a fishing trip to Indian Creek near Earlville.  I was about eight months old holding a fishing pole while Mom held me in her arms. Dad wanted to teach me the essentials right away.

It is no coincidence that after Jesus rose on Easter, he appeared to the disciples at the Sea of Tiberias while they were fishing. They were out all night and hadn’t caught anything. But in the morning, Jesus called out to them from the beach and told them to cast their nets out. When they did, they had a huge catch of fish. They landed the boat, and the Apostle John says: “when they got out upon the land, they saw a charcoal fire already laid, and fish placed on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, “Come and eat breakfast.” So four years ago, I said I thought that “Dad is probably having a walleye shore lunch with Jesus right about now.”

Mom met Dad in 1942 and then spent years separated by continents and an ocean before they finally were reunited and married. They had 65 years together on this earth. They traveled the world together, and a lot of those travels were fishing trips. They went to Canada together many times. Mom caught a big sailfish in Acapulco that adorned my Dad’s office for many years and then Dad was called home. It is truly fitting that they would be reunited on Easter Sunday, four years after that second separation. There is a Heavenly symmetry. Bookends to a life well spent.

When I think of my Mom’s amazing life and glorious passing, I am reminded of the Ray Charles song, 

Together Again

Together again
My tears have stopped fallin’
The long lonely nights
Are now at an end
The key to my heart
You hold in your hand
And nothing else matters
We’re together again
Together again
The grey skies are gone
You’re back in my arms
Now where you belong
The love that we knew
Is living again
And nothing else matters, Baby
We’re together again
Well, nothing else matters, Baby
We’re together again

The writer of Hebrews tells us that the saints who have gone before us are a great cloud of witnesses surrounding us at all times. I believe that Marion and Christ Troupis are with them now, sitting on a celestial seashore together again. And for that, we are eternally grateful.