From death to life ...

September 20 and the days just prior:  Since this photo-blog is mostly a personal journal (that no one reads but me), I need to include this part of our family history because some day it might matter to someone. The details will be sketchy for the most part because that's the way it is when you are an ex-wife of a person, even though you were married to them for almost fourteen years ... ah, but that was 30 years ago now. And let's put this in a first-person narrative rather than that weird thing I was doing in the last sentence. This isn't about me after all and I need to remember that.

I received word, through Dylan, and then through Jesse, that Jim was in the hospital in intensive care. I believe it was Thursday evening, September 16 or so. Jim had been taken to the hospital, prompted by a call to 9-1-1 by Shane, who found him in bad condition. Jim's health had not been very good this last year and many sad things had happened that took a toll. 

I didn't go to the hospital until Saturday, mid-morning. I would not have recognized Jim. He was in multiple organ failure, and his life was being sustained (somewhat) by many machines. The outlook was very poor for recovery. They basically had him in palliative care. The decision was made, by those who should have made this decision (and did) to cease life support by Wednesday morning at around 10AM. Since God is in charge of each breath we take, from the first to the last, Jim did not die until later that evening. Dylan was there with him and I believe Jim's mom was there too. Dylan said it just looked like he went to sleep and was peaceful and resting.

The family had a "direct burial" and it was accomplished with dignity and respect. Father Jim, from Dylan and Kelly's church, came and did what they do in the Orthodox Church at the grave site. Kelly helped to find this beautiful place for his burial. It's a long story, but Kelly did a great amount of work and research to get this very place. Incidently, not only is Jim buried just beyond this beautiful sculpture of Jesus (below) gathering the little children, but Jim's best friend, Bob Perry (from his early school days) is buried somewhere in this same cemetery.

There was a good representation of family present: Jesse, Diana, Emma, Christopher and Matthew (Kaity was at a friend's because she is only 5); Shane, me, Dylan, Kelly, Brendan and Aidan; Jim's mom (Audrey), Jim's brother (Dan) and his friend (Gloria), Sue Pahman (she is the widow of David), Tracy and Kristen (the daughters of David), Daniel (the son of Christopher); Larry and Judy Hand (Diana's parents), and a few others that I could not identify.

As the boys were taking the casket out of the hearst, Brendan looked at his young cousins and said: "It's just his BODY, it's not his FACE! It's just his BODY, not his FACE!" Which sounded "odd" at the time except that Brendan was spot on. Just the other day, I was "studying" this verse from Psalm 27:8, "My heart says of you, "Seek his face!" Your face, LORD, will I seek!  I looked up the word "face" in Webster's and it is defined as "presence." So yes, Jim's body was there in that box but not his soul.

Dylan gave the eulogy. I have copied it from his blog. It is beautifully written and touched all of us who were there.

"The ancient Greeks are known for their keen sense of irony. I suppose that’s why they chose to call the speech given at a funeral a eulogy. Eulogy is Greek for “good word,” but every death is tragic. Death is tragic, however, because every life is precious. And every life deserves a good word.

My father James loved good words. He owned a few million of them, as anyone who ever visited his apartment and saw all his books knows. He also loved to write his own good words, leaving behind notebooks filled with poetry and prose spanning over forty years. He took his time with everything he wrote. He rewrote and corrected. Sometimes he would rewrite something just to improve the penmanship with which he wrote it.

If there is one thing we Pahmans all share in common, it is that we are all very different. My father was an individualist. He walked his own path. That path was often tiresome and difficult, sometimes more so than it needed to be. It is true that he struggled with anxiety and depression all his life, but he would rightly insist that people should never be reduced to a label based on the one or two things in their lives they wish to be rid of most. Indeed, he was capable of great joy.

There is a uniquely Pahman sense of humor. It is difficult to explain precisely, but it falls somewhere between Tom & Jerry and dad jokes. Who of us here, for example, does not find it funny when a man, full of self-importance, sticks up his chin, turns around, and promptly steps on a rake? My brothers and I used to watch Tom & Jerry, Little Rascals, Three Stooges, and the like with my dad. He didn’t own many of them, but every now and then when we came to visit he would go to Blockbuster and rent them … and the VCR to play them. The ’90s were a wonderful time to be alive.

This may seem like such a little thing, but good little things matter. There is treasure hidden in these jars of clay. There is real joy there. I will always remember those good little things. For example, he would take us to catch frogs and turtles at Ada Park or Palmer Park (which he insisted had meant to be named Pahman Park, but no one ever hears or spells our name right). On the way home, he’d buy us burgers at Get-Em-N-Go (which incidentally is spelled exactly how it sounds). I remember we would play Euchre together (Hasenpfeffer, actually), as well as Scrabble and Kismet (which is like Yahtzee but good). When I was older and studying theology at Kuyper, we’d talk for hours about the Bible. He’d give me books anytime he got a double of one he already owned. He and [my brother] Shane and I would watch the Tigers games together. All these little things mattered, because they were good. And because they were good, they still matter. They will always matter. They will always be sources of joy.

I won’t preach to anyone today. I know that everyone has their own path to walk spiritually. If you’re curious about my own journey, we can get coffee sometime. But I can’t leave out my father’s greatest source of joy: his faith. Rather than try to tell you about it, I will let his own good words speak for themselves. The following is from a poem he wrote sometime around 1973 or ’74, so far as I can tell. He had recently had a profound and life-changing experience of the grace of God. This isn’t the whole poem, but it captures his joy in a way remarkably appropriate for the occasion of his burial. This is what he wrote:

my hope is full of resurrection

for as the body of my crucified Saviour lifted from the tomb

and ascended glorified by the Father

so also I will be received by the clouds vanishing to my home

to see my Lord at the right hand of the Father

to worship and serve Him before the throne of heaven

showered by the eternal pure light of my God

and though you see my body cold, without breath

know this, my spirit waits in the presence of Jesus for

every single particle of my body to be full with life eternal

May his memory be eternal. And may he rest, finally, in peace.

And Jesse spoke some kind words too, and read a passage from James out of the Bible Jim had given him before he deployed to Iraq all of those years ago. James 5:7-11, "Be patient, then, brothers, until the Lord's coming. See how the farmer watis for the land to yield its valuable crop and how patient he is for the autumn and spring rains. ou too, be patient and stand firm, ecause the Lord's coming is near. Don't grumble against each other, brothers, or you will be judged. The Judge is standig at the door Brothers, as an example of patience in the face of suffering take the prophets who spoke in the name of teh Lord. As you know, we consider blessed those who have persevered. You have heard of Job's perseverance and have seen what the Lord finally brought about. The Lord is full of compassion and mercy."

I stood beside Shane during the service. He did not publicly speak about his dad, but he was there to honor him. More than any of us, Shane knew his dad and spent the most time with him.

Close family went out to Ming Ten after the service was over. I sat at the table with four of my six grandchildren. We talked and ate and enjoyed each other for a little while.

LEFT SIDE:  Dan, his friend Gloria, and Tracy
RIGHT SIDE:  Kristen's husband (Terry?), Kristen and Sue

I have been slowly processing Jim's death. I am not sad for him any more. Of all the people I have ever known, Jim was the most anguished and heart broken. He finally knows he is loved, accepted, cherished, delighted-in. I smile when I think about how relieved he must be and I am happy to know that he is finally safe from all that haunted him, resting in the loving arms of Jesus.