Going Down the Valley

I don’t know how many times I’ve heard the song “We Are Going Down the Valley” sung as funeral services.  I never liked the song, and I still don’t, but at this point in life I’m reminded that it accurately describes the events that I’m witnessing.  Each passing year I see an increased number of my family, loved ones, friends, and acquaintances leave this world.  The number of those who are descending into that valley is rapidly accelerating.

Within the last year or so, I’ve been significantly impacted by the loss of two people in particular – Bob Hays and my cousin, Noma.  I’ve written about both of them in previous posts.

Two years ago, we went to Texas when we heard that Ann’s brother-in-law, Donnie Ewing, was terminally ill.   After Donnie died, we headed back home to Iowa, and as I pulled onto Interstate 35, I realized that we would be heading driving fairly close to Bob’s house.  I called him and asked him if he would meet us as the Cracker Barrel in Burleson.  We made connections about an hour later.  When I first saw Bob, I said, “You’re looking good.”  He flashed his familiar sheepish grin and said, “Looks are deceiving.”  At first I thought it was one of his trademark wisecracks. It wasn’t.  He was seriously ill.  It was the last time I ever saw him, but I’m so glad we called.  I talked with him on the phone not long before he died.   

We stayed with Noma and her husband Bill during that same trip to Texas.  When we left their house, it never dawned on me that I would never see Noma in this life again.   When she broke her leg and entered the hospital, I called Bill on the cell phone.  He handed the phone to Noma, and even though she was in terrible pain, she was her usual upbeat self, assuring me that she would be all right.  She was not.  A few days later, she was struggling for life itself.  I began to make preparations to go to Texas, but her daughters called me and said, “Norman, if she sees you, she’s going to think that she’s dying. You need to come when she’s in recovery.”  The next day Noma went to be with the Lord. I couldn’t have made it to Texas in time anyway.

More than a year has passed since Bob’s death, and several months have passed since Noma’s death.  Sometimes I’m still in denial.  I don’t usually have that problem when people die, but these two people were such a significant part of me that it’s hard to accept the reality that they have gone onto a different and better place.

I liked the lyrics of a song we sang at Noma’s funeral much better than “We’re Going Down the Valley.”

“Up in Paradise Valley,

We’ll be free from all pain and all strife.”

Celebrating Fifty Years of Married Life

While we were in Abilene in 2009, we celebrated our fiftieth wedding anniversary.  We were actually about two months ahead of time, but all our children were there, so we took advantage of that and celebrated early.  Many of our close friends and family could be present so we all went out to the Lytle Cattle Company. My cousin, Jean Mayer was there. She was the only other person who had actually been present when we got married in 1959.  

The kids gave us anniversary rings, and Jim had us repeat our wedding vows.  It was a wonderful moment of celebration with people who meant a great deal to us. 

I worked on a special anniversary project for Ann, which I gave her on the actual date – December 26.  I decided I wanted to put together a boxed set CD of music we had listened to during the entire 50 years.  The technology that allows you to download music from places like I Tunes made this all possible.  It ended up being pretty much a family project.  Jim, Gary, and Ruby all contributed to the downloads.  Ruby came up with a design for the jewel case.  It was a slick production.

Actually, I went back a little bit in the fifties and picked up on stuff that we both listened to before we married – songs like “Chances Are” by Johnny Mathis for example.  I came up with 5 CD’s representing each decade.  The hardest was trying to find mellow love song for the period from 2000 to 2009.  The music has changed, and I’m afraid we’re not very much into artists like Bon Jovi.  We like songs that have a pleasing melody.  We still enjoy listening to the CD. 

Distinguished Alumni Citation

Early in 2009, I received a letter from Dr. Royce Money, then president of Abilene Christian University.  I had known Royce since he was in high school, but I thought it was probably a request for a donation.  It turned out to be something else entirely.

He was informing me that I had been chosen to receive a “Distinguished Alumni Citation” from the University.  At first I thought the letter was probably intended for someone else and sent to me by mistake, but the letter was not a form letter, and it was clearly addressed to me.

Ann was doing laundry at the time.  I handed her the letter, and said, “You need to read this.”  I was so overcome with emotion that I couldn’t say anything else. She thought maybe I’d been notified that somebody had died.

At the 2009 Homecoming event, they presented me with the award, although Royce made it pretty clear that Ann deserved to share the award, and she’s not even an alumnus of the school.  Sometime prior to the presentation, a young student reporter called to interview me for the Optimist, the school newspaper.  She asked, “Why do you think you are receiving this award?” I said the first thing that popped into my mind. “I don’t have the slightest idea.”

I was told that I could designate three people to deliver testimonials, although I was assured that I could probably count on them relating embarrassing stories.  I chose, Bob Hays, my boyhood friend and college roommate, Dr. Keith Boler, a friend from my days in Shreveport, and my son Elliott.  Actually they were all much kinder to me than I expected them to be.   The event was attended by family, friends who had known us in various places, old college acquaintances, and some of my high school schoolmates from Clyde.

Royce called Ann and me to the platform and presented me with a plaque, and Ann a bouquet of flowers.  Ann started to back away, and Royce stopped her.  “He said, ‘Ann there’s a dropoff about two feet behind you.  We don’t want you falling off the stage.’”  He stood there and held her in place through the rest of the ceremony.

It was a remarkable day and one that I’ll never forget.   When things like that happen I always remember something I heard many years ago.  “Praise is like perfume.  It’s nice to hear, but it’s fatal if you swallow it.”

Adjusting to a New Way of Life

            Although we were tired, there was a good bit of excitement when we first arrived in Iowa.  As we drove into the city, there were mixed emotions.  For one thing there was flood of memories of the places and people we had known before.  On the other hand, we were shocked at witnessing the aftermath of the terrible flood that had covered roughly 100 blocks of the city just two months before.  Downtown looked like a ghost town.  It wasn’t the Cedar Rapids we had left 15 years before.

            The next morning Ann was simply too tired to make it to the church service, but Ruby, Rich, and I went.  It was good to see everyone, and we were graciously welcomed, but it really felt weird to me to sit in the back.  Rarely have I ever sat anywhere close to the back when I was out a church service.  Church is one of those places where the good seats are readily available.

            Ruby wanted to go out to eat at her favorite restaurant, a place called “Cork and Fork.”   After lunch we were blessed with a combination of church members and friends of Gary and Kelly coming to the house to make quick work of unloading the truck.  On Monday morning Ruby and Rich left for Colorado. Gary took the truck to the Penske place, and we began our new lives in Cedar Rapids.

            It was a traumatic experience for both of us.  In part it was a tremendous adjustment to living in the house with another family.  In part it was basically living in two rooms.  But for me the big adjustment was trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.  From day one, I had planned to look for part time employment, but I needed some time to help get everything organized.  All of my books and several boxes of other things were stacked up in the basement.   Nearly every day we would think of some item we needed, and of course it would always be in a box that was at the very bottom.

            Beyond that I felt like my life had been stripped of purpose.  I needed a reason to get out of bed in the morning.   For a little while I even started taking anti-depressants.  It was a very difficult time for me.

            Then one day Moe Colby, one of Central’s elders, talked to me about coming on board as a part time staff member.  I was a little bit like the person who said, “I need to pray about this. The answer is yes.”   I didn’t even say I needed to pray about it.  I had already been praying for direction.

Moving Back to Iowa

Moving is never a pleasant task.  In this case it was probably the most difficult move we’ve ever made.  We had been living in the same house in Shreveport for 11 years.  You accumulate a lot of stuff you don’t need.  Besides that we had a bunch of other stuff that we brought to Shreveport with us that we just couldn’t seem to let go. 

I even did the unthinkable. I started downsizing my library.   When I started preaching I had three books my father had given me.  I still had some of my college textbooks (It took years for me to part with my book on physiological hygiene, which I never consulted after college).  When I moved to Rosebud, I started buying a few books – sermon books mostly because I needed material. By the time I left Shreveport, I had accumulated quite a few books.  Preachers have books. 

I remember negotiating with a mover one time.  When I told him I was a preacher, he said, “You’ve probably got about a million books.”  That was a bit of an exaggeration, but my collection did go a good bit beyond Ann’s cookbooks. I had a lot of stuff that was nothing but junk.  I gave some of them away and took some others to the dumpster.  I still had an enormous number of books.  After I moved to Iowa, the library at ACU asked me to consider donating my books.  I think I sent them eleven boxes, but I still have six shelves of books in my church office, and two shelves of books at home.

After all the downsizing, we loaded out the largest bobtail truck that Penske rents, and still couldn’t get everything in it.

Gary came from Iowa, and one of his friends flew in from Las Vegas to drive the truck to Iowa.  Ruby and Rich flew in from Colorado and they drove us to Iowa. It was the end of an era for us, and we were two tired people when we got to Cedar Rapids.