The other day, I decided to write a blog. Strange, since I don’t really know what a blog is. The motivation for writing is two-fold: I want to give testimony to the faithfulness of God and my church family at Maranatha Fellowship, and hope that my writing will aid in the grieving process. Janice and I were married for over 52 years 3 months and 20 days. She was my best friend, lover, confidant, critic, companion – the list could go on and on. I can’t remember life before Janice. Now I have been launched on a journey I never dreamed of taking. At age 73 I have become a brand new widower. Widower–the very word gives me the “fantods”. Not to worry, If you don’t know what the “fantods” are, you’ve probably had them—just didn’t know what to call them. By God’s grace and the care and love of me friends I plan to make the journey joy and peace. Right now though not so much, but I’m on my way.
On November 20th, Janice won her battle with cancer and moved into her Father’s House, and on that same day my battle with being alone began. I am not lonely. When the news of Janice passing became known, my Maranatha family I have loved for over 40 years was THERE. Pastor Ben Spearman and Foluso – his admin – sprang into action. From that moment on, every need I had was met. Janice passed away at 12:26 am Monday morning. I didn’t get to bed until 5 and was up at eight. My son Bola along with Dick David was there to take me to the funeral home and cemetery and spend the rest of the day with me. My first phone call Monday was from Presiding Bishop Douglas Beacham. He expressed his condolences and told that he and Susan planned to be there for Janice’s service. To say I was surprised would be an understatement. Janice had written her obituary and service with every thing noted down to the last detail; by the sermon Janice wrote, Bishop Beacham (if available). I can tell you I did not intend calling the Bishop—he is a very busy man and for me to make a claim on his time – well, I didn’t feel comfortable doing that. I remember telling Janice that asking for Bishop Beacham was “a bridge too far.” She just smiled. I think, once again, she knew something I didn’t know.
The “food train” moved in that night and has been running ever since. The week after the funeral, more than fifteen men and women from Maranatha turned my house upside down and right side out. They cleaned my lawn colleting more that 50 large bags of leaves. When the ladies left my office, it actually looked like an office – I rediscovered my desk. I hadn’t seen the top for more than a year. Someone committed, “Pastor Russ I didn’t know you had a bookcase.” I understood. It along with most every other surface had fallen on hard times. So, was I lonely? Not in the least. People were with me night and day weeks on end, but for the first time in my life I felt alone. I don’t know how to explain it other than say that I felt like part of me was missing, but at the same time I sensed the presence of the Holy Spirit giving me comfort, strength, and sanity moment by moment. Strange? You bet.
As I reflect on the last four days Janice was with me, I rejoice at the faithfulness of God and His perfect timing in all things. I had told her that our dear friends from FL – Dick and Brenda David – were coming on Sunday. Janice remembered my rule while at Maranatha of having to be 80 and get my permission in order to die. The last two weeks she couldn’t speak and took to writing furiously. Even though I’m sure she knew what she was writing it looked like Greek to me. When I would tell her I didn’t understand what she was writing she became upset and finally I just said OK – everything is OK. Early on Thursday morning, she wrote as plain as day, “I am ready to go go go.” At first I thought she was ready to go to bed and I asked her about that. She shook her head no and pointed to the ceiling. I got the message. I told her I wasn’t ready for her to leave me, but she had suffered so much, and if she was ready to go to Heaven, I gave her permission. She took my hands in hers and kissed them as her face beamed with a big smile. That is a picture that will live me forever.
In her last days, Janice had two concerns: she was afraid she would die choking and she didn’t want me to be alone when she died. I had assured Janice that the Hospice nurses had given me good instructions and not to worry about me. But she did. When Dick and Brenda David came Sunday evening she just relaxed and in a short time slipped away without the least sound. So peaceful – Praise the Lord!
Janice read everything—the Bible, newspapers, magazines—you name it. If it was written she read it. She saw a Joke Book for Old Folks advertised in the magazines she was reading. On the cover was one of the jokes, “Being old is like living a dog’s life. It’s scratching, peeing, and looking for the mailman.” She showed it to me and I read it aloud and she laughed until she cried. No one in the known world enjoyed getting mail more than Janice. Often she would ask me, “Has the mail come?” I would respond, “See there, you are proof of the joke, you are asking about the mail we must be getting old.”
Janice was a real trooper. She never lost her sense of humor and never complained.
Everyone has been so kind. Janice’s request that floral gifts been turned into “missions money” was honored by her family and friends and over fifteen thousand dollars was given to the Janice Robinson Russ Memorial Missions Fund. Janice is still giving to her favorite cause—World Missions. To God be the glory and may many souls be added to the Kingdom.
Blessings and favor from the Lord………… Wesley