If you have not heard, my Mom—Anabel Gillham—passed away peacefully on November 7, 2010 about 12:30 PM. She was 82. Now is not the right time for me to write about Mom. My words are all jumbled up inside my head and heart and my world is a cacophony of things screaming to be done. When the words assemble themselves in coherent fashion, I will post them here. I need to write about her. I want to write about her, and I want you to read more about her from my vantage point.
In the meantime, thank you for praying for my family and me. I appreciate your posts at Facebook more than I can express. If you haven’t visited the memorial page for Mom at lifetime.org, please do, and please comment if you have not done so and wish to leave a thought.
While Mom’s burial was a private, family gathering, her memorial service is a public ceremony that we would love for you to attend. Here are the details:
When: Saturday, November 20, 2010, at 11:00 AM Where: Southcliff Baptist Church, Fort Worth, TX
My brothers and I, and our families, buried Mom’s ashes next to our brother, Mason, on Thursday. It seemed fitting that it was raining on us as I placed Mom’s remains an arm’s reach into the Oklahoma clay. Our little semicircle was informal and without much ceremony—more like a family discussion and reminiscence. It was appropriate, fitting, and healthy for my family and me.
Dad was not able to make the trip to Oklahoma. Parkinson’s is winning the day in Dad’s body and mind, but he clearly understands that Mom is gone and is grieving mightily. I appreciate your prayers for him. Not only are my brothers and I with him often, but he is visited frequently by his closest friends, and is surrounded by an amazing staff of care givers that defy description. I stand in awe of them.
Mom is now buried in a line of family memorials. She is interred next to Mason, who is next to my Granddad and Grandmother Hoyle, Mom’s parents. Next to them is my infant cousin who died three months after I was born. Her Dad, my Uncle Billy Jack Logan, rests next to her. And finally there is my Aunt Betty Logan, Mom’s older sister, who died one day shy of eleven months before my Mom breathed her last breath.
We are all grieving. I include many of you in that collective pronoun, “we,” but while we grieve, we don’t grieve as those who have no hope. Not only do we have hope, we have more hope due to this stark confrontation with Mom’s passage. This life really is temporal, and if this is all there is, we are of all people to be pitied. But pity is not part of our heritage as Believers. We are people of hope, and for us, hope really does spring eternal because Christ is raised and we with Him.
I have sat down a few times to draft a post, but I couldn’t do the post, or Mom, or me, or you justice. So, I’ve been quiet. In due time, I will write to you again.