Promise These Three – Jeff Hampton, Writer

Following are three essays from what I hope will some day be a series about the journey from death and grief to love and joy. The working title is “Promise These Three,” based on three promises: “Don’t remember me this way,” “Don’t forget me,” and “Don’t be sad.” I’ve put dates on these essays to indicate when they were substantially completed. That context is important because perspective and emotions change with every passing day. – Jeff Hampton

Making Contact
June 10, 2010

I was in the sixth grade when my sister died and at that age I was still very much afraid of ghosts. My brother and I had a morning paper route that we threw on bicycles and for months I had an eerie sensation that Martha was watching me from every dark window that I encountered. It got to where I couldn’t look up at a house for fear of seeing something that I didn’t want to see. Even though I missed my sister, I didn’t want to see her as a ghost.

So it was that when Debra was drifting away, I whispered to her the most horribly awkward thing I’ve ever said: “When you get to heaven, let me know you’re okay in some way. Don’t do anything, well, spooky, but just give me a sign if you can.”

It was a goofy, immature thing to say, but as it turns out, it also didn’t represent my more mature psyche. Because now I’d love to see Debra in some way or another. I have great longing – and no fear at all – to see her walk into a room. And the more I begin to feel at peace and content, the more I want to connect, as if to just give each other a smile and a nod and confirm that we’re both okay. Like George Bailey, I want to hear a bell ring and know that my angel Debra has gained her wings. Or I want to stand like the scientists at the end of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” and bask in the glow of some other-worldly being.

There is a certain selfishness to my desire for contact. It would totally shore up my wavy faith, and for that reason alone it will probably never happen. But then again, I’d be unstoppable as a witness. I used the same argument when begging for Debra’s life, but God seems more interested in people who will represent them armed with nothing more than their faith. I don’t understand any of it – a God who wants us to trust him rather than see him.

I recently read a review of a book by a wife of one of the World Trade Center victims about all the signs that she and others have experienced. In her case, she keeps finding pennies that have significant dates. I haven’t read the book because I’m skeptical, and I know that every day occurrences, like statistics, can be bent and pushed to mean almost anything. Still, I’ve not been above seeking signs myself.

This far out, I’m still tempting God with signs. I put Debra’s little pocket rosary on the desk, with the crucifix side facing up. I created a little shrine around it – my favorite photo of Debra, a Hummel statue of Mary and Jesus, and the crucifix that was in her casket at her funeral. I prayed over it and asked Debra – and ultimately God – to show me a sign of her continued life in spirit: to turn the rosary on the side depicting Mary, who Debra adored so much.

I can report that nothing happened. Somehow I knew it wouldn’t, and maybe it’s that lack of faith deep in my heart that makes it so. I’m like Thomas – wanting a sign and irritating the heck out of Jesus. Probably there have been so many little signs around me that I’ve overlooked. Certainly the fact that I’ve survived this journey is in itself a sign – that God made me strong enough and surrounded me with people who would help me carry this load.

And then a few minutes after thinking about that and writing about it a redbird lands in the bush right outside my window and seemingly stares at me for a moment and flies away. Debra loved the redbirds the most.

* * * * * *

A little more than a year later after writing that, LeAnn and I were taking a honeymoon trip on the back roads of Texas and on one particular day we saw a redbird flitting around us. LeAnn saw it as a sign of God’s love for us. I did too, but I wondered secretly if it was Debra, dancing with joy for this new love I have found.

Begging for a Miracle

September 17, 2010

A woman at church was recently telling me about her daughter’s upcoming surgery for breast cancer and with tears in her eyes she said, “I’d take all of this on myself if I could. We’d rather go through this ourselves than have it happen to our loved ones.”

I leaned over to her and said, “I asked God to give me ovarian cancer, but I don’t guess it works that way.” She smiled and sort of laughed with me, but the truth is that I was dead serious.

There were many nights when, while Debra was sleeping, I put my hands on her abdomen and prayed for God to transfer Debra’s cancer to me and let me carry it for her. I tried to imagine the cancer cells moving through her abdomen to the point of my contact, moving through her skin into my finger tips, up my arms into my shoulders and down into my body. I begged God and even tempted him with the ultimate miracle – not just giving me cancer, but giving me ovarian cancer. Imagine the headlines!

It sounds like a silly game now, but I’ve never been more serious about anything in my entire life. I’d gladly have given my life to spare Debra’s. She was, after all, the more Godly person, the more attuned to God’s will and his purposes on earth. She was the one who had a heart for ministry and gave herself so easily and willingly to those in need.

That too was another selling point for asking for God’s healing hand. We, together, told God that we wanted more time to do his work together here. We pledged our lives and promised our all to his kingdom if he would heal Debra and give her more time. We knew – I knew – that Debra had so much more to give.

I don’t begin to understand the mind and wisdom of God and so I’d be a fool to try to make sense of his actions, or his lack of action as it may be. Some might say “it was just her time” or “God wanted her with Him” or whatever. If that were the case, then why wouldn’t he just pluck someone out of their home and take them, or simply lay them down and put them to sleep in a peaceful manner. Why would he make someone suffer so much, and make their family suffer too. Anytime there is a hurricane or tornado that kills people, or a terrible traffic accident, there’s always someone who says, “God was ready for them.” I find that absurd because how then do you explain all the destruction and heartbreak that is caused in the process.

I believe instead that to some extent God has wound up this world and lets things play out in a natural way. That creates havoc and heartache, to be sure, but not because God makes it happen. Instead, he lets it happen, and rather than saying “I did this on purpose” he says, “what will you do with this now?”

I have no theology to back any of this up, and I haven’t gone looking for any theological or academic study to prove my points. These are my beliefs, placed in me by my own experiences and the murmurings of the Holy Spirit. That is all the proof I need.

Strange Bed Fellows
May 10, 2011

Love and death make strange bed fellows . . . and interesting dinner guests.

On a recent Friday night LeAnn and I had dinner with my brother-in-law and niece on Debra’s side of the family. It was the first time that any of Debra’s family has met LeAnn, and we had a nice time. But as we talked and laughed over a great meal, I looked at my niece and realized that the changes and gyrations that life has dealt me are being experienced by others too.

Months ago when I brought Debra’s parents up to date on what was happening in my life, her mother said, “we’re happy for you, but it will be difficult seeing you with someone other than Debra.” And now at dinner with my niece, I realized that she might be feeling the same way. Her Aunt Debra was being replaced by a new Aunt LeAnn. And then in my mind I went down the list of all the friends and family who might be going through the same adjustment. My parents and my brother and his family. Good friends Melba and Bill, Ken and Sally, others.

Don’t get me wrong. Everyone has been wonderful. Everyone has embraced LeAnn and has cheered for our relationship. But in order to do so they’ve had to set aside what was and accept what is. That’s been hard enough for me, and I can only guess how difficult that’s been for them.

To some degree, I’ve had an advantage. While Debra can never be replaced – and I would never dream of trying to do so – I can still have a new love and a new wife. But Debra’s parents don’t get to have a new daughter. Her siblings don’t get to have a new sister. They can have LeAnn as a daughter-in-law or sister-in-law of sorts, but it’s not the same.

As for my own parents, they’ve enthusiastically embraced LeAnn as a daughter-in-law, and in fact their enthusiasm put me off early on. I wanted to say, “Wait a minute, Debra was wonderful too. She was part of the family for 25 years. Don’t forget her . . . please.”

I have to cut them some slack because I know that some of what they have expressed is just parental love; they’re happy that their son has found joy again. But I look a little deeper and I know that while their love for LeAnn is real, it doesn’t replace their love for Debra. Forty years ago they lost their only daughter. They know how these things go.