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The Meaning of Thanksgiving
by Naomi Sullivan Rhoades
Green Cove Springs, FL 32043
Thanksgiving means both heartfelt thanks
For blessings we receive
And thanks for opportunities
For good things we achieve.
The benefits of peace of mind
Not by words alone —
But help for the old and lonely
And the love for your own.
Thanksgiving is lived for others
Everyday of the year —
Unselfish deeds of kindly love
That bring to others cheer.
For without some accomplishment
Of helping others face
The event of true Thanksgiving
We’d its meaning erase.
Here are the winners in the contest sponsored by Helen Middleton Amos (in June Grape Vine) on “Who or What Helped You Most After a Bereavement?”
My Dad’s Love
First Place
by Marilynn B. Houck
Frederick, MD 21701
Before Dad went into a nursing home, senile and incontinent, he called for me every evening at bedtime, “Where’s Marilynn?” he would ask my mother. Then ignoring her reply, he would call and call my name.
My Dad, who was of the Mohawk Indian Tribe had wanted a large family. Indians love children dearly and it was a great sadness to him that I was his only child. All his love was concentrated on me. He was tall, slim, and had a mannerism of nodding his head as he smiled down at me.
In the nursing home, he was called Chief. Though he loved his own home with a passion, he endured his time at the nursing home with stoical acceptance. He dozed in his wheel chair, slept long hours, but smiled and nodded at me when I came to visit.
The wooded acreage I chose for my homestead had his approval, and when he saw it he asked, “Would you want to live here the rest of your life?” At my affirmative reply he said, “That is the way to feel… about the land.”
As time drew near for the passing of his soul from this world, I grieved the loss I was about to experience. I was two hours’ drive from the Home, and asked that I be called at any time, day or night, so I could be with him when he died. I had packed my bags, and one evening I called only to be assured he would be here in the morning and I could even so have several hours with him. At 5:00 a.m. I awoke with an urgency to hurry. I dressed and ran my bag out to the car. Back in the house at 5:30 I ran to lock the back door. As I went into the kitchen there was Dad right in front of me, his head and shoulders in semi-transparent form. He smiled and nodded. His expression was one of contentment. I felt he was happy to see me. He faded from my view.
I answered the phone with tears streaming, and heard the nurse say he had died at 5:30 a.m. I’d not been able to come to him, so he had come to me.
My healing process began right away. He showed me there is recognition between souls and the ability to be with those you love in your next life. I still feel close to him and he is not lost to me for he can find me here whenever he wishes. And his love was so great that he eased my grief before it could hardly begin. The strength of his spirit showed me we are not lost to each other. There is no need to grieve – we are together always. Life is eternal.
Work Was My Anodyne
Second Place
by Willametta Keffer
When I got word of BeeJay’s death I “washed a house,” literally. We lived in Springfield, Ohio, and he was navigator on a B-24, stationed in England.
Mother had been complaining about the difficulty of getting the house repainted. Dad suggested he use a hose to clean the trellises, which bothered mother most, but that left streaks of dirt running down.
Then came the sad word of the crash of BeeJay’s plane, and I didn’t want anyone to sympathize with me because I could not keep tears from flowing.
Mother loved him because she felt he was the son she had lost to Crib Death, and she lost all interest in how the hosing of the trellises had streaked the house, but I demanded a ladder, buckets of hot soapy water, and began washing.
Of course, the more I cleaned, the worse the adjoining area looked, but I just got more rags, more hot soapy water, and moved the ladder. I ignored the objections of my parents when I reached the end of the house where it took the full extended length of the ladders to reach under the gables and around a small attic window. I must have spent two weeks or more of my spare time on the task, but it gave me a physical and psychic release to face the future.
(I might add, I’d decided I’d never marry – then met Martin, and feel guilty to know that my love for BeeJay has never changed, because it was a sisterly love and I realize I was trying to make up mother’s loss.)
Third Place
by Lucy Ellen Eaton
Castlegar, B.C. V1N 1M7
My husband had been ill with a bout of ‘Flu. (I, too). in April 1987, but the day before he passed away he had seemed to be on the mend. That night I had fluffed his pillows, tucked him in, and given him a goodnight kiss before turning out the light and getting in beside him. He had smiled most sweetly at me and said, “Thank you!” as I patted his cheek.
Lying beside him, with my arm around him, I said a short prayer, then turned around on my right side and went promptly to sleep.
Awakening at an early hour, I glanced at the clock over Howard’s shoulder… it was 5:15 a.m. Too early to rise, so I just put my arm around his middle and lay silently praying for a while. Then I noticed his utter stillness. He was in exactly the same position as when I had turned out the light.
My hand reached up further… he was ice cold. With a deep foreboding, I started to pray inwardly, when a most beautiful sensation, as of a warm comforting blanket of heavenly love was wrapped around me, pervading my whole being. This feeling was so ineffable, celestial, that words cannot describe it. I did not want to leave the spot where I lay, so just remained there until, looking up, I noticed the clock hands were at 7:00, and I must phone my son to tell him before he should leave before work.
This sense of comforting strength upheld me for the difficult days that lay ahead, and made my bed a place of comfort for me ever since. A place where I meet my Lord in communion before I fall asleep.
This was my “Source of Strength for Widowhood.”
“He giveth His beloved sleep.”
A Presentation of the Talents of Members of United Amateur Press, shared with BAPA. This issue features Naomi Sullivan Rhoades (verse and illustration), and winners of the Contest on “Coping with Bereavement,” Marilynn Burr Houck, (2) Willametta Keffer, (3) Lucy Ellen Eaton, and financed by donations from members, Mary Wittner Hickok, Chester A. Parson, J. Ed Newman, Keith Rogers, and Ernie C. Thompson. Edited by Willametta Keffer