Jack was discharged later that day to a nursing home in town. The social worker called to let me know where he was, given that I hold his medical power of attorney. Knowing that Jack was doing well enough to be discharged was encouraging. It was several days before I got to visit him in the nursing home.
When his wife was dying I promised her that I'd take care of Jack, so I wanted to go see him. That called for another batch of goodies. I made him a plate of brownies, picked up a potted miniature pink rose bush, and headed over to the care center. Jack was asleep in the bed. I looked at him for a long time. I don't think I'd ever seen him without his glasses before, and his left arm was all black and blue, sticking out from under the covers. He was sleeping soundly. I left the brownies, roses, and a card for him. "You're in my thoughts and prayers, Jack," the card said. I left without getting to see him.
Jack fell asleep for the last time two days later. I still had not gotten to see him. I can only hope that he realized that I had been there. We burried him today. He had no children, only his sister's niece and two great-nephews. I had met them at Etta's funeral service a year and a half before. They were very gracious today. Apparently, Jack had written his own eulogy, planned his funeral, and requested that I sing the same song that I'd sung at Etta's graveside service: "The Beautiful Hills" from the old Christ in Song hymn book.
I have said before that the closest I feel to God and the most comforted I feel is at an Adventist funeral service. It is always such a powerful reminder that the work of living is done, and these dear old souls await the resurrection. Jack told his pastor the day before he died that he was ready to die and looking forward to seeing the face of Jesus. He had not a shred of hesitation--he was ready and eager to see God and his beloved Etta once again. It is not surprising. He worked for our church for 41 years, going wherever he was asked, moving every few years, taking on responsibilities that required tremendous effort and steadfastness.
He sacrificed a great deal, as did Etta, given the numerous responsibilities he's had for so long. And yet, he was kind and gracious to everyone he met. All the bank tellers knew him as being a sweet, gentle old man. He and Etta very generously gave me a beautiful crystal bowl, a Cuisinart hand mixer, and a Cuisinart food processor one year. I was shocked! All I'd done for them was stop by and visit them or take them soup, bread, or cookies from time to time. It must have meant a lot to them, but those gifts were totally unexpected and certainly not deserved.
Jack was one of those saintly men from a generation where people believed in steadfastness, sacrifice, and integrity. He sacrificed more than I, in my generation, have ever been called upon to give. Our generation is all about getting beautiful houses, having the most fulfilling jobs, and taking vacations. His generation was about work, perserverence, and contributing to something larger--the church and the good of society. Jack and Etta contributed huge amounts of money to the church, our university, and hospital, among other entities. He didn't think twice about it. All he had belonged to God and Jack merely returned it as needed.
So now the tired old saint sleeps and waits the trumpets of the resurrection morning. Good night, Jack. You will be dearly missed.
Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.
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