I Miss You, Ann (from Howard)

My Dearest Ann,

I love you. I’m crushed and broken. I can’t believe how much I miss you already. On Saturday when I was making funeral arrangements, I looked into the kitchen and nearly asked, “Hey Ann. What do you think?” Yesterday, I bought a suit and you weren’t there to match my ties. I was out running an errand this morning and reached for my cell phone to ask you for directions. I’ve silently started using a new acronym – WWMD. “What Would Mom Do?” I am truly lost without you.

You are my trusted confidant, the only one with whom I can be truly honest. You are my partner, often agreeing to my crazy ideas. You were willing to live in a yurt in Mongolia when I asked you to marry me. You consented to moving to Dallas, painfully leaving family and friends, so I could attend seminary. You are my completer. You reminded me when you needed a date. You challenged me to stop working or studying so I could spend time with our kids. You often encouraged me to show mercy or to be more patient, reminding me to let our kids be kids. You kept me grounded while in seminary, so I didn’t become more of a nerd. You are my best friend.

Thank you for pleading with God after our three miscarriages. He gave us Hannah and Matt. Thank you for pleading with God after being diagnosed with incurable cancer. We asked for twenty years. He gave us two. Thank you for pleading with me to pray for physical healing. Your desire was to “err on the side of faith,” trusting God to do the impossible. An hour before you went to heaven you asked, “Are you still praying?” and then softly smiled.

I still believe that God physically heals in answer to prayer. That is what his word says. If we had do it all over again, we would still pray and trust God to deliver.

You always hated injustice, whether in movies or on the soccer field or basketball court. You hated the fact that incurable cancer had invaded our lives. We had worked so hard to keep our marriage healthy during seminary. You hated the fact that death might destroy it. We intentionally sacrificed so you could be a stay-at-home mom. You hated the fact that cancer might rob you of this privilege. You poured your life into Paul, Drew, Hannah and Matt. You hated the fact that you wouldn’t get to see the fruit of our labors. You wanted to grow old with me, be there for our kids, and hold your grandchildren. You weren’t being selfish. You were just being you – a godly wife and mother.

Perhaps God has already explained the “why” of this to you. I can imagine that was a heated discussion. But I know that he is a gracious and patient father. He probably just gently held you in his arms while you kicked and screamed. He certainly wouldn’t kick you out like that blind basketball referee.

I’ve concluded, as I’ve mulled over things in our empty bed, that your tenacious fight was your final gift to me and to Matt, Hannah, Drew and Paul. You fought to delay the glories of heaven because you wanted to be a wife, mom and grandma. We will miss you but we will never doubt your love for us.

I love you Ann
Howard