Photo (c) 2015 Danny Gilleland                 Dad and I
 This will be an intermittent series in that I will occasionally post on the process I am experiencing to help some of you work through your losses as we journey down this path together.Reflections on the loss of mom and dad.

I’ve been away for a few weeks. Since early December, there have been a couple of tectonic shifts in my life, predictable but nonetheless life-changing. Types of life events cause one to stop, ponder, and recalibrate. In early December, we buried my mom, who was 86 and had been in a year-long battle with the life-stealing disease known as COPD. She died at home with family and friends surrounding her as she breathed her last breath and took her first breath in the presence of Jesus. My sisters, brother, and my dad, her husband, were near her as she passed.

Her memorial service was simple and beautiful, just like she had wanted. It is a tribute to the Lord and a testimony to how she invested in others through her business life and her ministry to migrant workers with my dad. After spending a few days with my dad and siblings, I headed back home to be with my wife and family.

Over the next several weeks, Dad and I talked at least three or four times a week. We both needed to talk to each other as we navigated our recovery path of grief together. My usual talk with Dad was on Thursday afternoon after work. He would bring me up to date on the latest news from Georgia, and after he asked about his grandkids and great-grandkids, we’d talk politics, what we were reading, or about the Lord.

We last spoke on Tuesday morning on January 10th while I was driving to Shipwrock, New Mexico, to a speaking engagement and health fair. Little did I know that it would be the last conversation with Dad on this earth.

I was finishing up a business trip to the Navajo Indian Hospital in Shiprock, NM, when I received an incoming call from my brother Thomas. In my family, you only get a call during work hours to announce something great or share bad news.

When he told me that Dad had passed away, my brain immediately felt overwhelmed, much like you feel if you have ever been around a microburst coming out of one of our late summer monsoons in the southwest, intense wind, blowing sand and disorienting, driving rain that can come and go in just a few minutes.  Once I got my bearings, my siblings and I could talk and comfort each other while we began discussing an appropriate way to honor him. I called my wife and kids and headed back to Albuquerque.

The two-hour trip from Shipwreck to Gallup was typical of many of our winter days in the southwest: beautiful clear blue skies, the Majestic Shipwreck outcrop (pictured), a sparsely populated desert landscape with little settlements like Little Water and Sheep Springs, and Tohatchi reminded me that I was traveling through the Navajo Nation. In that first two-hour leg, I did a lot of praying and thinking. I was hitting the rewind button, reviewing the highlight reels of my dad’s life as I thought, wept, and prayed on the way home. Arriving in Gallup, I turned left on the Interstate highway that would take me back to the warm embrace of my Albuquerque as we processed the loss of Papa.

That evening day, we met to cry, laugh, love, and support each other as we sought to comfort ourselves as well as the family in Fort Valley.

Over the past several years, I don’t know how many times Dad told me his prayer was to live long enough to help Mama until it was for her to be with the Lord. And that is what he did. He provided my mom with tender, loving care, encouragement, prayer, and support as she entered into the final life of her journey on this earth.

I learned from my cousin Susan that my grandfather Popi did the same for his wife, Bertha. Every day that he could, he would drive his 1953 Buick from our Fort Valley home to the Marshallville, GA, nursing home.

What a legacy in a culture where too many bail when the going gets tough.
Even in the death of both of my parents, like many of your family, they took the vows they made seriously. To love and cherish in sickness and health, for richer and poorer, until death do us part. While their marriage was not perfect, it was based on fidelity, enduring love, and commitment.

Like many old trees along the Flint River, whose roots run deep, my mom and dad endured seasons of life as gracefully as husband, wife, and parents. From the birth of the 5 Thurman kids through my brother Mike’s death over thirty years ago, as well as the seasons of wandering some of us went through.

Throughout our lives, as we went through the various stages of life, their faith in God and each other seemed unflappable, their love unconditional.  Like many of you reading this blog, they experienced the ebbs and flows of life with a quiet dignity and a firmly established faith.
As a father, Dad was a great provider, wise counselor, gentle disciplinarian, and always a supporter of Mama and each of us. In my memory, he sought to treat each of us as unique instead of treating us like the Thurman had heard. When some of us wandered off the path, Dad would usually quietly attempt to engage us, challenge us, and, more often than not, gently nudge us back on the right track.

Dad was also a man of faith. My earliest memory of his personal faith was observing him praying on his knees every night for about half an hour.

Dad’s example was a strong influence on my siblings and I as we have spent out lives serving others in different capacities. His influence, character, and gentle leadership have helped all of us come to our spiritual discoveries.

Dad loved his country and community. Dad only took two vows in his life, one to the Lord and Mom as his marriage vow and the other as a young Navy Officer to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States in the closing days of WWII. All of my life, he has been helping people and strongly encouraged us to do the same.

I am thankful for parents who loved to read and taught us the value of reading. As a writer, this was truly a gift they imparted to me. A few years ago, I was attending the Class Seminars Writer’s Conference in New Mexico. In one of my classes, the instructor gave us the assignment to think of a fictional character appropriate for one of our life heroes. I chose Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird. Growing up, particularly during some of those tough days in the ’60s and early seventies, Dad taught us the importance of respecting the dignity of every man and woman; he taught us that as God’s children, we were to be accepting of others, showing them kindness, grace, and mercy.  Another lesson that he taught us was how to think critically and engage in meaningful conversation. And though I am more like Mama, Dad did try to teach us the importance of listening before we speak.  Thurman children, grandchildren, and extended family members learned so much from him, sometimes taught, but more often caught. We are forever thankful to the Lord that He allowed us to be the children of a man with such a deep and abiding love for his wife, the Lord,  and his children. He will forever, in our hearts and minds, be a man of quiet strength, deep love, profound faith, and humility, who always had a great story to share.

Here are three truths;

People Die, Families, Friends, and Communities come together to support, and God endures.

St. Paul says in 2 Cor 1:2-3 Praise is to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in our trouble so that we can comfort others.
We want to sincerely thank you for being the comforting hands and feet of Jesus as we as individuals, as a family and you, our community work through our grief.

Next week I will be sharing more of Leading and Living in Your Strengths.

​(c) 2017 John H. Thurman Jr.

Let me know what you think.