A life well lived

My mother passed away in 2008. Of her five siblings and their spouses, she was the first to die. Dealing with mom’s death was the most difficult thing I have ever done. Losing my mom forced me to look at life and death differently. To feel closer to her, I thought it might help to spend time with her younger brother Wil and his wife Barb.

In 2009, I rode my bike across Michigan with Uncle Wil, then 78, and 598 other cyclists on an organized ride called the PALM (Pedal Across Lower Michigan). I stayed with Uncle Wil and Aunt Barb for a couple of nights before the ride. Barb was more hospitable than I deserved. She thought of everything from what style pillows I liked to preparing a big breakfast casserole.

The evening before the ride, Wil and I skated around the park next to their home. Wil hit a stick and took a tumble. He got up, looked at his skinned knee and said, “I’m fine. Let’s go one more time around the loop.” On that last time around, he hit a rock. It took him down hard. His right knee and right forearm took the brunt of his fall.

With blood running down his leg and arm, he skated back to their house and Barb came to the rescue. I couldn’t even bear to look at my uncle’s injuries. It was bad, really bad. I’ve never been scraped up that badly and don’t recall ever being with anyone so banged up. To Wil and Barb, it was not a big deal. Barb doctored him up while I cringed. Neither of them even winced when she doused his wound with alcohol, applied ointment, and wrapped him up in gauze like a mummy.

If it had been me, I believe Wil would have ridden the PALM without me. Even though he couldn’t straighten his elbow, Wil never even considered missing the ride. Barb packed gauze, bandages, and ointment in his bag. Each night, I reapplied his bandages and never heard the first complaint. Though his wounds still looked bad, by the last day of the PALM, he insisted on going bandage-free. If only I could be that tough.

Somehow that experience endeared me to both of them. Over the couple of days I stayed with them, and as Wil called his wife every night of the weeklong ride, I saw their unwavering love for each other. Wil and I did two more PALMs together, as well as the GOBA (Great Ohio Bicycle Adventure) with some of my friends. I loved how they spoke of each other over the next several years. Through those years, I called and talked with both of them more than I ever had before. The more I got to know them, the more I loved them.

Uncle Wil passed away in November 2019. At his funeral, Barb gave me a devotional. In January 2020, she and I began reading through the Bible together. Our talks became more frequent and more focused on God and the scriptures. Knowing Barb was reading through the Bible with me kept me on track. Both of us missed days and doubled up on other days. However, we stayed committed to reading through the Bible—a first for both of us.

In 2021, we read through the Bible chronologically. The next year, Barb returned to reading devotionals and focusing on certain books of the Bible in more depth. Our discussions always included what we were reading or studying. As of this writing, I am on track to read through the Bible for the fifth year in a row. Much of that is because of Aunt Barb’s encouragement.

Two weeks ago, after enjoying a week at her cottage with her son John and his family, Aunt Barb passed away. I’m sad because I had planned to visit her in September, but I’m grateful she remained cognitively sharp until the end. And most importantly, I know where she stood with God.

As I reflect upon her life and our many phone calls, I realize I never heard Barb say an unkind or negative word about anyone. Nor did she ever mention what she did for others. Aunt Barb never even talked about singing at her church or weddings or any of the other things she must have done to encourage and help people through the years. Certainly, I will miss her encouragement and guidance. I will always remember Aunt Barb as having a big part in my spiritual journey. What a life well lived. If I could be half as gentle, kind, and compassionate as my aunt, I would consider my life well lived.