Tributes

by David Sundell

Reluctantly Entering a New Day

Any new year holds the promise, and the threat if I am to be fair about it, of unexpected challenges and happenings. As much as we might calculate and consider, weigh and balance, plan and anticipate, certain events can and do change the course of our lives. 1994 looked a lot different at this time last year from what it looks like now. Nothing in my training or experience could, nor has, adequately prepared me for the searing pain brought on by the death of my wife, LaVonne.

By today’s standards she was relatively young, only 56. Hers was a disciplined life. In college she was one of those annoying people who had her term papers finished two weeks before they were due and always got a full night of sleep before a final exam! She applied a similar routine to her eating habits and only grumbled slightly about her walks to be sure she got enough exercise. Annual checkups and a dentist visit every six months were certainties. Our home was always neat and she had a place for everything, and it was usually there. The familiar chaos of my workshop was an embarrassment to her finely tuned sense of order, but as long as no one went down to the basement and the door was kept closed, a peaceful truce was observed.

All the careful planning and disciplined practice of the rules for a healthful life style could not encompass the vicissitudes of a weak blood vessel in the brain. Unaccountably, it leaked. Her speech turned to babel, her right side became helpless and her family was emptied of joy. Two weeks of intensive care and gradual improvement dared to let us hope that corrective surgery would eliminate the faulty vessel and our anguish. Two days short of her appointment for the operating room the blood vessel burst.

We think a lot about what might have been. The doctors were clear in telling us that surgery would not restore her speech or give back her strength. That would take at least a year after extensive rehabilitation, but even that was no guarantee. After all the work and effort toward recovery, she might be only 50%, if that, of what she once was. We, of course, hoped for the best. Several persons told us stories of people they knew who had recovered completely from similar trauma. We knew what we wanted, and that’s the direction our hope took. We also knew that LaVonne was impatient with infirmity, most of all in herself. Being at 50% capacity or less would have been living hell for her, and probably for us, too. Perhaps the ending was a severe mercy for us, yet the certainty of heaven for her.

Those of us who loved her most feel sad and empty. We even get angry at her for leaving us. Our lives won’t be the same in her absence. And we continue to feel sorry for ourselves. So, we reluctantly enter a new day, out of necessity, not by choice. However, we are not ill equipped. Neither our hope nor our faith died when LaVonne did. Then again, she didn’t fully die either. Except for a faulty vessel in her brain, she was healthy. Most of her major organs were harvested, giving life to people who would surely die without them. She literally lives on in others, even as her character and inspiration live on in us, whom she loved.

Who can fully understand God’s economy? Our family has suffered a great loss but at the same time we have been touched by so many loving, caring people who have willingly shared our sorrow and borne some of the burden of our grief. That gift of grace would not have otherwise come to us. Somehow there has been the strength and the people we needed, when we needed it. We are convinced that out of our loss will come new sensitivities and capacities for living that will serve us well in the days ahead. That too, is a gift of God’s grace. Peace to LaVonne’s memory.