The third to die was Ann Bolen, the mother of my first two grandsons. Although she and my son could not remain a couple, I remained her “mom.” Ann was a strong-willed person who took control of every focus of her life. She was a hard worker, a Christian lady, but one who was not beyond cancer as well. She was strong enough to conquer the cancer, but by the time it was over, her system was depleted of health, and for the next two years she succumbed to anorexia, spent much time in hospitals and homebound activities. On Christmas Eve I talked to her by phone and was told that she had fallen from a ladder while trimming her Christmas tree and broke her hip. She died that night, at age 62.
Obviously, all three of these loved ones are in a far better place today. All are well and free of pain for the first time in years. The superstition of three deaths in a row is now put to rest until the next three. But my heart aches, not for them to be restored to this “life,” but for the loss of their actual presence in my life.
My heart surges for the good times and the good memories of those times. All three enjoyed a good laugh, a prank and another soul reconciled to the Lord. I hope to catch up with all of you when the time is right!