Abundant Love: Portrait of a Husband and Wife
Several years ago, I wrote about my greenthumb neighbor,
Letha Townsend, and what she had taught me about gardening.
She has now gone to that great garden in the sky. Surely one
of the more common (if not cliche) descriptions of heaven or
an afterlife includes the idea of an abundant garden filled
with all varieties of things.
Letha was 86 when she died this past June. She and her
husband, Charles, were some of the first farmers who helped
begin our local Farmers Market by faithfully selling their
produce there.
Two of their specialties were early spring onions and
lettuce, often available in March before anyone else had
them. Charles and Letha would begin poking hundreds of onion
starts in holes in early February, and she faithfully
started her tomato plants in her hothouse in January. From
her I learned about tomato and onion varieties, as well as
countless flower and shrub varieties.
Toward the end, unfortunately, I could no longer trust her
comments on plants, possessions, or anything because her
mind was slowly being ransacked of its great wealth by
dementia. As is common in such situations, she didn't really
know even her husband of 47 years, who had kept faithfully
by her side through all the terrible ups and downs of
various illnesses. She frequently called him "her
boyfriend." In the end she thought he was her father. For
the last several years, she was not satisfied most days
unless he took her to see her "parents," who have been long
deceased.
Charles dared not leave her alone; some days he could talk
her into going to the adult day care center just so he could
have some relief from the constant vigil. The scariest times
were when he found her wandering on their country road alone
at night in her thin nightgown. Charles was eight years
younger than she, but toothpick-thin and had one knee
immobilized from a long-ago injury and surgery. He was
determined to take care of her. And he did, except for her
brief stints in the hospital for congestive heart failure or
at the nursing home/rehabilitation center after a
mini-stroke. The last time we went to see her as a family,
Letha held Charles' hand and put her head on his shoulder.
Five days later she died holding his hand after a long vigil
at the hospital. I admired their devotion.
She and Charles were also among the charter members of a
fledging congregation that is now a strong and growing
church. When her children were younger, she taught arts and
crafts at summer church camp. At some point she sensed that
her mentally challenged son, Bernie, would enjoy a special
class at church with other kids like him. So she and Charles
worked with the church leaders to start one, and then taught
it themselves. At church she also enjoyed the choir and
played the piano.
Three weeks after Letha's death we stopped by on a Sunday
evening. Charles was sitting in their favorite yard swing
looking out over their quiet and simple front yard. On a
table there was a Bible open to Song of Solomon, to those
luscious chapters of love and devotion. There was a picture
of Letha on top of it. Charles shared a letter given to him
by another elderly gentleman who had also recently lost his
wife, which gave hints on coping with grief. It encouraged
people, men especially, to not be ashamed to cry. It said to
keep pictures of your loved one around, and to not be
ashamed to talk to them.
I think Charles is going to be all right, which should give
hope to the rest of us. At times I wondered how Charles and
Letha would ever make it through their dilemmas as they
aged, but they did. Death in this situation is not so much a
failure but a final struggle to be conquered. And they did,
with all the love, devotion and care that any husband and
wife would hope to share. I continue to learn lessons from
these wonderful neighbors.
Contributed by Melodie Davis from her weekly column ANOTHER
WAY
http://www.thirdway.com/aw/awmain.shtml
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