Lois Faith Brumbaugh circa 1980

“Lois died today,” it said. The words jumped out at me. A warm tingling sensation caused me to tear up.

We were cleaning my mother’s room when we came across a brown lidded container in her bottom dresser drawer. In it were tablets organized by month and year with brief notations my mother had written. I thumbed through the tablets specifically looking for September, 1993. Found it.

I plucked the small tablet out of the box. I was curious to see what my mother had written about my baby sister’s passing. The entry was in extra tiny script, like she was hesitant, or it was too hard to bear to write it.

Just one line, three words. “Lois died today.” That was all. Its starkness shocked me. The ending of her baby’s life was reduced to one line in a tablet. But, oh what it did not say, what Mother didn’t allow herself to say–what Mother would have said if she’d given herself the permission to say it–how Lois’ sudden death had shocked her and had shaken her to the core and totally crushed her heart. How she felt like a failure and believed she hadn’t done enough. How she had wanted to talk to Lois via phone that night but had not been feeling well enough to make the call.

Oh the regrets, the terrible regrets.

My sister’s suicide stunned us, Mother, Dad, my siblings, me. All of us were devastated. We couldn’t believe it. Christians and children from Christian homes aren’t supposed to commit suicide. This compounded our loss with layers of shame, blame, and guilt. You can’t help but blame yourself. If only, became the refrain in almost every conversation for months, and in the heart for forever. . . .

A death by suicide begins a painful journey for family and friends.

Lois’ Bible

I am at my folk’s home right now, reading in my sister’s bible. I sit in a burgundy recliner reading scripture.

A couple of days ago I noticed a thick, coffee-colored bible on my mother’s nightstand, not knowing it was my sister’s.

Lois’ familiar signature on the inside cover, in confident, elegant script, reminds me of her essence. It is so like her. My sister was witty, beautiful, stylish, with an eye for tasteful decor. She was keen in thinking, smart in application. Lois amazed me, a shy kid turned accomplished adult. I’d been proud of her.

I’ve never stopped missing her.

As I turn the bible’s pages, it is obvious to me that my mother read in this bible quite a bit. The pages are soft with use. I wonder if it made her feel close to Lois. It does for me.

Every September I write a remembrance about the sister I lost. This past September got away from me as did October, and it didn’t happen. What would I write this time? For a couple of months I’ve thought about it, what to say,  what will speak to my readers?

Reading from her bible reminds me that it is time to speak of Lois once again. Her life still speaks. It speaks through the words I write. It speaks to people who knew her and were loved by her. It reminds us to pay attention to others.

Suicide is difficult and confusing.

Suicide touches many families in the Christian community. I want you to know what it is like after a suicide for a Christian family. I also want to speak life to those who consider suicide as their only option to end the pain. That will come in Part 2 and Part 3. I think we cannot be silent about suicide or its effect on our families.

A thought or two

Lois has been on my mind a lot lately. It is the time of year. Lois was born in September. Thirty-three years later, she died in September. Twenty-five years later, I’m writing about her and my mother with a new freedom. The nearness of death, with the recent passing of my mother, her services and goodbye, brings the memory of Lois close. She should have been with us, mourning our mother’s passing. Maybe she could see us from her heavenly home. If so, I think she would have been moved by our sorrowing.

Photo by Son 1 from earlier in 2018. He decided to pay his respects to his Aunt Lou.

I thought of Lois more than usual as we went through the letting go motions with Mother. We have done this same drill before, at Lois’ passing, and with a similar ending. Lois’ goodbye was with a sorrow too deep for words. There on the hill at the cemetery in Stayton, Oregon, by the side of her grave, the casket already lowered in the ground, with our arms wrapped around each other, Dad said, “I never expected something like this to happen in our family.”

We stood there, remembering, sorrowing, and weeping, rooted to the spot. Death is a long goodbye. But suicide makes it ten times worse. Her life didn’t have to end that way. She was like a beautiful flower that left us, leaving an empty spot in her place. How I longed to speak to her, to hug her, to help her, to love her back from the grave.

When Mother was fading last August, I imagined my mother entering heaven’s gate, her joy at seeing Lois, and their embrace. I pictured their happiness at being together. Tears formed at the thought. A friend said to me, “Soon your mother will see Lois again,” and we both smiled as I nodded in agreement. I pictured their reunion as a beautiful moment of tender love and pure joy.

Continued in my next post: A Mother’s Broken Heart

Disclaimer. I speak for myself, not for my family. This is my personal opinion, take, and conclusions.

Link to my first blog about Lois: In Memory of My Little Sis, Lois Faith Brumbaugh

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