Bruce Coeling died this morning. He suffered a massive heart attack last Saturday and was never really responsive again after that. His children made the hard decision to remove him from the machines keeping his body alive on Thursday, and around 1:30 a.m. on Friday, June 8, 2012, he died. He was 67. He is a father and a grandfather and a friend.
I saw him on Wednesday night when a couple of friends and I went to the hospital after worship practice to visit him, but really to support his son who sings with us on the worship team and, with his wife and children, is in our Family Fellowship Group. Before that I saw Bruce at church at 8:30 a.m. a couple of weeks ago when I last sang on the worship team. I smiled when I saw him, and his son, Ken, and I talked about how Bruce always got there at 8:30 for the 9:30 service, because he didn't like to be late. The funny thing about death is that I didn't know that was the last time he would return my smile and tell me hello. Because most of the time you just don't know.
As I was falling asleep on Wednesday night, praying for Bruce and for his son and two daughters and their families, I wondered how we slipped into this stage of life. At Christmas of 2010, our dear friends lost their mother after years of living with a brain tumor and its effects. In January of 2007, we grieved with another good friend over the loss of her father in a car accident. In between, there have been other days of bearing the burden of grief as other friends and church family members have said goodbye to their fathers. How did we get here, to this place where we are starting to say goodbye to our parents? It's tricky, because many of us still have grandparents living . . . and yet somehow we have reached an age where our parents' days are truly numbered, and we are starting to count them.
There is a paradox for Christians around the world and throughout history. We know, with great certainty, where our loved ones have gone. We know, with great certainty, that God is holding them in His hands; they have reached their final Home, have heard the "Well done, my good and faithful servant," and have entered into the joy of our Lord. And yet, we also know, with great certainty, that we miss them. That life shouldn't have to include death, and that our lives are forever changed by this death. We are reminded that this world is not our Home, and that we are merely pilgrims on a sojourn in this land. So we grieve, even while we celebrate. When we grieve, we grieve with hope. But we still grieve. And it sucks.
I know that Bruce died this morning, but when I saw him Wednesday night, his son said, "He's there, but he's not there." I wonder when Bruce really did die. I wonder if he died on Saturday and spent a week in eternity asking Jesus to give his family peace as they said goodbye to him and as they held his dying body.
Many in my group of friends have said goodbye to our unborn babies who have slipped from our wombs into the arms of Jesus. I don't know well anyone who has buried a child, but I do know of fathers who have cradled the caskets containing their babies' bodies as they walked into the funeral service or released their children for burial. That is a pain that cannot be matched. Life shouldn't include death. But, as a daughter, I wonder if there is anything more heartbreaking than seeing a grown woman become again a little girl as she kisses her daddy goodbye for one of the final times. I saw that Wednesday night, and my heart broke, because I realized that one day that would be me.
Saying goodbye is a funny thing. We know that to live is Christ and to die is truly gain. I'm not afraid of it, but I don't know how I got to this stage where my friends and I are saying goodbye to our grandparents and our mommies and our daddies . . . and sometimes our children too. This is a tender time. And I imagine I'll cry at 8:30 Sunday morning when we're practicing our songs for the service and Bruce doesn't come in to sit in his normal seat an hour before the service starts.
Bruce Coeling died this morning. He was only 67 years old. But he liked to get there a little bit early, because he never wanted to be late.
4 comments:
Remarkably done Bek!! Oh how I love to read what I feel...you do that...you write how I feel so often in your posts. And even though it really has been a long time since I have had a heart to heart with your dad...I hope that the day it's you that you talked about in this post....doesn't come for a really long time.
OK, I'm weeping and wiping away tears again. Thanks for sharing these great insights from your heart and life.
Sometimes the brokenness of the world is so very visible. It's a painful reminder that things are not as they should be. And that's why we cling so hard to the solid Rock.
Beka - You have such a way with words!! Thank you for sharing your heart and thoughts on Bruce and what a tender time this is in life for those left behind. He was a man who wasn't afraid to share his faith and there is such peace in knowing that even though there are goodbyes here on earth we will all be together again. With each loss we feel here it makes me think about how there will be an even greater homecoming when we get there! What a party it will be!!!!
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