Category Archives: Suicide

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Remembering My Younger Sister, Lois F. Brumbaugh

lois 001 edit 1Today marks what would have been my sister’s fifty-fifth birthday. We lost her twenty-two years ago in September. It is my month for grieving. I miss her. I can think back to when I first realized there might be trouble ahead. She was twelve and I was seventeen. We were in the back bedroom in the big old farmhouse where we lived. She opened up to me and confided how she was unhappy, very unhappy. I was shocked and couldn’t quite comprehend it. The concept was foreign to me. My parents must have sensed some of this because they switched her from public school to a private Christian school. Much later, she told me the kids teased her there and she didn’t fit in. One boy in particular was unkind to her.

Lois returned to public school and was well-liked at Chico high school. She once told me she could have been popular if there hadn’t been the strictness of home and church. It’s one of those windows into her life I can now understand with greater insight. She had a wish for life to be different in some ways than what it was. Lois turned into a beauty with a fun way about her. She dated. Worked hard. Developed into a lovely young lady with many gifts which she shared with others.

There was one area of struggle she wrestled with that was hard for the family and me to understand. It was in the area of faith and belief, she wasn’t sure she believed in God’s existence–even though at the time she was attending a Christian college. I don’t know why it was this way. It was scary to me and quite removed from the way I comprehended life. I assume there were many parts that made up the whole, causing the confusion.  I remember feeling a sense of relief when in her senior year in college she affirmed to me that she no longer had any doubt about there being a real God. Her honesty with me was refreshing. 

Lois and I never debated our personal beliefs. I never wanted to go there nor felt I would win. I listened, loved, prayed, and wished. I loved her so much and was proud of her many accomplishments. I wanted her to be happy. Her happiness, though, always seemed temporary, wistful, almost there, but not really. My husband was struggling at the same time as she, so I tried to be there for both of them as much as I could. In some ways, it seemed to be an almost impossible task, but I believed in better days ahead. I chose to be optimistic and trusting.

A few years later more doubts about God and religion would surface. Breakups with significant others would hurt her. Her world view was altering. We began to see her less frequently. Some in the family would reach out. I found myself worrying about her, sensing she was intentionally distancing herself from us. You may know what that is like, when you aren’t sure quite what’s going on but are afraid to over-do the approaching when you sense it isn’t welcome and they need to sort it out on their own. You don’t want to over-reach and push them farther away. So you grasp. You support. You compliment. You help. You pray.

Throughout the intervening years since then and now, I have often wished my sister could have known the goodness and love of God. Once a person grasps His great love, they have an anchor and it changes everything. God becomes real and life-giving rather than rigid and demanding. It’s no longer about doing and following rules; it is about being and joy. I wish she could have known God in this way as I have found Him in these later years. It is both freeing and fulfilling, and you no longer care what people think because you don’t need to. God is enough.

On the last two Septembers, I posted a blog article I wrote about Lois on the twentieth anniversary of her death. It is my way of acknowledging her contribution to making this world a better place. She loved people well. I want you to know she was a beautiful woman. I will link it here, In Memory of My Little Sis, Lois Faith Brumbaugh. Some of you know my family’s heartache and why her death hurt so deeply. It is because we lost Lois to suicide. I never have been able to make sense of it. But I do accept it; one has to or you can’t go on living. I attribute her life, and her death, to one of the reasons I have passion in my writing. I want to be a help to those who suffer. Life is painful. It is especially hard for people who struggle and feel alone in their suffering.

Lois as a baby, and with me holding her in the bottom two photos.

Lois as a baby, and with me holding her in the bottom two photos.

I know there are answers and solutions out there. With all my heart, I believe there is ALWAYS hope as much as I fully believe in God’s unconditional love. There are also those who are wise and helpful. Counselors, family members, or friends who help us get through the crisis and show us how to access the tools we need. I can attest to this because of my own hard times and those who helped me. . . and carried me through when I was too weak to function well on my own. These resources must be sought with diligence, but even then they can elude or be a chasing after wind if one has given up and lost their hope.

If this is you, if you need someone to listen, without judgment, please leave me a message in the contact box on this site, or send me a private email at www.nlbrumbaugh@gmail.com. I check my email inbox daily.

Lois’ life still speaks to me. Her thirty-three years had meaning and value. There’s lots I would do differently if I had another chance.  I thought about her upon waking this morning, wondering what she would look like if she were still with us. Beautiful, I’m sure. Would she have married, had children?  I believe one day we will meet again in the next life. Until then, “I love you, Lois. Happy Birthday.”

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One of our last pictures with Lois. She is to the right of my father. I am at the bottom left.

Because of my prior posts, I have received some positive remembrances about Lois and her life. To honor Lois’ memory on this her birthday,  I will share a few of these with you. Some of them are in part, not whole. As you will see, she was special and admired by many.

I read about your sister Lois. What a nice person she was. -Pete C.

Lois was a beautiful lady. -Betsy A.

Thank you Norma for sharing your heart. I agree with Betsy, Lois was a wonderful lady. I always found joy in listening to her play the piano. All my love to you, your family and others who have lost loved ones this way. We need to know. -Cindy P.

I remember Lois, I hope others will be helped because of the pain you have had to live. -Robert D.

Dear Norma,
I found your posting about Lois very moving. Yes, she had a special something about her and I was glad that she and I were able to stay good friends after your path and mine parted ways. Just a few months before she passed away she called me and asked if she could come up to Seattle for a weekend–I think she had just broken up with someone and needed some time away from Portland. We had a lovely time, going out to Alki Beach and having long talks. Later that summer, in August, I went to England for a few weeks to do research, and the when my Dad picked me up at the airport the first thing he had to tell me was “We lost Lois Brumbaugh”–I was devastated, but looking back it warms my heart to remember how he said it: “WE lost Lois Brumbaugh.” Without spending much time with her, she had made a deep connection with everyone in my family. I doubt she ever knew that.
    I’ve always wished I could understand Lois’s decision, but I never have. She was so alive, such a light in the world, at least it seemed that way to me. I suppose we can never know how much anguish a person may be carrying inside.
   My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family at this difficult anniversary of loss. All the Brumbaughs remain dear to me.
With much love, -David S.

Norma, the tears were flowing as I read your tribute to Lois. She was such a lovely person! I enjoyed visiting with her when she would come to visit Marilyn. Very well written is your tribute to her! Thank you! -Arlene T.

What a loving tribute to Lois. I remember both of you as teenagers at PVBC. You helped me with one of my Sunday School classes. Never got to know either of you well, but I always thought you were special. I knew she was too! Hugs to you Norma. You are a very strong, talented lady that makes other people stop and appreciate life, love and our wonderful God! Thank you for being YOU!  -Rosette C.

 Norma, thank you for posting this. I remember vividly where I was and what I was doing when I heard the news about Lois, and about the impact that her loss has had on my life and on my family. I always felt that I connected better with Lois than with any other member of your family, Norma. I remember her every day. May Lois’s memory be eternal!  -Mark M.

I miss Lois very much. She was a fun cousin and had a warm and beautiful smile. I have many happy memories of time spent with her. I think of her often. Jana M.

Ahhhh, I have such fun memories when remembering Lois. Loved her wit, loved her smile. Loved reading your post, Norma. Truly we were not ready to say “see you later,” but one of these days we will all meet again, and what a day of rejoicing that will be. Hugs to the Brumbaugh family – truly a wonderful family. -Terri M.

Your family always gives me such warm, precious memories of a family I love dearly, I ‘m sorry for your loss 20 years ago of Lois. My Dad loved baby girls, I remember him saying she was the cutest little girl. He had a warm special spot in his heart for her. I’ll be ready to read the blog about her, sadly I never knew what happened or how she died. I’m sending warm tender prayers to you, Norma, love to your family, -Pat F.

Lois had a way to love and make everyone feel extra special inside, no matter what the age. I remember when she bought her home and wanted me to come over and see it. She was excited about having her own place. We talked about her decorations and some future things she wanted to do. We both liked jewelry (kinda chunky jewelry as well) and Lois brought this jewelry maker over to my house one evening. We all three had a blast and Lois and I bought several pieces from her. When I see those pieces I purchased long ago in my jewelry box, I think of Lois and that fun evening. We also had fun going to Sat. Market on weekends. I have some wonderful memories of Lois and I still think of her often. I look forward to seeing her again in Heaven someday. It was an honor to know her. -DeDee N.

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I leave you with a photo from when we celebrated my parents’ anniversary.

The Brumbaugh Family on the farm in 1991. Lois is to the right of Dad on the tractor. I am on the bottom right.

 

ADDITIONAL LINKS:

In Memory of My Little Sis, Lois Faith Brumbaugh, 1960-1993

Lois’ Song, I’m Thinking of You

Suicide and the Christian Family

How to Respond after a Suicide

PAGE: Suicide Content

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In Memory of My Little Sis, Lois Faith Brumbaugh, 1960-1993

Lois Faith Brumbaugh

20 years of missing you

A bright light went out the day we lost Lois.
Lois was my little sister. I will never get over it. I can remember staying with my Cripe cousins during the time she was being born. My father came over and the adults were having a discussion of what my baby sister’s name was going to be. Later, I remember going to my Grandma Weigold’s and seeing my mother with the baby next to her in the bassinet. Lois was a beautiful baby. She had dark hair and large brown-black expressive eyes.

I was always protective of Lois. Although I was five years older than she was, we would talk about life and things. She seemed to have the ability to attain what she wanted even with my parents. I would be in awe. In later life, I was always proud of her many accomplishments and abilities. I liked her sense of style, humor, piano playing, intelligence, and innate sensitivities. We weren’t very much alike but enough alike to “get life” in a similar way.

Let me tell you some about Lois.
God gifted her with a sharp mind and natural musical ability. She had perfect pitch and musical intelligence. If she could hear it, she could play it. Lois was quick with her wit making come-backs at just the right time. She also had a sensitivity toward people, noticing their moods or struggles. Her giftedness was appreciated by her colleagues, former college friends, close friends and acquaintances. Many shared with my family the ways she touched their lives, going the extra mile, or sharing a cup of coffee at the right time when they needed it.

Her bosses told us Lois could see something that nobody else noticed when interviewing a prospective employee. She would pick up on the little things that matter. She was a fun-to-be-around co-worker. Lois liked fashion. She made her own jewelry, wore dangling earrings, could put clothing together in a way that set the outfit off, sometimes sewing her own clothes. I liked watching her become a woman who overcame her shyness and learned to present herself well.

Lois was beautiful.
We share the brown eyes, they run in the family. Hers flashed brightly, intelligently. I loved Lois. The night I got the news that she had left us, it felt like I was walking in shock, like the world would never be quite the same, a similarity to the way the world felt when Princes Di’s crash was broadcast interrupting the evening’s programming, Dan Rather’s voice quivering in uncharacteristic emotion. Lois moved people that way. A person wanted her to succeed and do well, but we could see her vulnerabilities as well. I wanted my sister back, to talk to her again.

She had been my encourager, calling me up once in awhile and saying things that made me feel appreciated. Lois noticed those small things that others never commented on. She wanted to help my husband and me because she knew my family was going through a lot. My children and the other nieces and nephews thought she was the greatest. She always gave the “fun” quirky gifts at Christmas. They called her “Aunt Lou.” My oldest two remember her best. They were nine and eleven when she passed on.

The day we drove to Oregon to say our final goodbye was long.

I cried most of the way to Oregon. There were several vehicles with family members, cousins, my grandma, and others. While stopping at a rest area and viewing the river as it flowed, my young daughter, LaVonne, said to me, “I wish Aunt Lou was Sleeping Beauty and a handsome prince would kiss her and she would wake up.” We arrived in Stayton, Oregon, at Marilyn’s, my sister, house. Soon it was overflowing with people. Everyone was in disbelief and shock. We were devastated. My oldest son, Joshua, arranged the alphabet magnets on the refrigerator to read “Aunt Lou still loves us.” It was hard for my family to say good-bye to her. She was too young. Her death had come too soon and in an unnatural way. 

The memorial service was full of tears and sadness.
When my brother, Paul, spoke he said, “It’s not right that we’re here today,” and he was right. My sister Juanita read this passage from the Word.

I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.  Ephesians 3:16-19. NIV

Mrs. Odell, a former pastor’s wife, spoke of Lois in children’s church as a little girl, making eyes at Richey. We all laughed, imagining Lois as a little girl. At the end of her speaking. Mrs. Odell paused. Her eyes scanned the room, then she said with a confident voice, “God is still in control.” So much we needed to hear those words that day. The service concluded with all the verses of Amazing Grace being sung as we stood together. The voices raised loudly as one. There was energy in the air and power in the words. It felt as if we were claiming a victory over the darkness that had snatched my sister away.

One scene from that day is etched in my mind.
We are standing next to her fresh dug grave that is now her final resting place. The sod and dirt are slightly damp. We are on a hill there in Stayton, Oregon. Most of the mourners have left, but we remain. My siblings, Paul, Juanita, Marilyn, and me, are standing next to my father. We are all alone for a few minutes. My father’s long arms enclose us as we huddle together, heads bowed, unable to speak, sorrowing in solidarity through our broken hearts and flowing tears.

It is just the four of us and Dad.

Dad shakes his head and says he never thought something like this would happen in our family. We find ourselves agreeing, shaking our heads, overcome with a grief that takes your breath away and penetrates the inner core.

Then some of us wander over to baby Sharon Elisabeth Brammer’s marker, which tells of another sorrow, when the family grieved a few years before in 1982, when we lost my sister’s eleven month old to leukemia, the firstborn grandchild of my parents. I see the marker with her name. Fresh tears flow, and I feel the loss afresh.  I am glad my sister is laid to rest near her niece. It seems right and fitting.

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Sisters Forever, 1983: The Brumbaugh Girls at Grandma Weigold’s house: Norma, Marilyn, Juanita, and Lois.

This week it will be twenty years since we lost Lois.
I miss her and wish she was still here. Every once in a great while I will have a dream with her in it. She is vivacious and charming. I will ask her, “Why did you have to leave us?” and she will smile at me and then fade away. Then I wake up. It always makes me sad and happy mixed together.

For those of you who knew her, I want you to remember her smile and the gift she was to us. That is what we should think about at this time, the happy and loving memories of Lois Faith Brumbaugh, beloved daughter, sister, and friend.

First posted on meridianwoman.blogspot.com

ADDITIONAL LINKS

https://www.nlbrumbaugh.com/remembering-lois

Lois’ Song, I’m Thinking of You