Posted on Friday, September 16, 2016

LOIS’ SONG – I’M THINKING OF YOU

Lois Faith Brumbaugh at age 20.

Lois is my sister, and she was my friend. Today I honor her memory with Lois’ Song written by my cousin a decade before her death. The words are apropos for I’m thinking of her. It is September. I always think about her in September because that is when we lost her. I was a little mommy to her when she was a baby. We would play house together, me, the big sis, and she, the little sister. She was born in September. She died in September. I am not very fond of September.

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

Just over a week ago, on Labor Day, 2016, I drove to Stayton Cementary in Stayton, Oregon to visit my sister’s grave. Actually, to visit Lois because I miss her. It was a lovely day for a visit; perfect weather, quiet, pretty blue sky with a few white billowy clouds, peaceful. Our mind remembers and I am grateful for the memories. I pictured the mourners around her grave, for that was what we were that day in 1993, grief stricken and in shock and disbelief that this had happened. I couldn’t seem to stop weeping. My heart was so full and my pain was so great. It all came back and the sorrow touched me once again. It feels different now but a part of me departed with her those twenty-three years ago, never to be returned. That’s what love does to you.

Cripe and Brumbaugh cousins singing at our grandparents’ home. [left to right, front to back] Jerry, Lois, Norma (me), Jana, Paul, Marilyn, Jeff, Juanita -1962

Strong families are rare and we were a strong family. My parents were intentional in their parenting. But their spiritual side was the most important gift they gave us. Church was part of our weekly life. Dad farmed row crops, almond and walnut orchards. Mom cooked, gardened, canned, and sewed (most of our clothing and curtains, you name it, she could sew it . . . even making an umbrella for Dad’s D-4 Caterpillar tractor. We kids helped both Mother and Dad with all the busyness of farm life.

Sunday morning. Paul, Marilyn, Dad, Mom, Norma (me), Juanita, Lois in front. 1969

Sunday morning. Paul, Marilyn, Dad, Mother, Norma (me), Juanita, Lois in front. 1969 (?)

I remember my cousin Jerry wanted a few moments alone at her grave site after my siblings, me, and my parents had stepped aside. They were the babies in the Cripe and Brumbaugh families and shared some similar traits: quirky humor, quick intelligence, spunk and wit, and musical intelligence, both were talented and able to play by ear. Our parents were siblings, and we were a tight family. We spent most vacations together even though they had to drive 500 miles up to the Chico area. My cousins and their folks were with us as we caravaned to Oregon. I was writing what I would say at the next day’s service. It was difficult. Everyone respected our loss. We were trying to make sense of our loss. Why? What did we miss? Suicide is that way, it never makes sense. Other cousins were there, too. A blanket of sadness covered all of us. We lost her at age thirty-three. It is still difficult to talk about our family’s loss.

Jerry and Lois on my wedding day, playing the songs I requested and singing "Longer Than." Two very talented musicians. 1980

Jerry and Lois on my wedding day, playing the songs I requested for the pre-wedding ceremony and then singing Longer Than and Morning Has Broken. They were two very talented musicians and the music was beautiful. 1980

LOIS’ SONG

Were you to rise on the wings of the dawn
to the far side of the sea
Were you to sail like light through the heavens
I would go ahead, prepare your way
I’m thinking of you
I’m thinking of you.

Were you to say that night would hide me
I can see you in the darkness – shining like the day
Were you to say that I’d forgotten
Just because you can’t see me – remember
I’m thinking of you
I’m thinking of you.

Angels watch before and watch behind
And wrap their wings all about you
Till morning comes to chase
The shadows of the night away
I’m thinking of you
I’m thinking of you.

Were you to rise on the wings of the dawn
to the far side of the sea
Were you to sail like light through the heavens
I would go ahead, prepare your way
I’m thinking of you
I’m thinking of you.
Jerry Cripe, circa. 1982

JERRY CRIPE”S words about the song he wrote inspired by Lois’ favorite scripture passage:

“On college Winter Break in the early 1980’s, I gathered with the Brumbaugh and Cripe clans at our Grandparent’s home in Chico, California to celebrate Christmas. After much turkey and trimmings were consumed we caroled and exchanged gifts, but on this occasion before breaking off for the customary games, naps and kitchen cleanup, the cousins, parents, and grandparents remained by the tree to go around the circle allowing each a turn at sharing a favorite portion of Scripture. Of the 31,102 verses in the Bible I do not recall which one I chose, but Lois’ treasured selection stood out to me as the most prosaic of possibilities.

Later that morn I asked her in private how she came up with that priceless pericope and in her good humored way Lois confided that she had picked a read at random, but Psalm 139 was her best-loved passage of all. Thereafter, I, too, came to cherish the chapter, so much so that from it I penned the lyrics for a song originally titled ‘I’m Thinking of You’ and which later I changed to ‘Lois’ Song’.”

At Grandma Weigold's house with my sisters. Juanita, me, Uncle Vernon, Grandma W., Lois, Marilyn (& John). Juanita and I were new mothers. 1983

THE BRUMBAUGH SISTERS. My sisters and I rendezvoused at Grandma Weigold’s house in Southern Cal (from Oregon, Washington, and Northern Cal to spend some time with Grandma and to visit our Cripe cousins. Juanita, me, Uncle Vernon, Grandma, Lois, Marilyn (& John). Juanita and I were brand new first time mothers. 1983

I leave you with a photo of her grave marker and a short word of sage advice. Love your children, your spouse, your parents and grandparents well. Say the words, I love you, when you part. Call or text them when they cross your mind. Give extra hugs and say those things you appreciate about them, they might not know the qualities you see in them. I called Lois the day she died, but it was already too late. My sister, Marilyn, and I had teamed up in prayer for her even though we lived in different states. We would try to pray for Lois at the same time every day knowing that scripture says God honors, “where two or three are gathered in His name.” We were concerned because we knew things were not as they should be and she was drifting, but we didn’t realize the true gravity of the situation. Lois was working a respectable job, was buying a house, and outwardly was successful. Marilyn and I and our children visited with Lois up in the Portland area a few weeks before she passed on. Our kids loved Aunt Lou because she was fun (and vivacious). Two of them stayed overnight with her. Lois talked kid language and goofed off with them. Marilyn and I talked with Lois some about what was going on in her life, but we didn’t push and we really didn’t know. It is hard when someone is losing their way and you don’t know what to do or what it is about. Embrace every opportunity for it may be your last. Regrets are punishing.

I have answers I didn’t have then. Please let me know if I can help you. Life is precious. Please know, I care.

ADDITIONAL LINKS

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

Remembering My Younger Sister, Lois F. Brumbaugh

Suicide and the Christian Family

How to Respond after a Suicide

Posted on Monday, September 7, 2015

Remembering My Younger Sister, Lois F. Brumbaugh

Today 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.

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.”

Ray and Evelyn Brumbaugh's 40th 001 edit 1

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.