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.

sisters 001 edit 1

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

 

How to Respond After a Suicide

IMG_0695This photo is one I took at Lookout Point in Paradise, CA, overlooking Butte Creek Canyon. A place known for loss of life due to suicide. The words of this memorial are our voices.

Two suicides in the last month…

 A local teen dies. Gone. He is from a good family with loving support, friendly; a nice kid. I see his picture in the obituary column. The notice states depression as the cause of death. I assume that means it is a suicide, but I don’t know the facts. Next, I read about his death in a weekly column in the local paper. The columnist’s wife is in contact with this boy’s family. He tells of the victim’s young neighbor who asks “Where’s my friend?” The writer is devastated, moved to tears, unbelieving, grieving over this terrible loss of life. He says,

For the last couple of weeks I have been on the edge of heartbreaking family tragedy. It hasn’t involved my family and the heartache is not mine to share, so I won’t be offering any details. Suffice it to say a high school boy unexpectedly and unnecessarily died. . . .There was something about this particular horror that hit me very hard. I can’t remember the last time any single sorrow dissolved me to tears as quickly and as often as this one. …Against my own experiences, I am surprised how much this untimely death has affected me. My [wife] has had an official role to play, duties that she needed to accomplish, ways to help and serve the grieving family. . . . She has suffered through this experience and I am always attuned to her pain. Perhaps that has been a contributing factor in my own reactions. . . .” (Roger Aylworth).

A young adult ends his life. Gone. From a good family, employed in the family business, a sensitive young man who has no enemies. His mother says on her social media page that he’d been on medication for depression off and on in the past. The family was aware of his struggles. Then the much-feared happens. He ends it.  After the fact, a couple of weeks later,  I receive a private message. A friend asks me what he should do to help this family. The mother of the suicide victim has reached out to him. He remembers my recent post, “Suicide and the Christian Family.” I say a few things but I’m thinking, this really hurts, I’m so sorry they have to go through this.  I know the pain. I’ve walked it. The following is a short snippet cut from a longer response.

After my friend asks for advice. I respond with…

After suicide, there is a great need to talk. It’s such a helpless feeling. Even months later you find yourself stuck in the hurting place.

He responds back…

Thank you Norma for responding. You came to mind last night. . . . ‘After suicide, there is a great need to talk… it’s such a helpless feeling,’ you have said. Poignant, it was so-o-o-o apparent in her … messages to me. [The mother] is very vulnerable right now. She N E E D E D to talk, almost to anyone. I limited what I said, simply because I was determined to avoid the available, well-meaning cliches, but… it was so poignant, a woman, a mother . . .  desiring to tell me whatever I would permit her to say about her deceased son. I tried to put myself in her shoes and almost broke down in tears. I felt agony for her. It was late at night, aloneness, the pitiful starkness of it an almost crushing but necessary reality. Time for sleep, but no respite. It was painful for me, infinitely more so for her.”

The conversation made me realize that I must write about how to respond to a someone who has lost a dear one to suicide. People grieve and react differently. Some must talk. Others need silence. Sensitivity is needed.

Here is a list of helps to aid in knowing how to respond to a suicide victim’s family. These are compiled from three sources including my own experience; all of us have lost children and/or siblings to suicide. I have condensed what they shared with me.

Here is what families of a suicide victim would want you to know. . .

  • Approach the suicide victim’s family but don’t overreach. “People are uncomfortable, they don’t speak to us at church. They avoid us because they don’t know what to say. My ex-wife has quit going to church. It’s too hard for her right now. The family isn’t over this. In fact, we feel worse today than a few months ago.” (9 months since)
  • We need people to listen to us. We need them to be there for us without trying to figure it out, why it happened.
  • The family needs to be treated with respect, kindness and gentleness It is such a shock.  Everything hurts either physically or emotionally. Close friends who are now distant cause additional emotional  pain. It can make a person wonder why they have distanced from us.  We ask ourselves, is it judgment, disapproval, or misunderstanding about why it happened?
  • Permission is needed to talk about the trauma and difficult details. These are hard to wrap your brain around and it is also hard to ask all the tough questions.
  • Refrain from saying suck it up, put it out of your mind, and go on with life.  Allow people time to work it through. The grieving place is consuming of time and energy. A person will desire to emerge as a sane person, but this takes time.
  • Share pictures of the lost one and details about them are important. We need to hear their name and see pictures of them. This is important and comforting  because the past is all we have to last the rest of our life. We need validation that they matter and mattered.
  • Remember their birth date and their home-going (heaven) date. It means a lot when others remember these important dates and communicate this to the family. These dates carry a lot of emotion for the family. It is comforting to know others understand and care enough to let the family know they are thinking of them or praying for them. It is helpful in the healing process.
  • People who commit to praying for the family bring an extra measure of comfort. The family knows they are not forgotten. There are times the family members are unable to pray or express themselves, the crush on their heart goes deep.
  • Going out in public is difficult. It is difficult to see people. Talking about this is hard, especially if you’re not in the mood or it’s in a public place. For some, it may take months to return to former activities and church involvement. The family may need to isolate themselves, sit in the back, find a spot where they can weep if emotion hits them or a song brings the sorrow to the forefront. This may last a long while. Some songs or comments will always have the power to bring back the loss afresh. We still love the person we’re missing.
  • Be careful what you say or ask. It is better to say, “It is really good to see you” than “How are you doing?” Some weeks are rough and the tears will begin to flow right there in a public place. However, tears are a friend, a way to release the pain that is stuck inside. The first year one cries a lifetime of tears. Do not ask “How’d they do it?” The family will say how much they feel comfortable saying, telling more details to those closest to them. (I answered that one only one time and never again. I hated it because I hated the suicide, and I didn’t want anyone to consider it as an option.)
  • Suicide loss is hard. With suicide, painful elements are added to the grieving. It takes time to heal a broken heart in addition to the natural grieving process. You are not the same person you were before the suicide. The healing comes from the inside out. It remains an open wound unless or until it heals.
  • You may offer to accompany them to join a small group. Choose one that will uplift, support, and encourage them. One of my contacts participated in a Suicide Survivor’s Group when a friend offered to take her. Later she went on her own. It helped tremendously.
  • It is encouraging to have people come along side, share their stories and walk with you, especially those who have been there. It offers a healing balm. It makes you feel less alone in your suffering. It helps with the difficult questions as you wonder the things you don’t like to think about, one’s like; why was our family singled out? Why didn’t God intervene on our loved one’s behalf? These are rarely voiced but often thought.
  • Do not give unsolicited advice or say trite phrases. It doesn’t help. In fact, it hurts.
  • Listen, listen, and listen, and listen some more. Talking helps ease the hurt. 
  • Some say more than they should and seem stuck in their grief. Allow them to do this. They are processing their sorrow and sadness, and they are trying to accept the tragedy as best they can.
  • Refrain from saying their suicide was a “selfish act.” That was said to me and it hurt. I wanted to shout, “You don’t understand.” No one really knows the whole story.
  • Do something. A pat on the arm, a small hug, a simple note of encouragement that says “I’m praying for you” or “We care,” can mean so much.
  • Be available. Don’t push. Make an offer but let them decide. Later, offer again. The first year is a long one for the family. The grieving intensifies with each passing holiday empty of their presence.
  • Some families are very private. They don’t let people in. Respect this, and let them be. “Thinking of you” is a help to all.
  • Don’t try to find a reason for the suicide. Let the family sort it out if they wish.  They don’t need your opinion. It’s hard enough anyway. We grasp at straws, we rethink the past, we experience guilt, we feel we failed, and we blame ourselves. It is a burden for the family. One that can never fully be shed.
  • Don’t pretend or act as if nothing happened. This was an earthquake for the family. It will take years to recover. Say something. “I’m sorry,” is a good place to start.
  • Plant a tree or remember the person with some sort of memorial, even a candle or simple gift. There is a tree planted in the woods in memory of my sister. I often wished I would have planted one. It would be tall by now, a living memory of the sister I loved so much and will miss forever.

Please add your thoughts and comments to this list. It scratches the surface and is limited to the thoughts of my three sources.

My friends,

To all of you who have lost someone you loved to suicide, I want you to know that there are many of us who share your pain, who are your sisters and brothers in the suffering, and who want you to heal and recover by taking whatever time it takes. Your loved one was special. They always will be special despite the painful present.

God bless you,

Norma

For this writing, I chose to not include content specific to the spiritual other than brief mention of prayer and healing even though the spiritual is an important component. I may address it in a later writing. That said, the three who contributed content are in the faith community

ADDITIONAL LINKS

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

Remembering My Younger Sister, Lois F. Brumbaugh

Lois’ Song, I’m Thinking of You

Suicide and the Christian Family