What Remains Behind: Sequel to A Very Present Help

By Shelley Warner With some writings by Tom Warner

The title, What Remains Behind, is taken from a Wordsworth poem that speaks of grieving and finding strength in what remains behind. For Shelley, what remains behind are memories, grief recovery, a sense of purpose, spiritual and personal discovery, and a surprising joy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646705948

Book preview

Acknowledgments

I thank my son again for allowing me to publish stories about some of his difficulties. He just asked that I change his name, so I have changed it to Ralph.

I thank my daughter and son-in-law, Corina and Ethan Burke, for their love and support. And thank you to Ethan for letting me use one of his photos.

I thank Lorrie Baer, who works in the nursery at our church and welcomes my granddaughter as a helper with the little ones. Hillary Clinton says, It takes a village to raise a child. She is part of our village. Lorrie encouraged me to write a chapter on raising grandchildren."

I thank James Sorenson, my young writer friend at church, who gave me helpful feedback when this book was almost finished.

I thank Casey Brainbridge for letting me use some of her photos.

I thank my mom, Nita Worden, from whom I have inherited my love of storytelling.

Prologue

Years ago, I watched a movie, Splendor in the Grass, about the heartbreak of first love. In one scene, Natalie Wood’s character, Deannie, is lost in thought in her English class. She doesn’t hear the teacher reading this passage from Wordsworth’s Intimations of Immortality:

What though the radiance which was once so bright

Be now forever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find

Strength in what remains behind.

(Wordsworth’s Poetry and Prose 439)

The teacher calls Deannie out of her inattentiveness and asks her to read the passage and interpret it. Haltingly, she reads it and comments on the idealism of youth before running out of class in tears. For me, these lines are achingly beautiful. The consolation in we will find strength in what remains behind is a light shining into my soul. Life brings loss, mourning, and sheer mountains of difficulty. Yet we find strength in what remains behind—family, beauty, joy, triumph, inspiration, and insight, comfort, hope, recovery, joy of creation, love, and memories.

This book, a sequel to A Very Present Help, is a presentation of narrative, poetry, and meditations that highlights what remains behind in my life after my losses. It is my hope that the reader will realize that whatever we lose in life, there is strength in what remains behind.

Chapter 1

Raising Grandchildren

He will feed his flock like a shepherd.

He will carry the lambs in his arms,

holding them close to his heart.

He will gently lead the mother sheep

with their young.

—Isaiah 40:11 (New Living Translation)

Tenacity

One morning, the rain beat against my windshield as I drove the children to school. I thought about some rough moments over the past days as a single parent/grandparent/guardian. My granddaughter had been throwing tantrums. I had responded impatiently. Suddenly, a children’s song popped into my mind:

The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout.

Down came the rain and washed the spider out.

Out came the sun and dried up all the rain.

And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.¹

I sang it out loud. Then again. And again. That took a lot of tenacity on the spider’s part, I told myself. He didn’t give up. And neither will I.

Becoming Parents Again

Our grandchildren came into our care when Faith was six and Zach was four. Faith is a vivacious, loving, temperamental, nurturing child. Zach is a happy, relaxed, loving, kind child. It was a major adjustment, but we were glad to care for them.

Within a year, my husband Tom was diagnosed with cancer and began chemo treatments. He came home from his work—as a chaplain at the Idaho State Veterans Home—worn out, but he insisted on helping me. At bedtime, I’d often get frustrated with Zach’s wiggles while trying to get the two of the children to sleep. Tom would take Zach to bed with him and speak quietly with him until he was asleep. Then he’d carry him back to the kids’ room and deposit him in his little blue car bed.

One night, he stumbled as he carried Zach. He placed him safely in bed, but I became aware that he was losing his strength. It was a sad moment. And later after Tom was gone, it was a sad moment when we gave away the car bed and graduated Zach into a bigger bed.

So I became a single parent in my sixties. People wonder how I do it. I say two things: It takes a village (Hillary Clinton). Our village includes caring teachers, a loving church family, Faith’s therapist, Zach’s cub scout leaders, and friends and relatives. I also say truthfully that God gives supernatural strength.

He gives power to those who are tired and worn out; he offers strength to the weak (Isaiah 40:29, NLT 2nd edition).

Baby Dolls

Some of the challenges that I face as a grandma/guardian are connected with my granddaughter’s neuro developmental delay. Things can go smoothly for a while. Then there may be several days in a row that are distressing, usually when there’s a change in routine. That’s what happens to us. You’d think I’d learn to not get drawn into verbal battles, but I did on the day after Thanksgiving 2018. I felt angry. I felt discouraged. God help me, I prayed. I just can’t do this on my own.

Meanwhile, Faith’s adopted grandfather, a kindly man at church, had gone to the hospital with some stress and depression. She wanted to visit him. At the end of that tumultuous day, we drove in the dark and the rain and arrived for visiting hours. As we sat in a private room, encircling a little round table, she handed him a present. It was one of her chapter books, a story about a girl and her birthday.

I will read this, he said. It feels like my birthday. She handed him a card. She’d signed her name and the names of her brother and me but also Rose, Ginger, and Chloe.

Who are they? he asked.

They’re my baby dolls, she answered. We all broke out in fun laughter. How are you sleeping? she asked. Such concern for a twelve-year-old to show. Such compassion. My anger toward her melted. The next day was a loving, peaceful day. As the day drew to a close, I sensed God’s loving care. He knows we are human.

As a father has compassion on his children,

so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him;

for he knows how we are formed,

he remembers that we are dust.

(Psalm 103:13–14, NIV)

Going Crazy

My granddaughter screams

out her soul’s cares,

and all her insecurities,

and tomorrow is chemo

for her Papa, my husband.

I guess life

is not meant

to be normal.

Sometimes I’m

going crazy

but tonight I’m okay.

Surprisingly.

Bible verse: For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us (Romans 8:28, KJV).

Endurance

I’m learning that it’s okay to live with the unknown. It’s December 19, 2018, and I’m sitting in surgery, waiting. It’s been eight days since my granddaughter’s surgery to fix a problem she was born with, and now there’s complications. What was supposed to be a three-to-five-day recovery has stretched out into seemingly endless days. I know that she’ll be well again, but in time to travel? We have a plane reservation in four days to visit family in Oregon and Washington. Will we go? Will we cancel? I’d like life to be like a well-marked road with signs that indicate what is coming up. Life, however, is not so predictable. That’s okay. I can accept that I’m not in control.

A while ago, Faith and I were having another temperamental day. That night, I prayed about my discouragement, and as I prayed, I saw a photo-op in my mind for the future. Faith and I were standing arm in arm, against a backdrop of blue-clad high school graduates. We did it, we exclaimed, we’ve been through a lot, but we came through. I think of that vision again as I wait for her to come out of this procedure. It’s encouraging to know that whatever happens in life, we can look back some day and say, We made it. It reminds me of a song that Kevin and Toni Warner (my brother-in-law and sister-in-law) sang at a church camp in the Pacific Northwest several decades ago.

Through it all,

Through it all,

I’ve learned to trust in Jesus,

I’ve learned to trust in God,

Through it all,

Through it all,

I’ve learned to depend upon His Word.²

Epilogue: Faith did fully recover. We did have to cancel that Christmas visit to Oregon and Washington to visit family, but our tickets were refunded, and a few months later we made our trip. While visiting my daughter and my son-in-law in Beaverton, Oregon, I watched their attentiveness for their niece and nephew. A special moment stands out in my memory:

Gentle Sunshine

There’s something calming

about March sunshine in Oregon,

as I sit in the backyard

watching Ethan teach

my grandson Zach how to golf.

These were your Papa’s golf clubs,

he tells Zach.

That makes it all the more poignant.

Tom’s been gone almost four years;

I’m glad Ethan has his golf clubs

and is passing on his legacy to Zach.

Meanwhile, the gentle sunshine

rests lightly on my skin.

Backstitch

I hate sewing. I sewed cute little smock-top dresses for myself back in the sixties when I was a teenager, but now I have no patience for sewing. One tedious part of it is back stitching, which is tearing out the bad stitches and sewing again.

Do we get to backstitch in life? Sometimes. Sometimes not. After my husband passed away, I wrote, We gobbled up our years like jellybeans, and now they’re gone. I wanted a do-over. I wanted to go back and treasure every single minute.

Can I backstitch with those who are still with me? I can try. If I’ve had an impatient day with my grandchildren, I still get a do-over. I reflect on what went wrong and how to make it better. I yelled at them one Christmas night of all times, sending them scurrying to clean up their messes. I’d tried all day to overlook the celebration chaos (disorder sets my nerves on edge). I’d been doing okay, but the constant dropping of coats on the carpet and scattering of toys followed by a kitchen catastrophe after their bedtime snack had worn on me. I did have a do-over. I told each of them I was sorry for yelling at them and reassured them they are good children.

When I come to the end of my parenting years with them, will I have regrets? Yes. I am human. But I can change. I’m reminded of an episode of Red Green, a Canadian comedy about a bunch of guys who meet at a lodge. In the opening scene, the men recite their pledge: I’m a man. I can change. If I have to. Yes, as their parent, I can change. If I have to. Yes, I have to. I can be patient. I can try to see things from their perspective. I’m working on it. I’m getting better.

Turning the Negative into a Positive

I still have trouble with the kids leaving their stuff around the house. I’ve tried asking them politely to pick up their items. After a dozen such requests, I become less pleasant. I have zero tolerance for this! I declare.

I’ve tried incentive charts. Didn’t work. Finally, I hit upon a solution. Whenever I pick up their stuff, I’ll quietly put it away in my closet. They can earn it back. I also need to end the day on a positive note. So part of our bedtime routine is to have an appreciation moment. That’s when I tell them something I appreciate about them that day. They reciprocate, especially Faith who loves to talk and share. It’s a reassuring moment at the end of our day.

Special Agent Oso

Faith and Zach had been watching a Netflix series during spring break. The premise is that a child who can’t accomplish a particular simple task—like fitting a teddy bear into a suitcase for a trip—needs help. Special Agent Oso, an outer space yellow bear in a space suit, is alerted that the child needs help. After several attempts, three special steps are accomplished, and the assignment is completed.

Really? Does the child truly need the assistance of a being from space? Could he/she have come up with a solution independently? Or asked for some assistance from a parent?

I know it’s just an educational program, designed to give children tips on accomplishing tasks, and I know I sound cynical. But it brings up a question: how much should we expect God to help us? Some might say that Christians deny themselves empowerment by depending on God to help them with difficulties. That’s a point worth taking. Some Christians go through the day, whispering prayers for help as they park, as they drive, as they try to open a bottle cap. (I confess, I’ve done it myself.) I think God does not want to be their helicopter parent. A little independence is good.

It is not necessary, though, to be independent to the point of refusing help. Even the Beatles advise: I get by with a little help from my friends. Help may come from friends, teachers, mentors, therapists, and yes—God. We all need a support system but there’s many things that we can and should do on our own. In my first book,