A TIME FOR TEARS,
THIS PART OF ME I LEAVE WITH YOU,
LIKE SANDS IN THE HOUR GLASS
FLOWING THROUGH THE YEARS.
(Last updated October 2, 1998)
I still miss you daddy, in my heart there is an empty place,
I miss those little laughter lines etched so deeply in your face.
You sacrificed so much for us, what a treasure we had,
kind and gentle, full of joy, you always were a super dad.
“Beyond The Sunset”, you often sang as you strummed your old guitar,
I feel peace because I know that that is where you are.
Will the circle be unbroken when we reach the other side?
Not by me for I have claimed the Blood of Jesus, the Savior, the crucified.
It is my constant and fervent plea,
that those we love will choose the Lord, heaven’s only key.
By: Lillian Carol Russell
My dad died in 1984 from cancer, a battle he fought for over five years. He was the greatest! We were not wealthy, yet I never knew that. He was a child at heart and never lost his fascination with figuring out how things work.
In 1964, he was working at a sawmill when a fellow worker leaned on a switch and accidentally turned on a large saw he was leaning over. It cut off his left hand, cut through his chest to within an inch of his heart, slashed him through the right knee and left elbow. Everyone panicked except daddy. He grasped the nub of his left arm and ran the length of a football field to the office. When he ran in there spewing blood, the boss’s wife panicked as all the other workers had. He ran to the rest room got a towel and wrapped it tightly into the gashed elbow. Thank God he never lost his presence of mind. They rushed him to a nearby clinic where Dr. C. G. Forrest patched him up enough to make it to a hospital in New Orleans. Three weeks later he walked me down the isle to become the bride of the man I’ve been married to since October 17, 1964. Daddy was weak, I felt his body tremble as we made that walk. He wanted to do it, he was just that way. He was always there for my sister and me; in fact he was there for everyone.
I saw him cry once after losing his hand. He dropped a wash towel and reached to pick it up with the missing hand. The nerves stay alive for about a year, it feels as if the missing hand is still there. He cried for a few minutes and then went on about his business. He had a hook that he wore and he continued to do the work he had always done.
In 1967 I had my first baby, a boy and oh was my daddy proud of his grandson. He had taught him how to take a lawnmower apart and put it back together by the time he was nine years old. When we found out he had cancer, I was devastated. There were lots of surgeries and treatments in the following years. The waiting rooms at the hospital were always overflowing. Doctors told us they had never seen such a large and close knit family. They told us he had about six months and the Lord gave us an extra five years and six months to say good-bye. Daddy spent this time as he always had putting family first. There were lots of week-end fishing trips to Grand Isle. He now had two grandchildren and they were a joy and a delight to him in those last years.
He grew up in a family of twelve children. He had more nieces and nephews than you could shake a stick at. He loved them all and had pet names for almost every one of them. One cousin always kept his pants pulled up real high and he called him high-pockets. There was one he called whistle-britches, we won’t go into how he got that name.
Daddy only went to school through the 3rd grade. He was one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever known.. If you could dream it, he could build it. I only wonder what he might have done given the opportunity of a good education. He was a top-notch mechanic, carpenter, electrician, a whiz at math and even refurbished furniture. He built houses, boats, campers, guitars, toys and electric fans. He even cut an old car up, welded roll bars on it and built a dune buggy for the grandchildren. He never lacked for work, many people sought him for his many skills. He built us a window fan one summer that would have put “Tim The Tool Man Taylor” to shame. It sucked the rug up off the floor and put the lights out on our pet cat Sally. It was a mean machine; he had to tone it down a bit.
Christmas mornings we always got lots of new toys. Only now do I realize how hard he had to work to accomplish making our dreams come true. I remember daddy sitting many afternoons and reading his Bible aloud. I have the assurance of seeing him again when I get to heaven. He was a God fearing Christian man who had accepted Jesus.
Daddy had a most amazing young doctor by the name of James Nelson. His first surgery on daddy was a colostomy but the cancer had spread and there would be many hours spent in this very capable doctor’s hands. When all had been done that could be done, Dr. Nelson allowed him to come home. He came out every week to visit daddy. In fact, when he drew his last breath, Dr Nelson was there, sitting by his bedside.
It was the summer of 1973. We were on a family fishing trip to Grand Isle, Louisiana. Lots of our aunts, uncles and cousins all planned vacations at the same time back then. We formed a big circle of campers on the beach, much like the wagon trains of old. There was a huge campfire in the middle. We all sat around it nightly and visited, telling fish tales, ghost tales and tall tales. There were grandparents, parents and children of all ages. Sometimes I'd like to step back in time and visit some of those campfire get-togethers.
It was early afternoon, the men were all out surf fishing. My six year old son was out there with my husband. I was changing the baby when my mother became very concerned. She'd lost sight of Norman, I couldn't see him either, although he was wearing a bright orange life jacket. The cold hand of terror gripped me, never had I known a feeling like this. Three young men had drowned just days before, fishing in this area near the shipping channel. Signs everywhere warned of the dangerous undertow.
I ran into the surf, but the roar of the waves drowned out my screams. The water was deep, white capped waves pushed me back as I fought to reach my husband. It seemed an eternity had passed when I finally reached him. Caught up in fishing, my husband hadn't noticed how far out he'd gone and that our son was no longer beside him. Our eyes scanned the waters, we were in agony. There were people everywhere, but no sign of a cotton haired little boy in an orange vest.
My husband drove away to alert the Coast Guard, while family members ran helter skelter, searching and praying. A helicopter and boat were dispatched to search the beach area. It was crowded, hundreds of people ran and played as if all were well with the world. My world was crashing down around me. Through sobs I gave the discription to the police officer; "A very small boy, very blonde hair, wearing an orange life jacket and cut off blue jeans".
I was praying, praying, praying! I kept thinking, this can not be happening, please God, please let him be OK! I hoped I was dreaming and that I would waken from this nightmare. I was riding in a police car with a deputy dispatched to aid in the search. We drove along the beach through the crowd of people. His voice broke through the thoughts that were screaming through my mind. I heard him saying, "Mam, that little boys looks just like the discription of your son." My vision was gone, I had been completely blinded by the tears. I blinked hard and began to focus, "Oh God, thankyou, thank you, it's him", I cried. I leaped from the car and swept my son into my arms. I was crying, my son was crying and the deputy was now crying also. "Mommy, mommy, I got lost, I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find anybody I knew." The waves had pushed him away from his dad and when he made it to the shore, he had floated up the beach far from our camp sight.
We had taught him that policemen are good guys, and that if he ever got lost to look for one. He was running toward the police unit when the deputy spotted him. All children should be taught that policemen are people who help you. It breaks my heart to hear a parent tell a child that if they don't behave, they will tell a policemen on them. This makes a child think that police are bad, it teaches them fear instead of respect. if our son hadn't been looking for a policeman that day, the search could have lasted for hours, hours of torment for him and for us. Something really bad could have happened to him.
For a moment in time, my son was lost and I shared the heartache that only a mother who has lost a child can know. God gave me a second chance and I praise Him for His mercy and grace. Today that sweet little boy is a man, in 1987 he joined the Navy and has made it a career. We are very proud of him and the fact that he has chosen to serve his country, Navy is a family tradition.
Two years had passed since the incident with our son. We were back at Grand Isle for the annual fishing trip. Now it was our daughter’s turn to turn our world upside-down.
The weather was great, the kids loved playing on the beach. We spent the morning building sandcastles. The breeze was gentle and warm. Mid-afternoon I put the life jacket on Norman and placed Mary on an inner-tube. I would be holding her, so I thought there was no need for a life jacket, I was about to make a fatal mistake. We went into the surf to ride the white capped waves. Mary was almost three now and a very spunky little girl. It was foolish of me to think I could hold on to her in the waves. I had not intended to go out very far. We were having so much fun as the waves rolled in, floating us up on small mountains of water. About the time I realized we were out too far, the unthinkable happened. I looked up to see a gigantic whitecap rolling in, I tightened my grip and tried to hold on to Mary. She was so excited, with squeals of laughter, she began to kick in anticipation of the great wave. Just as it hit, she kicked me in the face and I went under, losing my grip. I’ve never known such panic! I fought to resurface, I was being pushed downward by the wave. As I broke the surface, I saw the empty inner-tube floating nearby. Words can in no way describe the absolute horror, the all-consuming terror that gripped me! I began to scream my prayer for God’s intervention. I was diving, groping the water, searching and praying.
God did intervene, my cousin’s husband, Marshal Douglas Cutrer, known to us all as “Tiny,” had seen it happen. Time and time again he went under in search of my baby. It seemed like an eternity had passed when he came up with her small lifeless body. She hung from his arms like a rag doll, completely limp, my baby had drowned, and my life was crashing down around me again.
Tiny rushed to the shore, placed her on the sand and began CPR. After what seemed like forever, her little body convulsed. She drew in a breath and began to vomit as the saltwater drained from her lungs. She began to scream and cry, oh what a glorious sound it was! She was very much alive, thanks be to God and the heroic actions of this man. I hugged her so tightly and explained that it would be alright while repeating my prayer of thanksgiving, “Thank you God, thank you God”, over and over.
Once more I had known that feeling, that pain that goes beyond explanation. Once more, I’d been given a second chance, to nurture the fragile life that God had placed within my care.
Mary is now the mother of three beautiful children. She tells me the only thing she can remember about the incident is seeing the light. I don’t even want to imagine what life would have been like without her and my three grandchildren.
If you ever have the chance to take a course in cardiopulmonary pulmonary resuscitation, by all means do so. To attempt it without proper training could do more harm than good.
This morning the sky is azure and the wind is blowing as if it holds the kiss of spring, warm and invigorating. There was a day just like this a year ago. It was the day a sweet spirit flew home to be with Jesus.
My mother’s baby sister, Kathrine “Kathy” Husser died February 26, 1997. She finally lost her battle with cancer, it was one she’d fought most of her life.
I still grieve for her, there are times I wish I could talk to her now, so many things left unsaid. One thing is for sure, some day I’ll see her again in heaven.
Her battle with cancer began when she was still a blushing bride. Her body bore the scars of so many surgeries. No one knew of the torment she endured. She always had a smile for every visitor, right up to the very end.
When word got out that she would not make it through the day, a crowd began to gather. The house was filled with friends and loved ones as she slowly slipped out into eternity. I listened with the stethoscope for a heart beat, her breathing was so irregular and her breaths so far between. I heard the sound of silence, she was gone, gone home to Jesus. No more suffering, no more pain for her.
I walked out beneath the pear tree, now in full bloom and let the tears come freely as I said my last good-bye. It was such a beautiful day, a perfect day for a child of God to wing her way homeward.
GOOD-BYE KATHY
Today I watch the azure sky,
as snow white clouds go racing by.
The wind sighs through winter’s trees,
with the golden warmth of a summer breeze.
This feels so much like the year-a-go day,
when her beautiful soul just flew away.
Cancer had assaulted her and many scars she bore,
but she seldom let it show through the smile she wore.
The Lord said it’s time Kathy come on home,
no more the tortured paths of earth must you roam.
So many fights with cancer with heartache and pain,
now she never has to shed another tear again.
She was always there to listen to others every day,
so many of us miss her now that she is away.
Sometimes I still can’t believe she’s gone,
and wish she were here for selfish reasons of my own.
But I would not call her back again,
from heaven’s golden streets to live a life of pain.
Forever and always she will live in my heart and in my mind,
a sweet sweet spirit loving and kind.
By: Lillian Carol Russell
Milton said; “Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.” The believer’s ultimate victory over death is a motive for faithful service. As it says of the believer in First Corinthians 15:54-55; So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. Oh death where is thy sting? Oh grave where is thy victory?
,
After we got on the Internet, my husband began to search for information, seeking to find out more about the circumstances of the discovery of his brother’s downed plane. His brother, Norman R. Russell Jr. was killed in a military plane crash on Kronborg Glacier, January 12, 1962. He was an Aviation Electronics Technician 3rd Class in the Navy.
It was a little over four years before the plane was located and his death confirmed. Being able to bury Norman in the family cemetery brought a kind of closure to the four years of grief. Still the family wondered about the place where he had died and the circumstances of the event.
Our first contact was with Dr. Peter knight of the Danish Polar Center. He posted the request for information on the Glaciological Society’s bulletin board, to be seen by about 500 members worldwide.
Dr Roger J. Braithwaite saw the message and advised we contact Dr. Joergen Taagholt at the Danish Polar Commission in Copenhagen. Then Dr. Taagholt sent word that he was researching it for us. Next Dr. Kent Brooks in Copenhagen contacted us to say that he was one of the four-man team who had discovered the crash site. He offered his assistance and sent a detailed description of his memories of the experience. He also sent the names of two of the other members of the research party who were still in Oxford.
We contacted Brian Atkins, but have not heard from him. We contacted Dr. David Bell and his response was immediate. He mailed us a copy of the news clippings of the crash photo, a localized map of the area, a color photo of the general area. He also sent copies of letters he had received from the other victim’s family members, thanking the team for their part in solving the four-year-old mystery.
We have not been able to locate David Parrish’s e-mail address. We are told that he is the one who actually first spotted the plane.
We have been assured that no one suffered a lingering death. It was so cold there, they would have been almost instantly frozen had they survived the crash. It was good to communicate with those who were there. To actually look at the photo of the frozen tundra brought a final closure, it was lonely yet beautiful, it made us sad, yet it fulfilled a need.
You grew up too fast like any normal boy,
you always were all your life a source of pride and joy.
From high school to collage to Navy you went,
thus all the days of your life were spent.
You’d met Bonnie and planned soon to marry,
we all assumed your name she would carry.
Sometimes the book of life is short,
and loved ones are left with a broken heart.
Your pages were few we all soon learned,
as the final chapter came and the pages all were turned.
Death reached out its icy hand and snatched you from the sky,
your plane went down and all twelve on board would die.
Those who knew and loved you said you had the sweetest smile,
perhaps it was because you would see God in just a while.
We’ve finally talked to those who found your remains in that cold and lonely place,
where God reached out to call you home to look upon His face.
ANOTHER SAD GOODBYE
It was a gray rainy day as we drove away from home on Jan. 9, 2000. We stopped by to place fresh flowers on the eight graves in the family cemetery. There had been only seven graves when we drove in from Texas to spend New Years Day with our mothers, all four of my husband’s grandparents, his dad and brother and my dad, each having washed our world in tears with their passing.
Today a fresh mound of red clay soil formed a new gravesite for his mother; Sibyl Andrus Russell age 82. Our tears mingled with the steady falling rain as we held each other and bid her one last farewell before heading back to Texas. Of course, we knew she was not there in that cold steel coffin beneath the ground. Only the vessel in which her soul had dwelled remained therein, she had flown away home to be with Jesus.
She went to bed the night before her death, talking and smiling. We had all watched the new millennium come in all over the world. One of the last things she said was how much she had enjoyed all the beautiful celebrations and that she sure never thought she would live to see the year 2000. Sometime during the night, doctors said she had apparently had a heart attack, which was followed by a stroke. We called 911 as soon as we found her not able to speak coherently early the next morning.
She suffered a massive heart attack during transit in the ambulance and another after arriving at the hospital. Doctors called us all to her bedside because her condition was so critical. Her daughter Gayle held her mother’s left hand and her son, my husband, Butch, held the other, myself, her brother Byron Andrus and his wife Helen and Gayle’s husband Joseph Rispone completed the circle. As if she had waited for us all to gather round her bed, she left quietly as we prayed. Carried away by angels to her mansion in glory. We were not even aware it had happened. A member of the North Oaks medical staff informed us that she left as we prayed. I liked the way he said it. He did not say she died or she passed away, he said she left while the family was in prayer. Free of the mortal cage that had bound her beautiful soul for 82 years, she had flown away home. She had reached the destination for which she had been aiming.
We thank God for the years he allowed her to be a part of our lives. She was my mentor, having encouraged me in oh so many ways. I never heard her raise her voice in anger and never ever did any foul word cross her lips. She never spoke ill of any person and no one could ever accuse her of being a gossip. She was a meek and mild lady and her only goal in life was to serve her Lord and master, Jesus Christ. She had a burden for lost souls, it was her only real worry in life. I can only ask that God will give me her burden, that each of those she prayed for will be impressed upon my heart and that I might carry her torch in this matter.