August 26th was Saturday in 1995... the same as it is this year. We were 2 weeks from my sister's wedding on September 9th.
April was serving in the Air Force in Okinawa. The Love of Her Life was a Marine named Mark. She had met Mark there. They fell in love and had saved all of their leave time for the wedding and honeymoon. We had not met Mark face to face.
April wanted to get married on the farm. Dad had it looking beautiful for the big day. Mama had wedding stuff from one end of the house to the other. She was so excited April would wear her wedding dress. April was excited that I stopped Mama from turning her beautiful A-line dress into something from "Gone With the Wind." Mama loved Scarlett's dresses and she knew how to alter a wedding dress. My last conversation with April we had a great chat, some sister giggles, and our final words were, "I love you. See you soon!"
On 8-26-95, my Sister-in-Love, Jennifer, was very, very pregnant with Ciara. Matthew was at work. Randy, Chase, and I were at home in Peoria. Mama and Dad were returning from their weekly prayer breakfast, just like they did most Saturdays. On the way home, they stopped by Shoemaker's where Matt sold farm equipment. No one could have anticipated what came next.
A car pulled up. The man was not in uniform, but he had that military air about him, even without the uniform. He stopped at the John Deere shop knowing the farm people would be able to direct them to my parents farm. We didn't have GPS in 1995. When he asked, one of the guys said, their son works here... and Kenny and Ina Mae just happen to be in his office.
The Chaplain walked in. I don't know his name. He carried the letter. You know the one. "Dear Mr. and Mrs. Lindgren, we regret to inform you that your daughter, Airman First Class April Lindgren is..." I do not know how much he read, or how much he simply spoke the words from experience. I do know nothing was ever the same again. There would forever be an empty seat at the family table and an unused Christmas stocking with her name on it.
Matt picked up the phone and called me. How do you respond? Shock is like that. Numbness is a gift.
She was gone from this life. She would not wear Mama's wedding gown. She received a heavenly crown instead. Shattered doesn't even begin to explain how we felt. There were no words, but there was a wedding to cancel.
Caters, long distance guests, flowers, and a funeral to plan. Dad predicted almost every week of her life, "April, you're gonna be late to your own funeral." She was. That made us laugh then... it still does. Sometimes, you laugh to keep from breaking.
We met her sweet Marine fiancé, Mark, right before the visitation. The Air Force and Marines let him accompany her home. Chuck Anders, a dear family friend, was in charge at Knapp Funeral home. He walked closely with us every step of the way. I am grateful for the people who work in our funeral homes who help us through those moments we can't breathe.
I am grateful for the many who brought stories we had never heard. I am grateful that I know we will have a heavenly reunion ahead... and it is 29 years closer than it was back then.
She was there to welcome home those who "finished the race" after her. Having adult children of my own, I can't imagine the depth of Mama and Dad's grief. Our babies are always our babies... even when they become women and men.
An undiagnosed heart defect was the final report that came from Walter Reed Hospital. Knowledge of the "why" didn't lessen the sorrow. Only time, prayer, and knowledge of the hope that lies on the other side of the grave gets a person through.
I picture her standing at a farm table in a country kitchen serving coffee and cookies. I have no clue what is ahead when we reach heaven, but it is fun to dream of the possibilities.
"I long to see you again, for I remember your tears as we parted. And I will be filled with joy when we are together again." - 1 Timothy 1:4
Today, I am grateful for the memories that don't fade.
No comments:
Post a Comment