Reijo Robert Halonen March 10, 1936 – February 23, 2022

“Would you know my name?
If I saw you in heaven
Would it be the same?
If I saw you in heaven…

Beyond the door
There’s peace, I’m sure
And I know there’ll be no more
Tears in heaven
” – EricClapton

On the day my mother passed 7 years ago, my daughter came to my house and brought me some flowers, and a giant bag of Werther’s caramel candies. She explained that the candies were a fond memory for her of my parents, because they always had a bag of them at their home , to offer to the grandchildren as a treat. I assume that they (my dad especially) enjoyed them as well.

Many years ago, my husband was shopping with my father in K-Mart. My father was looking at a pair of orange tab Levi’s, and was remarking how reasonably priced they were; he may have even suggested my husband buy a pair for himself. Without trying to be offensive, my husband merely acknowledged the reasonable price, and made a comment about how they were not exactly his style. My father, noting that he meant they were not exactly a popular or stylish pair of jeans, merely tapped his temple with his index finger, and said, “It’s all up here.” Now that phrase “it’s all up here”, while tapping our temples with our index finger, has become a funny mantra in our family, whenever we talk about perception, or how things are viewed.

I remember as a young girl, I loved to watch my father tinker in the garage, fixing a car or motor that always seemed in need of repair in our yard. I learned the difference between a Phillips screwdriver, a Straight Edge, a Robertson, or a Hex, as I passed them to him while he tinkered. Now I work as a dental hygienist in a dental implant center, and if I’m struggling with removing a screw with the wrong kind of driver, I hear my dad’s voice in my head, saying, “You need the right tools for the job.”

On one of my last visits home to see my father in Canada, I told him that I missed him a lot when I wasn’t with him. At this , he felt the need to tell me not to miss him when he moved on, or to feel bad for him. He reminded me to be present with those around me , and pay attention to who might need me , instead of who I might need. He looked forward to life eternal, and going to be with my mom.

I have been ruminating about these memories, and many others , since my father passed away on February 23rd of this year. His memory had been failing for many years. When he was in the later stages of his Alzheimer’s, he wasn’t always cognizant of who I was. Regardless of this, it was a blessing to see him through FaceTime. His care providers in the nursing home where he spent his last days were wonderful in helping us spend this precious time with him. The last time I saw him, he had a glimmer of recognition for me, and he blew me a kiss. A week later, he succumbed to the pneumonia that had infected his lungs.

Now that my father is gone, I realize there were so many questions that I never thought to ask him, or even if I asked them, I didn’t listen to the answers well enough to remember them. I know he was born in Finland on March 10, 1936, but I don’t know the name of his home town. He spent some time away from his family during the war. My grandfather was in the Merchant Marines and fought for Finland , and my father and his siblings were sent to live with foster families in Sweden for their own safety.

Each of the foster families my dad and his brothers were sent to, were in close proximity, assumably so they could see each other regularly. Unfortunately, my father’s foster family were physically abusive, and he was often punished if he tried to run away or visit his brothers. Understandably, my father didn’t like to speak of these times, and what little I know of his history, I have gleaned from other family members.

After the war, my father’s family immigrated to Canada from Finland to begin their new life together. They lived in the north woods of Ontario at first, where my grandfather found work in the lumber camps. Eventually they settled in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. Dad was the oldest son, and he applied for a job at Algoma Steel in Sault Ste. Marie, to help his father support his family. He lied about his age, so he could get hired. I often wondered if he regretted not going to school at that time, as he only had a 6th grade education, but I never once heard him complain about this. In contrast, he was proud, I think, of being able to help his family in this way.

My father met my mother after she immigrated to Canada and came to live in Sault Ste. Marie as a young woman. He immediately fell in love with her and proposed very soon after that. They were married in 1960,and were inseparable until she passed away in 2015. My father missed her terribly and it was not a secret that much of the sparkle in his eyes, and the zest he had for life were dimmed after her passing.

My parents passed away with very little as far as earthly possessions go. When we were growing up, my father worked hard to provide for our family; there were five of us and my mom was a stay at home mom. We never lacked for what we needed, however, and the love our parents had for us was always evident. My father always gave away more than he had, to all of us, and whoever else may have entered our household. I will never forget that there was always room at our kitchen table for anyone who needed a meal, companionship, or a cup of coffee. Our couch was also available on many occasions for friends who needed a place to sleep for a night or more.

These, and other memories, remind me that my father was a good man, and a good role model in many ways. He taught us how to love each other, and how to give freely, without strings. I have always been proud to say that he preached without words.

I miss him more than words can say. My hope and prayer is one where his legacy for love and good deeds will live on in this broken world, through each of the lives of those who knew him.

“Those who walk up rightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death.” — Isaiah 57:2

Remembering My Friend Tuula

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“Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will but yours be done.” ~ Luke 22:42

A childhood friend passed away a few days ago from a particularly difficult bout with cancer. She and I were not terribly close, but we knew each other because our parents were friends and we grew up in the same small town. She and I both moved far from our families in our adult years, and over the course of time in this modern world, we kept in touch through Facebook.  I last saw her a few years ago at my brother’s wedding. She was too young, in my mind, to have suffered from this horrible disease. She had so much to live for, and I think her family would agree, she had so many more things to experience. Why was she taken from this life so soon?

I was at work when I received the news that she passed away in hospice care. Of course, I cried when I heard the news, and then I went on with my day, thinking about how strange it was , that one minute, someone who was loved and cherished by so many could be here among us, and then the next minute, she is not. Still, time goes on, not stopping for any of us.

When Tuula and I were kids, our families would visit each others’ houses,  and we and our sisters  had such fun, giggling and spying on our older brothers, while they annoyingly chased us away and locked us out of their territory. At that time, none of us had any idea of the journey that Life would take us on; where it would lead us. I didn’t stay in close touch with Tuula, but I know she lived in various cities across Canada with her husband, and served others as a pastor’s wife, and as a daycare provider. Her Facebook profile showed a very cheerful, smiley woman, who loved children. When she received her cancer diagnosis, she seemed very brave, and trusted God for strength and comfort. I wonder if she ever wished that He would take “that cup of suffering” away from her? I know she and her loved ones prayed for healing for her cancer. Instead, God chose to whisper to her by name, and call her home.

I have often cried out in my own journey in life, and have asked God to “take my cup of suffering”from me, yet here I am, still muddling through various trials from day to day. I wonder why we as humans have to go through the things we do. I do not mean to be misunderstood; I know I am blessed in many ways, but life is not easy at times. I cannot pretend to understand why. I do realize my story is entwined in the story of others, and the telling of it is  not complete.  I only know that it is my story; it is unique to me.  My children, my husband, and the people I meet from day to day are in my path for a reason. He may not take my cup from me, but He will give me strength and hope for the next day. I have only to stand up, straighten my shoulders, and look up, so I can hear Him whispering my name.

“When you don’t move the mountains I’m needing You to move, When You don’t part the waters I wish I could walk through, When You don’t give the answers as I cry out to You, I will trust , I will trust, I will trust in You!” ~”I Will Trust In You”-Lauren Daigle

“but I trust in You, O Lord; I say, “You are my God.” ~Psalm 31:14