My family is no stranger to tragedies. We know what it's like to hurt.
When my Mother was twenty-five, her husband fell from a silo. She was left with a seven-month-old son, Doug.
Eventually, she married my father. They had four children—Adriel, Brenda, Nathan, and Frances.
Nathan drowned in our pond when he was two. I was six months old. My brother, Doug, died in a tractor accident when I was seven. The last of my grandparents died when I was twenty-two.
Death was a frequent part of our family discussions.
On holidays we visited the graves—memorials to those we lost. I hated standing in the graveyard waiting for my mother to be done visiting each grave. It was uncomfortable.
I watched my mother make it through all of those painful parts of living by praying. She believed in prayer. She prayed about everything.
On less tragedy-stricken days, we’d pray funny prayers (at least I thought they were funny)—such as "Please God, bring the cows back home," when they escaped from the barnyard. Prayer was as much a part of our life as doing the farm chores. Given all of our family experiences, you’d think I could easily write a song about prayer.
When I was asked to sing for a National Day of Prayer event I didn't feel like any of the songs I knew about prayer said what I wanted to say. I wanted my own song to sing.
I could hear a melody (and four simple words) that could be the chorus, but I couldn't seem to write more than these four words...."But I can pray."
I knew that I wanted to show the contrast between life's struggles, the ineptness we feel when someone is hurting, and the power of prayer. I knew the verses would lead me to the chorus...somehow.
I waited for more words to come.
Then we got the news.
A tragic car accident—a young boy and his mother. She was driving him to school...a head-on collision. The boy didn’t survive the crash.
I knew the family. It shook the community.
I pondered the events in my heart, watching the mother struggle with the loss of her son, a sister with the loss of her brother. I knew it would be hard. We all struggled to know what to say.
“Now this is what we call a happy sad song,” the music professional [Jonathan] said in an affirmative tone as we sat in the prestigious Dark Horse Recording Studio in Nashville, Tennessee. My song, Missin’ You, had just received a thumbs up, so it seemed. I was watching his body language as studiously as he was listening to my songs. Not only was I studying the craft of songwriting…I was learning to “read” my audience. I liked what I saw.
Jonathan making notes.
Jonathan had been called in by my new producer [Eric] to listen to all of the songs I had been writing — looking for gems. They were listening to my babies and I felt vulnerable. The songs that made the cut would go on my upcoming recording project.
As a newcomer to the Nashville culture, I was both eager and nervous. I gazed out the wall-length window above the ominous soundboard. The outside lush spring-green landscape was strikingly similar to that of my home state of Pennsylvania and it comforted me.
I had a fair number of sad songs (without the happy) in my notebook. I hadn’t realized just how many until after Jonathan’s final wrap-up sentence of the day: “you seem to write a lot of songs about death.” I had heard that same assessment from Eric the day before. Two different individuals, independent of each other, had made the same observation. It was unsettling news to me.
I had a feeling that this pattern wasn’t necessarily a good thing. We laughed when Eric said, “We can call you The Grateful Dead.” I didn’t know who that group was. I laughed as if I did.
I squirmed in my chair, silently wondering: how on earth could it be? I made a mental note. Someday I must figure out why I write so many songs about death… But in the present moment, I needed to focus. Therapy would have to wait. They were giving me a songwriting lesson about happy sad songs.
While their explanation was supposed to be educational, I simultaneously felt like I was receiving a verbal award of accomplishment for writing this particular song. After all, it was different than my other sad songs. It was “happy.” I had managed to write sad feelings in a happy way, though I had done it unknowingly. The professionals seemed to approve.
My mind drifted back to the day I wrote the song…
I am 36 years old, sitting in my backyard on a metal folding chair, guitar in hand, experiencing my first birthday without my father. I am missing him.
I look at the lovely purple lilacs in front of me. I breathe in their sweet fragrance. It’s the first year the blooms have made it past a hard freeze since we planted the bush over a decade ago. It was a birthday gift from my parents. My very own perennial bouquet of lilacs for annual birthdays.
Mysteriously, the bush is choosing to bloom the first year after my father’s death. I receive it as a gift from him. Yet, there is a surge of grief accompanying the pleasantness of the moment. I strum my guitar as a lyric comes to mind.
“Well we’ve seen another winter come and go…”
I look at the lilacs again.
“All the lilacs are bloomingthere’s no more snow…”
I think back through the events leading up to his death.
Less than two years earlier I released my very first recording project, Under The Big Blue Sky. Daddy was there for the release concert, supporting me. But not too long after that celebration, he began feeling ill. Months later, we found out why. He had cancer.
I remember standing outside his hospital room trying to gain my composure. He too had just been given the news. I didn’t want him to see me cry.
Back in front of the lilac bush, I know what I want to say next. Lyrics flow effortlessly…
”But I miss you more than ever and the sayin’s not true that time will heal ‘cause I’ve been missin’ you.”
He was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma that summer and less than a year later, he was gone. In one short year, I witnessed the birth of my professional music career and the death of my father. Summer, fall, winter…
“Springtime reminds me of you in the winter season I’m thinking of you”
May 2021 marks the twentieth anniversary of Daddy’s death. Our last holiday together was Memorial Day. I should have known something was wrong when he could barely lift a piece of wood from the trunk of the car and carry it over to the BBQ pit.
The morning after our family picnic, he started coughing up blood and died three days later on May 31, 2001. We were all there beside his bed, surrounding him, serenading him with hymns, including one of his favorites…Under His Wings.
This past week, knowing the 20th anniversary of his death approaches, I’ve been digging out my old photo albums — faded pictures of his youth, pets, his violin, weddings, births, reunions — snapshots of our family. Organizing them into a visual soundtrack to go with the song…
“and if time is a healer then it’s moving pretty slow ‘cause I’ve seen another season and I’m missin’ you.”
Click here to see the song. Or click the image below.
If there's anything I've come to appreciate through all the loss of life in our family, it's the art of learning to celebrate those who remain behind. It can be easy to focus on who we've lost and stay stuck in that grief. But there is so much living to do with those who remain. As I wrap up this series of blog posts surrounding some the stories of our family's loss, I'm delighted to share one last post from another one of our family members. Nancy Singer Crider shares what it's been like to be a single mother, after losing her husband (and my brother) Doug. As Doug's family continues to grow, it's a blessing to watch the impact of a life lived well during the brief 26 years he lived.
From Nancy Singer Crider:
In memory of Paul Douglas Crider
"It is bitter sweet to look back 49 years to October 11, 1969 as Doug and I joined together in marriage expecting to share a lifetime together. I could not have anticipated that 3 years and 9 months later, we would be left behind and he would be present with the Lord. My daughters and I experienced a huge loss to our family.
There were times when I felt so alone trying to be a single mother, feeling the heavy weight of raising two daughters with two very different personalities. I felt so inadequate being responsible for guiding these two little lives through life.
Even though I made lots of mistakes, it was good to know that Christ surrounded us with His love and grace. I trusted Him to be the strength for us through the good and bad times. Through the love and grace of God, I am learning to rely on Him for strength in life's situations.
After Doug passed, I built my life around my children.I sometimes felt they were all I had.I watched them grow and learn as we tried to learn together to seek God (not always successful - but progressing).During these growing pains, I sometimes wondered what life would have been like if Doug had lived. He had begun to give sermons at Jemison Valley where we attended church. It was suggested he apply for a lay minister’s license which he received shortly before his death. He preached his first sermon as a licensed minister and was scheduled to preached again at another church close to where we lived. However, the accident that took his life was the week after his first sermon. For a young man at the age of 26 to die spoke volumes to the community.
As Crystal and Kelly married and started their homes and families, I was blessed with 8 grandchildren around whom I began to build my life also. They were such a blessing and they loved to spend time at “Mimi’s” house. They would spend time in my basement playing guitars, singing and making videos. It was such a wonderful time together. However, they continued to mature. Then, Derek, one of the grandsons got married. I was blessed with two great grandsons.
In more recent years, I had an opportunity to go to Guatemala on a mission trip. During the first trip, I did some soul searching and discovered a new life in Christ as I surrendered to the filling of the Holy Spirit. What a change occurred on my life. I received new guidance on how to seek God in all situations.
I decided to spend a week at my timeshare (alone) seeking release from concerns related to my family.I seemed to be in bondage. As I laid my concerns before the Lord, he very clearly spoke to my heart as he said, “Give them to me. I will take care of them."
Wow!I wrote the names of my children, their spouses, and all my grandchildren and lifted them toward heaven and laid them before the Lord.I must confess, there are times I take them back and then give them back to Him.I sometimes wondered if their Daddy/Grandpa was before the throne asking for mercy, grace and wholeness for his family.I have seen changes in some of their lives since I gave my family to the One who can do all things.
Even through the years without Doug’s presence, I have a feeling he was praying for all his family as we sometimes struggled through life, seeking to follow God - knowing what the final result will be. To be able to join with Doug and other family members who have gone before us, but to ultimately meet our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and worship Him forever."
"What children are exposed to, hear, and see when they are young goes deep. It enters their soft hearts, and it stays there. What happens to them and around them during their formative years affects them for the rest of their lives. Imagine this supernatural window of time early in life when our spirits are so impressionable as the constructing of a sidewalk. Once the liquid mixture has been poured, you have a very limited amount of time to imprint anything on the cement. However, if you can draw your initials in the concrete before it hardens, it is permanently etched forever. Whatever else makes contact with that cement later on does not have the same impact or long-standing effect as those original markings." —Charity Virkler Kayembe
I've spent most of the summer sharing part of my family's story with you. This past week we passed the 52 year mark of Nathan's tragic death, October 11, 1966. As the author, Charity, stated above, the imprints placed on our hearts as children are permanently etched forever. Fortunately, sidewalks also offer a path to other places if you follow them and so it has been with my own heart. Yes, losing our brothers, Nathan and Doug have certainly left their marks, but as I've paid attention to the imprints in the sidewalk, it has brought healing, understanding and growth. So I keep moving forward with full awareness of the path behind me.
I think this past summer was the right season to go back to the farm where the concrete began to "set" and capture the song that has become a foundation stone in my life and songwriting. I see things from a new perspective.
Please feel free to share this with your family and friends, especially those who have lost loved ones. I think they will understand.
I recently read a paragraph that resonated deeply with me. It helps me understand that even when a child experiences loss, we should never underestimate the effect it is having on them. I can't say it better than this, so I'll just share the paragraph here: It helps to understand that emotions are basically one size. Love is massive. Fear is huge. And when you take these large emotions and put them inside tiny people, they overflow easily. There is no "kid-sized" sadness. They experience it just as fully as adults do, and without us encouraging them to pray through the feeling, they can easily be overwhelmed by it. — Charity Virkler Kayembe This was certainly true of me, as it became evident in my songwriting years later. I processed the grief of losing my brothers, Nathan and Doug through my writing. I know it's also been true for Doug's youngest daughter, Kelly, my niece. Many people say that Kelly and I look alike and we know from spending time together that we certainly act and think alike too! Kelly has so beautifully shared her experience with losing her Daddy in her own words.... From Kelly Crider Albert:
"My father’s death has had a big impact on my life.
Growing up I wanted to have a dad that threw ball with me outside, to help me with the sports that I loved so much. There was always a hole that seemed never to be able to be filled. I really had a hard time being around other people that had fathers that did things with their daughters. I didn’t understand why I felt these feelings till I was older and realized that I needed to mourn the loss of my dad.
I had the opportunity several years ago to return to the farm where my father was killed. Even though I had grown up for the first six and three-quarter years up there and would visit the family at the farm many times, I never realized then that it was where my father had died. This was a very hard and good experience all at the same time.
I remember just standing there staring at the place where it happened while Steve (son of the farm owner at the time of the accident) told how it happened. Then Steve put his arm around me like a protective big brother and I broke. I don’t ever remember crying so hard in my life. I do believe that was very good for me to get out though.
The rest of the family was very willing to answer any questions that Crystal and I had about our dad that day as well. This was very hard for them since it is still very painful for them as well. I hope they realize what a gift they gave me that day though.
Denny and Kelly (Crider) Albert family.
I love to run into people that knew my dad and hear stories about him. But that can also be bitter sweet for me because it is very clear that I missed out on a great man in my life. I would have loved for him to know my husband, our children and now my grandchild. I love to hear that my sons and my grandson look like him."
Thank you, Kelly, for sharing your heart with us here. You are loved and valued, Aunt Francie
This old photo of our pond on the farm in Gardners was recently sent to me by a relative. Perfect timing for this blog.
I asked my older sister, Aspen, if she'd be willing to share how she experienced the death of our brother, Nathan.
So in the words of Aspen....
"I remember walking up the lane with Mother and Adriel (our older brother) – where was Frances?!
It strikes me now, after all the study I have done around death, how exceptional and important an act it was that Mother carried Nathan in her arms from the pond to the end of the lane, and then up to the house. There is something about feeling the weight, having the body register experientially the sensation, the reality of the death of the loved one.
When I first wrote my talk about death (see below) I did not even clue in on this subtlety but I get it now. Here is my own story of how I (Aspen) encountered death as a 7 year old, and again at 21 – how these predicaments with actual dead bodies became my most poignant moments of encountering death."
Aspen's "talk" about her experience with Nathan's death:
"My first encounter with death was when I was about 7 and my little brother, Nathan, was 2, and he drowned in the pond on our farm. That was 1966, in Gardners, Pennsylvania. My older brother was 8 and our little sister was 6 months old. I was at my girlfriend’s house up the road. A call came that I needed to go home right away. The scene at the end of the lane stopped me from getting too close – there was my mother, and I guess the doctor, and perhaps a neighbor, all there, bent over and busily doing something….. it was CPR they were doing. An unsuccessful attempt, as it turned out. I was looking at my first dead body.
They took Nathan up the lane to the farmhouse, laid him on a blanket on the living room floor. It was a long evening. Thinking about it now, it was this time with Nathan that made all the difference…. To be in our own house, in the middle of our living room where we played and had birthday parties, where we had Christmas, where we made forts, where we practiced the piano.
To see that he wasn’t getting up.
To see that he wasn’t sleeping.
This was serious.
There was now a gap between us the living siblings and our dead one, a gap we couldn’t grasp but at least there was time – time to take in a kind of sweet rawness about just being there, being in our own living room; just having time to take it in. And when the undertaker came to take Nathan, and my mother cried desperately “– you can’t take him! you can’t have him!” (My father wasn’t back from his conference yet and she couldn’t fathom all of this happening without him there.)
They wrapped Nathan in a blanket and just before they took him away my mother said she gave us, my brother and I, “the privilege of kissing him.”
The last time I saw Nathan was at the funeral at Air Hill Church. I remember two details: That we sang this song – When He Cometh, When He Cometh, and I distinctly recall my mother leading us up to the casket before it was closed for the last time, her leaning, and kissing the face of Nathan. Then, she wanted my brother and I to do the same. I wanted to, but not really wanting to, and doing it anyway.
Orville, Bertha, Adriel and Aspen viewing Nathan, at the funeral home in Mt. Holly Springs, PA.
So began my spiritual and cultural immersion with death— how we love the dead.
What we do with the dead. How the community and larger family responds.
I watched as my parents moved through this territory.
I am really excited to announce the release of not only my new CD this year, but also a new podcast to go with it. You can click here to go to iTunes and subscribe. This link will take you to the preview page in iTunes. Just click "view in iTunes" and you'll see the subscribe button. You'll automatically receive a new episode every week.
Here's a little bit of the background behind the podcast.
In this exciting new weekly podcast, Brand New Me, we: (Frances Drost, host and Pam Fleming, co-host) share not only our own stories of overcoming life's obstacles, but we are also capturing the stories of others that will inspire and offer you hope. We want to help you thrive in life, not just survive.
I, (Frances) am a concert artist who has enjoyed years of music ministry. I've also been working through the loss of two brothers, both parents and other close family members. The after affects of all these deaths became apparent in my songwriting; and once I began to understand how deeply I had been impacted, I was able to begin moving toward healing and joy.
Then, in my forties, I found even more freedom after uncovering a pattern I had developed all through my life that I call "performance-based" Christianity. You're only as loved as your last great performance when you struggle with this kind of thinking. This tendency resulted in some powerful fear and anxiety, leading to depression.
After lots of prayer, some counseling and a four-month adventure of learning to figure skate, a brand new me has slowly been emerging. As I'm learning more about God's grace and mercy, the title, Brand New Me, seemed like an appropriate theme for my new music project and now, podcast.
I'm excited to use my studio to record other people's stories of healing and hope and share them with you in the form of this podcast. You'll hear my music interspersed throughout the episodes.
I, (Pam) am an author and speaker who has lived through the loss of my 14-month-old daughter, a bout with cancer, a marriage betrayal, and the final blow - the suicide of my husband. If I can get off the couch, you can too!
My passion is for everyone to experience Jesus in a personal way; to see people healed from shame, depression, grief and the spirit of suicide; and to bring suicide awareness to the church.
We invite you to enjoy the banter between two fun-loving women as we share part of our own life experiences in a conversational-type presentation. We already have lots of people lined up to tell their stories and can't wait for you to hear them!
You won't want to miss an episode, so just use the link at the top to go to iTunes and subscribe. We'd love to have you leave a review there too. That would help get the message out to more people..
Last week I mentioned that I was going to blog about getting rid of 50 things before I turn 50. I'm still working away at my list and I will write more about that soon. It's a very interesting process! But something happened on Sunday that caused me to take a rabbit trail this week and I decided to write about my experience.
This past Easter Sunday I hit a rabbit when I was on my way to the gym for a workout before heading to the church to finalize everything for our special Easter services. Some people said I hit the Easter bunny. I don't know for sure, but if you didn't get any candy, it could be my fault. Sorry.
I love to workout on Sunday mornings for two reasons:
a) The gym is EMPTY! I have it all to myself.
b) It energizes me for the rehearsals and services that lay ahead.
It was still dark and before I could blink, the rabbit darted toward my van. I just kept going. No swerving, no ducking and no crying. Though I did gasp.
It darted back to the side of the road and then back out again. THUMP. No more Easter bunny.
Instantly, my mind flashed back to an episode I had many years ago where I had a different encounter with a rabbit and was in such a bad state I just wanted to die.
That day, my heart was pounding because I swerved to miss the rabbit and almost hit a semi head on. The bigger problem was that I didn't care if I died. In fact, I secretly wished that I would. I was struggling with severe depression.
I remember thinking to myself, "if I don't swerve, I will hit the rabbit. But if I do swerve, my life could be over." In a split second I had a decision to make. My life or the rabbit.
I love animals and I go into great emotional distress if I hit one on the road so I usually swerve like crazy to miss! But when I realized that I actually didn't care if the semi hit me and ended my life, I knew that the depression had plunged to an alarming depth. I had become so hopeless that death seemed like the only relief in sight.
Then, logic kicked in and I swerved to miss the bunny AND the truck.
Though I certainly don't relish killing the rabbit this past Sunday, I want to celebrate an obvious sign of progress in my life. I chose my safety and life over the bunny's this time. I love my life now. I feel so different on the inside, it's as if I'm a different person. It didn't happen overnight, but I appreciate all that I've learned in the process.
Are there days when I still get down? Absolutely! But it's very different than depression. Because of that alarming experience years ago, (and other similar experiences) I paid attention to the warning signs. I began taking some serious steps to get help and I'm so glad I did.
Here are some tips I learned along the way:
1) Listen to your family.
If they keep telling you that you need help, they are probably right. They know you and love you. Don't write them off.
2) Go get help. Professional help.
Call a friend (if you have to) and ask them to go with you to see a counselor.
3) Pay attention to the advice of the counselor.
Counseling only does good if you listen and apply their recommendations. And give it time!
4) Pray a lot!
Even when you feel like no one is listening. Keep praying, seeking and asking. God is working in ways you can't even imagine and He is working for your good. It might take a lot of hard work, but it will be worth it.
I remember wishing I could just take a pill and feel better, or better yet, have God zap me and instantly be better. There are times when He does a miracle and I've experienced some of those times, but for the most part, it seems like we have to walk the hard road and dig deep. But we can come out of the pit with new awareness and tools that help us start walking in healing and wholeness.
It's a lot like training the physical body. You have to keep working at it. You can't expect significant changes overnight.
Yep - I hit the Easter bunny. And though I mourn his loss, I celebrate my own life and healing. On Sunday I sang a solo with the choir :
"It's still the cross
it's still the blood of Calvary that cleanses sin
and sets the captive free"
by Mike Harland, Luke Garrett, Buddy Mullins, and Niles Borop
....and I sang it from the bottom of my heart.
He still sets the captives free and I'm one of those that has lived to tell it.
These are the 5 roses we gave to our mother before we put her body in the ground.
This morning at 6:55 a.m., my mother, Bertha Mae Sollenberger Heisey went home to be with Jesus.
Tomorrow we will lay her body in the ground.
Tonight I sit on my bed, under my warm blanket with my kitty at my feet and a candle burning on my dresser. I haven't wanted to write anything, anywhere for the past six days. Until now.
I feel a huge sense of closure about to take place that I never saw coming until we came home from the funeral home this afternoon and realized a significant event is taking place tomorrow. It's suddenly not just about burying my mother but it's also about saying goodbye to the woman tied to decades of memories about two brothers who have been gone for over 40 years but are very much present in our memories and family stories. Nathan was only 2 when he drowned and Doug was 26 when he was killed in a tractor accident.
I was hit with a wall of tears tonight after returning from the funeral home this afternoon where we ordered five yellow roses for the private burial tomorrow. She loved yellow flowers.
You see, tomorrow at her graveside at 1:00 p.m., we will arrive and receive the five yellow roses. One for each child she bore. No large spread of flowers on a fancy casket, just a very plain wooden one made of pine and five long-stemmed roses. At first we ordered three. One for my brother, my sister and myself to place on this special box that holds my mother who once held us. Almost simultaneously we all realized that we needed five. Doug and Nathan are as much a part of us as they ever were, especially at this time. As soon as we lost our mother, they gained one back.
I have detached myself from everything since arriving home from a motorcycle trip that we cut short when she had an emergency surgery a week ago so that I could sit by her side until she departed and I am so glad I did. This morning when I got the text from my sister that she had passed, the tears ran freely but the peace I had deep inside far surpassed the tears. We have prayed for this day for so long that I felt a refreshing sense of peace and relief that she finally got her wish.
Day after day I have arrived in the morning (my siblings taking the night watch) and just sat with her most of the day. It was as if I was able to just 'be'. The next few days are going to be very busy and I knew they would be. Until she was actually gone, I wanted to spend these last few days just soaking in what it feels like to be present with her even when she seemed to lose consciousness.
I was not with her when she actually passed, but I was at peace with that, knowing it might happen that way. My sister got that special privilege and I was so glad.
I didn't know how significant the decision to get 5 yellow roses would impact me until we got home from the funeral home and I burst into tears. I was too young to remember any of the funerals and burials of my two brothers but their loss has had a huge impact on my soul over the years as I would listen to the stories of their deaths over and over and over....and over. It's as if I wasn't able to experience something that has had such an impact on my mother's life and mine, but from a distance.
I suddenly realized as I spoke it all out loud to my siblings that somehow I feel like this is a very significant passing. My mother, the one who told the stories is now gone. With her go the details and potent feelings. Though I have plenty of my own feelings about it all, they were always attached to her. It feels like such a closing of a chapter. A book. One that I now realize I have needed.
Tomorrow I will get to see five yellow roses offered to my mother who gave birth and life to five of us and had to let go of two of us much earlier than any mother ever should. It's one of the reasons she has wanted to die. She has walked through much pain here on earth and was ready to be released from it all. I don't blame her. She is now free. Doug's wife and one of his daughters will be present to place the rose in his memory. I don't know yet how we will release Nathan's rose but I'm so glad we decided on five, not three.
There are two boys that I know must be really glad to see you Mother and three children left who will really miss you. Thus, the five yellow roses.
