Saying goodbye, part 2.

After the funeral in Marshall, we loaded up our vehicles and headed for McCaskill, Arkansas, where Oma was buried.

This cemetery is where many members of Nana's family are buried. Being there gave us a good chance to remind Ryan and Katie about their heritage.

Their great-grandparents: Nana's dad and mom

Their great-uncle and great-aunt, Chuck and Linda
(The kids and I know Chuck only through family stories,
but we all knew Linda well and miss her dearly.)

The kids' great-great-grandparents

After the graveside service, the family headed to Aunt Skeeter's house in Nashville, Arkansas. There we enjoyed good food and great conversation, and thanks to Skeeter's collection, we could show the kids even more of their family history.

Katie checks out pictures from her great-grandparents' 50th anniversary 20+ years ago

Nana and her sisters (Oma, Linda and Skeeter with their mom, Nanny Hicks)

It was fun watching the second cousins get reacquainted. Katie was quick to get in on the football game:

We all enjoyed the comfort of Skeeter's back porch and gorgeous backyard:

Just as we were leaving Skeeter's, Nana played the anniversary slideshow for everyone since they weren't able to be at the party Sunday. It was fun watching everyone's reaction to the old pictures!

Then we headed northeast, off to Hot Springs for a few days of R&R!

Saying goodbye.

The family gathered in Marshall Monday afternoon to say goodbye to Brett's Aunt Oma. The tributes offered that day showed what a wonderful Christian woman Oma was, never uttering a harsh word, always keeping a positive attitude, constantly loving and accepting people for who they were.

Among the speakers was Brett. Here's what he had to say about his beloved aunt:

First off I just wanted to thank you, Rick, for asking me to say a few things about Aunt Oma. I’m certainly honored to do so.

If you ask any of Nanny Hicks and Pike Ikey’s grandkids about Aunt Oma, you’ll likely get a similar response. Oma was cool. So cool, in fact, that she made The Fonz look like Bill Gates.

Other than her calm demeanor, welcoming presence, and laid back attitude, one of the first things that tipped me off about Oma’s coolness when I was very young was her choice of beverage at Thanksgiving and Christmas. While all the adults got boring old tea, there was Oma with her Pepsi or Coke. Seems like a silly thing now, but when I was 6 or 7 years old, it made an impression.

Over the years, whether I encountered Oma in Marshall, in Arkansas or at my parents’ house in Fort Worth, Oma’s inherent coolness manifested itself again and again.

When you rode in the car with Oma, you could eat, drink, be merry, and listen to rock music. When you talked to Oma, her calming voice and gentle laugh would immediately put you at ease. When you played Scrabble with Oma, talking, laughing, and eating were more important than the game itself. I’m certainly going to miss seeing her at my Mom and Dad’s each and every New Year’s Eve.

Now, going to Oma’s house was an experience unto itself. For starters, she let her kids write their friends’ phone numbers on the wall behind the telephone. If that’s not the very definition of cool, I don’t know what is.

Oma had this insanely steep driveway that led straight into the highway. And her front yard was shaded entirely by pine trees and covered with pine needles, with nary a strand of grass. Her carport was a great place for us kids to hang out, and her backyard was even better. There was a swing, a beautiful collie named Lassie, and a huge apple tree that grew the biggest, juiciest apples you ever saw. As a kid, I wasn’t a big fan of apples, but Oma could take those prosaic pieces of fruit and turn them into golden, delicious, fried apple pies with impossibly flaky crust. I also remember those big, sticky, yummy pots of Smores that she and Lisa used to make in that busy kitchen, which never quite seemed totally clean or properly organized.

At Oma’s house, you never had to worry about having dirt on your shoes, you could slam the door with impunity, and every room seemed warm, lived in, and welcoming. Oma made clutter seem cool. Especially interesting was Randy’s room, with its boxes and boxes of comic books and magazines. I used to hang out in there for hours, poring over those printed pages, and neither Oma nor Randy seemed to mind.

While we’re on the subject of Randy and Oma’s house, there’s a…rather serious topic I need to discuss. I distinctly remember Randy pulling off a seemingly impossible feat…with his feet. Randy would jump up, grab onto a beam, thrust his body upward, and somehow stomp his feet flat onto the ceiling, leaving these huge, dirty footprints. I also remember Randy lifting weights, drawing these incredibly cool pictures of barbarians and super-heroes, and chugging milk out of the fridge straight from the jug.

And who could forget Kathy. With her flannel shirts, groovy attitude, junky cars, and loud music blaring from her room, Kathy always appealed to my inner hippie. I loved listening to her play the guitar, and, unlike certain people (David, cough, Scott, cough), she was always, without fail, sweet to us younger kids.

And Lisa, may God rest her soul, she was an object of fascination as well. It seemed to me like she and my sister Kelly would laugh the entire time they were together. Unfortunately, I never had a clue as to what was so funny. I also remember Lisa dressing up her cats and feeding them from baby bottles. The fact that Lisa passed before her mom is something I’m sure Oma never got over.

Indeed, Oma’s kids were a big part of what made her so darned cool.

Speaking of kids, my children, Ryan and Katie, loved Oma very much. Ryan had this to say: “She was always great and really happy.” And Katie had this to say: “She was a good example for those who were younger and older.”

My wife loved Oma as well. Oma reminded [See] more than a little of her own mother, which is about as big a compliment as you can give to anyone.

In addition to being a loving aunt, mom, and sister, Oma was a wonderful grandmother and great grandmother.

Rachel…we’re all very sorry that you’ve had to deal with so much tragedy in your young life. There’s no doubting that Oma loved you, your family, and your brother very much.

Although Aunt Oma lived a good, long life of 75 years, raising three kids and influencing countless other lives in the process, her passing seems much too soon to those of us who loved her. We will miss you, Oma.

The curve in the road.

I was working the desk at Camp Central when the call came. I couldn't answer it right then, so as soon as my shift came to an end, I called Brett back. He didn't answer his cell phone or his work cell or even our home line. I could feel my heart rate increase.

When I finally got Brett on the line, my fears were confirmed. Something bad had happened.

"Aunt Oma died."

But that's impossible! Nana and Papa's anniversary party is Sunday—and Oma's going to be there! And she hasn't even been sick!

With both of us in tears, we had to hang up and try the conversation again later. Later is when Brett told me what he knew: that she was found in bed that morning and that he was on his way to his mom and dad's house.

Brett has an amazing family, and it has been such a blessing for me to get to know his aunts. We lost his Aunt Linda to cancer several years ago, and we still miss her. Last summer it was Aunt Norma on his dad's side of the family who died, and our visits to McGregor will never be the same. So now we're forced to say goodbye to Aunt Oma, and I still cannot believe she won't be playing Scrabble at Nana's table come New Year's Eve.

I was still a good 24 hours away from leaving camp, and I desperately wanted to be home. I needed to hug my husband and his family, and I hated grieving alone. But dorm mom duty called, and I knew that even with transportation (way-too-generous friends offered to swing up and get me—a six-hour roundtrip!), I couldn't abandon my responsibilities for getting everyone packed up and cleared out. I also knew that as much as I needed to comfort and be comforted, all that could wait one more day.

Being at camp turned into a real blessing, too. At that night's worship time, every song had a little more meaning, and right there amid all the contemporary youth-group-type songs, we sang an oldie: "When Peace Like a River." That song gets to me every time, mostly because it was my daddy's favorite and I can still hear him leading it. But one line really spoke to me that night: "When sorrows like sea billows roll/Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say/It is well, it is well with my soul."

A friend emailed this thought:

The curves along the road of life are sometimes sharper than we thought, then you get that out of control feeling and just try to hold on and make it through...

Thursday was definitely one of those times when we were just trying to hold on, and I was so thankful to have our Father to hold on to!