Pamela Sharon Anderson Courtright
came into the world unexpectedly and early. Due in February of 1964, she chose
instead to show up in October of 1963 weighing a whopping 2lbs 3 oz. Whether
she would live would depend, the doctor told her teenage parents, on the Man
Upstairs. He said YES to Pamela.
In 1993, when Pam and Duane were
pregnant with their first child, the ultrasound revealed a black spot where the
baby’s brain should be. The doctor recommended termination. A second ultrasound
and opinion revealed a flawed analysis and interpretation. This doctor thought
the baby would be fine. The Man Upstairs said YES to Ginny.
And this is the story that most of
you know by heart. The story that would change the direction of Pamela’s life
and start her 18 year battle with breast cancer. In 1995, shortly after Pam and
Duane discovered they were pregnant with their second child, she was diagnosed
with breast cancer. Pam was told to terminate the pregnancy in order to save
her life, as the cancer would surely kill her if she did not. Pam said, “I
don’t have to take a life to save my own. Jesus did that on the cross for me
2000 years ago.” She located a doctor who would administer chemotherapy while
pregnant, and treatment began. That December, Pam found herself in the hospital
with a rare case of pneumonia, on a ventilator and near death. The Man Upstairs
again? He said YES to both Pam and Valerie.
Fast forward and hit the pause
button for the 5-year cancer free celebration, fast forward and pause at the question
of whether or not to have another baby due to pregnancy hormones and cancer
risk (the Man Upstairs said YES to Caralee!), fast forward through the terrible
news of the cancer coming back in 2005 and pause at each NEW NORMAL-- a term
Pam and Duane used every time cancer treatments changed. At each NEW NORMAL the
Man Upstairs kept saying YES, YES, YES, YES and YES, until this past month when
the cancer spread to Pam’s liver and God said NO.
NO to more time on this earth. NO
to Pam’s wish to see Caralee graduate. NO to our prayers for healing and
wholeness. NO to growing old with her husband Duane. NO.
When Pam realized what God was
saying this time, she turned her mind toward heaven and she said YES.
YES to gathering people around her,
YES to speaking frankly about her death, YES to planning this memorial service,
YES to fixing relationships, YES to pushing past incredible pain, YES to making
every moment count…
YES to submitting and surrendering
to God’s perfect and frustrating will. YES to trusting that GOD, this MAN
UPSTAIRS, would call her community into action to care for her and her family
during and after her death. YES to going home.
It wasn’t easy for Pam to say YES.
After all, she had been saying NO to dying for the last 18 years. She and her
family had built a carefully constructed world that revolved around fighting
off death. Regular trips to Grand Rapids for infusions and treatments,
swallowing pills, relying on the generosity of the community and the church to
make ends meet with things such as meals, plowing the driveway, driving pam to
treatments, caring for the girls. Each NEW NORMAL meant a different approach to
fighting off death, new side effects, new difficulties, new pain.
On Sunday, Pamela called the family
into her bedroom and asked for our permission to die. She said that the pain
had become too much to bear. She wanted us to pray for her to go quickly. Pam
asked the Lord to have mercy on her, to forgive her sins, and to take her home.
She said YES to dying and less than 24 hours later, she was gone.
If you had the privilege of being
around Pamela these last few weeks, you will understand what I mean when I say
that Pamela died well. As I watched her mingle among us, crying, hugging,
telling stories, sharing memories, going over household things with Duane,
giving away her jewelry to her children and loved ones, opening your cards of
encouragement, planning her memorial service, reading your Facebook messages,
comforting US knowing that she would be gone and we would have to find a way to
live without her…I kept thinking, “this is how you die.” THIS is how you die.
How was Pam able to die well? As I
reflected on this question during Pam’s last weeks, I thought of three things.
First, long ago Pam had surrendered
herself to her Lord and Savior, Jesus. In doing so, DEATH did not have the last
word. Because of Jesus’ death on the cross, our sins are forgiven and we get to
be in relationship with the God of the Universe forever. With that relationship
comes the promise of HEAVEN and the reality that we will SEE each other again.
Pam believed and understood that dying does not mean separation but REUNION
with loved ones who have died before us and those who will die after us. In the
waiting room at the hospital 3 weeks ago, Pam entreated all of us to come to
Jesus, to KNOW Him, because she longs to see us again.
This surrendering of our life to
God does not just mean the end of suffering after death and the promise of
heaven. God also promises to engage us here on earth. Being in relationship
with God does not mean bad stuff won’t happen to us, and Pam’s struggle with
cancer is a testimony to this. This relationship with God means that we no
longer walk alone through the pain of this world. We are given strength and
courage to endure and to overcome here on this earth. We are not alone in our
journey. We are able to say, like Pam, “It is well with my soul.”
This is how you die.
Second, Pamela loved people so much
and so well that they surrounded her in life and in death. Pam did not
“accomplish” much by the world’s standards. She didn’t make a lot of money, she
wasn’t famous--she was pretty ordinary. But Pam LOVED much. You are here today because she touched you in
some way. You experienced personally her love for you.
Duane and Pamela got married in
1993 and started their lives together in an old farmhouse. Pam always thought
the house was too small for all of their things and their growing family. Pam’s
passions were Coke memorabilia, Red Wings, quilting, music, dishes, camping and
finding a good deal. She surrounded herself with things that she loved and with
her “critters”. Duane says she would often ask, “Honey, do I have too much
stuff? Should we get rid of some things?” And Duane would say, “Lover, all our
stuff fits together and works perfectly.” To make it fit even better, Pam
dreamed and plotted and planned a massive home renovation project that became
the beloved red roof ranch. She was able to create space for her collections,
and every item in her home has a place. (Just in case you didn’t know, pajamas
BELONG under your pillow.) She would move things around; give things away in
order to make room for new things. But more importantly than her love for
material possessions was her love for people. Pam made room for people in her
life, for relationships.
I never heard Pam say that a room
was too crowded, or “I’m tired of visitors”, or even “I just want to be alone.”
She could always make room for more people. She was forever on the look out to
make new friends and find connections with folks. Pam found PEOPLE. She found
them at a Walmart in Texas, in hospital rooms in Grand Rapids, as far away as
Hawaii, at garage sales in her hometown in Alpena. When Pam and Duane went on
their dates to auctions and flea markets and the sponge docks in Florida, Duane
looked for a good deal and Pam looked for connections with people. She
collected US. We are more precious to her than her Coca Cola cookie jars, her
quilts, her stuff. We are Pam’s treasure.
These final weeks she gathered US,
her most precious collection, to herself. Her first Facebook post when she
learned that she only had weeks to live was “Come visit me. You don’t need to call, just come.” A couple that once lived here in Gaylord
drove all the way from Texas to bid farewell to Pamela. Relatives and friends from other states came,
including Texas, Wisconsin, Illinois, Ohio and Massachusetts. They came from
the U.P. and downstate. Countless
Facebook posts came in. At times there
were 50 people at the red roof ranch; loads of food, laughter and
friendship. A week ago I told Pam in an
attempt to comfort her, “I bet there will be quilting in heaven.” Her response,
“I don’t care what I do, as long as I’m with the people I love.” That’s you and me.
Pam made sure we celebrated her
life and her love while she was still with us. The last few weeks on this earth
were one big party. Last week Pam told us with a puzzled expression, “It just
occurred to me that I have been planning the memorial service and celebration
and I won’t be attending.” I’m pretty sure she is here with us.
This is how you die.
Finally, Pam spent the last several
years, much to her family’s annoyance, telling us to “get over ourselves.” This
simple and irritating phrase was spoken daily and was Pam’s way of saying, “You
are thinking more highly of yourself than you ought.” Or “Stop being so
self-absorbed.” We let Pam get away with this phrase because she also applied
it to herself. After meeting with Dr. Campbell in Grand Rapids, after finding
her tumor markers were up, after switching the treatment regimen again, after
feeling sorry for herself, she would tell us, “And then I got over myself.”
For Pam, to “get over herself”
meant looking past the dark cloud of cancer and death that loomed over her
daily. She practiced getting over herself through her 4:30 am hot tub
discussions with Duane (she really had to get over herself when Duane locked
her out of the house while she was still in the hot tub and she had to streak
to the garage to get in the house—hundreds of Facebook likes on that one!), She
got over herself by creating and designing quilts, in her morning phone calls
with her mom, by laying still and thinking and pondering life. Pam got over herself by getting out her
calendar and making plans about the future; camping trips with family, kids
sporting events, lake visits, Florida vacations and she had to make it all work
around her cancer treatments. She got over herself by, in the words of a
favorite song-- “Taking Care of Business.”
Pam had to discover what was true,
right, good, and lovely—even about cancer--and fix her eyes on those things.
Pam made a conscious choice to see the world from a different perspective, a
God perspective. So when Pam received
the bad news that the cancer had spread to her liver, she asked the Man
Upstairs what he was doing and consequently, what she should be doing. Pam
became intentional about her last weeks on this earth and used them wisely.
This is how you die.
Over the past several years, Pam
spent a lot of time in two of her favorite places, her porch swing on Hallock
Road and the green glider swing at Long Lake, usually in her red robe or
wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, even in the summer. (Duane wondered how Pam could
be so cold when she was “smoking hot.” Pam made sure they had dual climate
controls on their latest vehicle so they could both be comfortable on their
frequent trips to Grand Rapids.) On these swings, Pam rested and waited for
visitors, for Linda and the quilting plans for the day, for grandpa to drop by for
dinner, for the girls to get home from school, for her Duane to come home from
work. I picture her on those swings in heaven, around a campfire, singing Elton
John tunes with her loved ones, basking in the love of her Savior—pain
free—waiting for US.
Pamela Courtright died well because
she lived well, because she loved well.
