Borrowing Back the Past: A Reflection on Loss, Faith, and Memory

Today was another rough day, but I’m still here, still fighting, still trusting in God’s plan. For those who may not know, I’ve been on dialysis for nearly three years—September will mark that milestone. Navigating the endless hoops of medical appointments, tests, and treatments often leaves me drained, with little energy to tackle everything I need to do. Yet, I’m blessed beyond measure to have employers who understand my limitations. Their compassion and flexibility are gifts I can never fully repay, and I thank God for their kindness every day.

Three weeks ago, I underwent tests to determine if my bladder has the capacity and elasticity to support a kidney transplant, should that day ever come. Then, last week, I traveled to Lafayette for a biopsy due to concerns about a nodule or shadow on my thyroid. Both tests were supposed to yield results within a week, but I’ve heard nothing—diddly squat, as I like to say. The transplant team is likely weighing what’s best for me, and I trust their process. But the thyroid biopsy? You’d think it would be straightforward to determine if those cells are cause for concern. The waiting, though, is its own kind of trial—a reminder to lean on patience and faith when answers don’t come quickly. I’m doing my best to stay on this side of the dirt, as I often joke, trusting God’s timing while I wait.

The past three weeks have brought heavier burdens than medical uncertainties. I’ve lost two dear cousins—Kevin, my Uncle Dick’s son, and Sheila, my Uncle Doc’s eldest daughter. Kevin was three years older than me, Sheila eight. Both had been battling illnesses for some time, and sadly, neither made it through. There’s nothing like losing family members close to your age to bring your own mortality into sharp focus. It’s not overdramatic to say these losses have shaken me; they’ve stirred deep reflections on life, faith, and what lies beyond.

I find comfort in knowing that Sheila had accepted Christ as her Savior. Her faith assures me that when we all get Home, she’ll be there, radiant in the presence of our Lord. As 1 Thessalonians 4:13 reminds us, “We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.” Sheila’s hope was in Christ, and that hope carries me through the grief of her passing. Kevin, though—I wish I could say the same with certainty. We were never close enough to have those deep conversations about faith. At our family reunion next month, I plan to sit with his sister, share stories, and seek answers about Kevin’s heart. Whether or not I find clarity, we’ll grieve together, love each other, and hold fast to the memories that bind us.

Memories have a funny way of surfacing, don’t they? For Kevin, I can’t help but picture him in Uncle Dick’s grocery store, sneaking penny candy or snatching pork cracklins from the meat counter. As the older cousin, he’d always pin the blame on me when he got away with it, and I’d fall for it every time! Those moments, so vivid and full of mischief, bring a smile even now. Sheila’s memory takes me back to the summer of ’66 or ’67—I can’t recall exactly—when she danced barefoot in cut-off shorts in our garage. Her boyfriend, Rick, who later became her husband, was singing and playing with his band, filling the air with the raw energy of the ‘60s. I can still hear him belting out Wilson Pickett’s “In the Midnight Hour” or Barry McGuire’s “Eve of Destruction.” I told my mom about that memory, and she just laughed, saying she didn’t recall it but understood why it stuck with me. I was always out there, soaking in the music of a generation that shaped so much of who we were.

Those days weren’t perfect, but they were ours. As I face my own health challenges and draw closer to the mystery of what lies ahead, I find myself revisiting those moments more often. It’s like borrowing back the past, pulling those loved ones close for just a little while. Some might say it’s unhealthy to dwell on what’s gone, but I believe Scripture invites us to remember and honor those who’ve passed. Ecclesiastes 3:1 tells us, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.” There’s a time to mourn, a time to laugh, and a time to remember. That verse always brings me back to the garage, to the music, to the Byrds’ “Turn! Turn! Turn!” echoing through my childhood. Matthew 5:4 offers further comfort: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” God sees our grief, holds our tears, and promises to meet us in our sorrow.

Honoring those we’ve lost isn’t about clinging to the past; it’s about celebrating the lives God wove into ours. Sheila’s laughter, Kevin’s mischief, Rick’s music—they’re threads in the tapestry of my story, and I’m grateful for every one. As I wait for test results, plan for the family reunion, and navigate the uncertainties of dialysis, I’m reminded that God is with me in every season. He’s in the waiting, the grieving, and the remembering. He’s in the hope that sustains me, the promise of eternity where all tears will be wiped away (Revelation 21:4).

So today, I borrow back Kevin, Sheila, and Rick for a little while. I say goodbye with love, trusting that God holds them—and me—in His hands. If you’re reading this, take a moment to remember someone you’ve lost. Let their memory be a blessing, and let God’s comfort carry you through.

DMMC 7-23-25