God didn't heal her, but...
Becky Bader I knew my cousin Linda more by what I had heard than from personal experiences. Oh, I’d seen her a few brief times in my life – when we were younger at our grandmother’s in Tyler and later in life at a few family reunions, and then there was that one brief time when she lived with us. That moment is especially vivid as she went ballistic when we ate her popsicles. But really, I only knew her from what was said about her. She was the poor cousin I heard more about than I ever saw.
And I felt sorry for her.
To me, she lived a life of nevers. As a teenager, I thought of her as someone who had never had a date and never been kissed; to me, at the time, a fate worse than death. And combined with the fate of never having driven a car, her life was a tragedy. After all, what was better than teenage love and driving? What more did a young girl want?
As I grew older, I felt even sorrier for her. She was never well. Never healthy. Never free of a debilitating disease. In fact, when she was a very young girl and had been diagnosed as a severe, brittle diabetic, bad became worse on a regular basis. From what I heard, anyway. And I heard plenty.
How the doctors told her she wouldn’t live to be 20, but she did.
How no one thought she’d graduate Magna Cum Laude from the University of Texas in the ‘60’s, but she did.
How when she was told by everyone who loved her that she couldn’t travel overseas to a communist country, she did anyway. And she survived losing her passport and wrangling with the authorities. Oh, and did I mention her vision was impaired?
How everyone tried to convince her she couldn’t work, but she always found a way to do something and helped support her mother, also an invalid, until the day her mom died.
And then there was the finale, really, when Hurricane Ike began its final menacing descent on Galveston, she was, I think, the last to leave and only because she stood in the road, holding on to the leashes of her dogs, and a garbage truck picked her up and took her to Ball High School, where she eventually was evacuated to San Antonio. Against her will, I think.
Linda’s dad was dead, her mom ironed for a living, and they never had enough money, supported in part by relatives, including my mom who sent her money and care packages on a regular basis. Linda, by the American standard, was never a success story.
But when I went to her funeral this past week and sat at the graveside in the hot Texas sun with 14 other people who had driven hundreds of miles from various parts of the state to pay tribute to her life, I revamped – rather quickly – my thoughts about Cousin Linda.
I had only gone to the funeral because it meant a lot to my mom, who wanted both her girls to be there. In some odd way, funerals bring out the best of us. Mom likes her girls, both now over fifty, with her in gatherings. She’s proud of us, and I really feel that in times like these. But I didn’t want to go because I didn’t know Linda besides the term cousin attached to our relationship. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had even talked to her. About her, yes. Ironically, Ian remembers visiting with her and having wonderful conversations with her; but I don’t.
I went to the funeral feeling deeply sorry for Linda, but glad she was no longer suffering; I left thinking, “Wow! What a life lived!”
Many relatives and friends had beseeched God for over six decades to heal Linda, but God did not; instead, he gave her people -- a few, very special friends and a few, very special relatives.
One beautiful raven-haired woman met her in the veterinarian’s office when Linda, who was crying, didn’t have cab fare to return home. Their lives mingled together after that, and a friendship developed that lasted until Linda’s death. Linda couldn’t drive; her new friend could. And her friend repeatedly did in the years that followed. God didn’t heal her; but he answered a prayer.
One beautiful writer was forced out of her own urban hermitage, as she called it, when she discovered Linda was her neighbor, delightedly discovering their similar interests: both were educated women and avid readers and animal lovers and night owls. Convinced that Linda would have been a strong leader for women had her circumstances been otherwise, the neighbor also delighted us with stories of how Linda, whose volume of The Rise of the Roman Empire was dog-eared and worn, loved listening to late-night radio shows about alien abductions! God didn’t heal her; but he answered a prayer.
One beautiful niece, who discovered Linda later in life, helped support her through many disastrous situations, including her seemingly oblivious manner towards her health. Linda lost that battle. If she was in the hospital eating exactly like she was supposed to, her blood sugar was still off the charts. She felt bad regardless of what she ate, so she ate what she wanted, including Fritos and Twinkies. Her grocery shopping drove the niece and her family crazy, but they loved her and helped take care of her. God didn’t heal her; but he answered a prayer.
Then there was the story of the doctor who would actually send a cab for her so she could make her doctor’s appointments! Again, God didn’t heal Linda; but he answered a prayer.
And then there was my mom who loved Linda like she was her own daughter. I don’t think mom missed too many days without talking to her. She prayed for her, worried about her, sent her gifts, gave her money, and treated her like a cherished daughter, which she really was. On the day she died, mom had yet another care package ready to send to her. God didn’t answer mom’s prayer to heal Linda; instead, God sent my mom to care for her, to love her, to take care of her over and over again. God answered a prayer.
Dangerous, dramatic escapes from near-death situations and genuine, earnest friendships enjoyed over cream of wheat and margarine and equal. Stories of nobility and courage and determination mingled with stubbornness and a refusal to do it any other way but her own. Linda, weak by the standards of the world, was one tough cookie.
My sister and I sometimes joke that we’re glad we’re adopted, glad we don’t have the stubborn McCoy gene that we see in so many of our relatives. But that ornery, stubborn, real McCoy gene (remember the McCoy-Hatfield Feud?) gave Linda the stamina to live a life against the odds. Even though it seemed otherwise, God gave her strength. God answered a prayer.
From the dog who sat in her lap and loved watching basketball, the dog who supposedly knew how to work the remote, (not too sure about that one) to true friends and caring relatives, Linda was loved and cherished. Her favorite expression – “Get me out of this mess!” – will be repeated often.
I think she walked the tightrope between crazy and sane at times, and I remember not wanting to push her off the wrong way. She was somewhat eccentric and stubborn, but dignified. Those who talked about her knew her well – her intelligence as well as her quirky idiosyncrasies -- as Linda did not live a life of pretense. And even though she drove those who loved her crazy with her stubbornness, that same stubbornness made her a survivor. And they all agreed, she was a doer even though it didn’t seem like she could do too much.
Linda might have lived a life of nevers, but there were never-ending stories of her tenacity and nobility throughout the memorial service, organized by my 92-year-old mom and her baby brother. I will remember Linda now, not as an unanswered prayer, but as living a life of answered prayers. God gave her people, not health. To me, she has become an invitation to peer beyond what is visible and see how God really works – bringing people together, giving us opportunities to help others, and making a difference in the lives of each other.
Linda wasn’t suppose to live past 20; she died at 64.
And I wasn’t supposed to sit in the sun, but I would have sat in the sun a lot longer just to listen to more stories about Linda, the cousin I'll never think of in the same way again.
Reader Comments (3)
Hi Becky! When you said you blogged about Linda, I had to come have a look. Hope you don't mind. One thing.. it was Ike she rode out at Ball HS, rather than Rita. I think she spent Rita in Lufkin with her niece. Great article.. you have a comfortable style!
Wow! Awesome article!! I may have to print this up and save it! Thank you for writing this. It made me cry to remember my friend, your cousin, and it made me glad to have met the family I heard so much about. This is the best thing I've read all day. I'm going to feed the dogs, now, and get ready for bed. :-)
...oooo....will fix....get all those hurricane's mixed up! thanks! hope to see you in may :)