The painful journey that took the love of my life, Joanna . . . to the great heavenly banquet 
by Bill Jones

Let me begin this post with an apology. I know none of you expects brevity from me, but this post is going to be exceptionally lengthy – even for me! So please forgive me. I hope you can make it through it all in one sitting. If not, take a break, and come back for more later.

Writing this is therapy for me, as I have tried this week to make sense of Joanna’s shocking and unexpected death on Sunday morning. So please position yourself as a therapist/counselor, and listen as I share my thoughts. (𝘉𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘑𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 – 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘐 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 “𝘉𝘢𝘣𝘦” – 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘺 “𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳.” 𝘐𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺, “𝘛𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴!” 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 – 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭.)

𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗞 𝗬𝗢𝗨!
I want to first thank the many professionals at Baylor Scott & White All Saints Hospital in Fort Worth who gave Joanna – and me – such care during those two weeks, from January 31-February 14. They were wonderful, and I feel for them – this was far from the first death on their watch, and it won’t be their last. I’ve seen how they come to love their patients and their families, and I know this kind of outcome must be terribly difficult for them.

Thank you to the many family and friends who have reached out to my kids and me since Joanna‘s passing on Sunday morning. We have been overwhelmed by your love, your prayers, and your many expressions of concern and generosity.

𝗝𝗢𝗔𝗡𝗡𝗔’𝗦 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗛 – 𝗔𝗡 𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗢𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗕𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘
Many thoughts have passed through my mind this week as I’ve tried to deal with our grief and loss, and I want to share some of that here. Of course, at this point, all thoughts are subject to further reflection as I continue to ponder Joanna’s unexpected death.

First, through the years as Joanna struggled with various health challenges, culminating in the kidney disease that was first diagnosed in 2010, I was certainly aware of the possibility that I would eventually lose her. She brought it up quite often, insisting that she would die first; I always tried to argue her out of that and say that no, I planned to go first. That was mainly because the thought of losing her was just too awful to contemplate.

But as bad as I knew this would be, it has been even harder, more devastating than I ever imagined it would be. And I’m not alone in that; Alison and Travis have expressed the same sentiment.

Second, as I look back over the two weeks that she was in the hospital, beginning with her kidney transplant surgery on January 31, I’ve come to believe that her death was inevitable. Oh, this is only in retrospect. I never expected it, and when I received that call from the doctor as I was returning to the hospital that night, my reaction was one of shock, as I yelled out, “𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩? 𝙔𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙙? 𝙎𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙚?” After I hung up and continued toward the hospital, I yelled out, as loudly as I could, at least 10 times, “𝙒𝙝𝙮, 𝙂𝙤𝙙? 𝙒𝙝𝙮, 𝙂𝙤𝙙? 𝙒𝙝𝙮, 𝙂𝙤𝙙? . . .”

I knew there was no answer to that question, but I had to ask it, and God understood that.

But looking back over the events of those two weeks, I now realize that her death was coming all along. Joanna’s body had taken a lot of punishment over the years. Beginning as far back as her growing-up years in Hong Kong, she had a tumor on her left shoulder and had to go in every so often for a biopsy. For years, it was benign. Then, in 1988, after we had been married almost 12 years, it was finally diagnosed as malignant. So she underwent major surgery to remove the section of bone that was cancerous. She had been a cancer survivor for 32-1/2 years when she died Sunday morning.

When they removed that section of bone, they took a graft from her (𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐’𝘮 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘰) left tibia, I believe, and restructured it with pins and screws. That shoulder was unstable and gave her trouble the rest of her life. Because of the surgery there, the left arm could not be used for IVs, taking blood for lab tests, taking blood pressure, etc. Her right arm wound up being like a pin cushion, to the extent that when her initial IV during this hospital stay wound up leaking (𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨) after 9 or 10 days, she pleaded with them not to put another IV in her – knowing that it would cause her pain – and promised to drink a lot of water instead. They gave in to her demand for 2 days until it became necessary to give her another IV in order to provide her with the medicine that would help restore the blood platelets that had been destroyed. To do it, though, they had to call in a special team with a special machine that showed all of her veins more clearly – it was the only way to find a usable vein for the IV.

She also had surgery for a broken ankle in 2006.

𝗞𝗜𝗗𝗡𝗘𝗬 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗘
Then, in 2010, came the diagnosis of chronic end-stage renal disease. For 11 years, she was under the care of a kidney doctor. In 2015, she went on the transplant list at Baylor hospitals in both Dallas and Fort Worth. In January 2016, she began dialysis.

Her dream was to finally get a functioning kidney. We had two offers last year, but both were fairly low-quality kidneys that had a low probability of lasting any more than 4 or 5 years, so we turned them down. Besides that, with hospital stays in both March and April, for about a week each, she had grown very weak, and I think we both had questions as to whether she was up to the surgery.

By the way, in later discussions with her kidney doctor and the surgeon at the Transplant Institute, it was stressed to us that continuing on dialysis much longer was just not a viable option. Her kidneys had deteriorated too much. She needed a new kidney, even one that might fail and need to be replaced after a few years.

In August, at her annual evaluation at the Transplant Institute in Dallas, the surgeon told her that, if a kidney came available at that time, he would NOT perform the surgery, because her body just wasn’t up to it. Her lab results were almost all substandard. So she asked to be put on “𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥” status with regard to the transplant list.

For the next few months, she worked hard to build up her strength. At our daughter Alison’s suggestion, she spent several weeks in physical therapy at a nearby center; after she finished there, she continued the exercises, at home, that she had been taught there. I was so proud of her, but then she always made me proud in every way.

𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗦𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧
By December, she had built up her strength and raised all her labs. She asked for another evaluation at the Transplant Institute. This time, the surgeon recommended that she be taken off “𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥” status and restored to the active list. She was so happy, and I was so proud of her, because she had done all of this on her own. Her determination and work ethic were second to none.

Nevertheless, her body had been through so much over the years. Yes, she was much stronger than she had been back in April and August, but her body was still frail in relation to a normally healthy body.

So we got the call on Saturday afternoon, January 30. We had gone for lunch to one of our favorite Chinese restaurants in Plano, where they serve a soup dumpling that we both love. We would pick up the food, but she insisted that rather than take it home we would eat it in the car in the parking lot. As she had explained before, by the time we got home with them, the meat would absorb all that delicious soup, which was the best part. You want to eat these right after you get them, so you can suck all the soup out of the dumpling.

It was while we were sitting there in the parking lot, eating our soup dumplings, that the call came from the transplant people. She was first on the list for this kidney. This time, it was a pretty quick-and-easy decision. She had waited so long, it was time to move forward with the transplant.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗧𝗪𝗢 𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗞𝗦
The surgery that Sunday morning, the 31st, at Baylor All Saints Hospital in Fort Worth, was a success. During the next 2 weeks, the kidney was shown to be a good kidney, producing – as one doctor put it – “𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘦.” However, the aftermath of the surgery was a disaster, having nothing to do with the kidney.

In the hours following the operation, her blood pressure plummeted to dangerously low levels. At 4:30 that afternoon, they took her back to surgery, re-opening her incision to see whether there was internal bleeding. There wasn’t. The surgeon told me he was baffled, couldn’t figure out the reason for the drop in blood pressure. By the time they had closed the incision, her blood pressure had returned to normal. But her body had been stressed by yet another “𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.”

Over the next 24 hours, they noticed that her blood platelets were disappearing, being destroyed by “𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦” antibodies. The number kept dropping precipitously. Wednesday and Thursday, they put her through two “𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘮𝘢 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦” procedures. They didn’t help at all, but her body was further stressed by these additional procedures.

Around Tuesday or Wednesday of that first week, she started having severe vision problems, couldn’t even see the numbers on the clock on the wall facing her bed. She was also having trouble holding a fork or spoon; she told me she couldn’t remember how to do it. She couldn’t put her glasses on; again, she said she couldn’t figure out how to do that. When the physical therapist came in to see her and learned of these problems, he immediately recommended a CT scan, and they took her down for it within minutes.

The CT scan showed that she had suffered many small strokes on both sides of her brain.

I was just thinking, though, with Joanna’s wonderful, sly sense of humor, even those strokes gave us a laugh. Travis, of course, had suffered a massive stroke in 2013, and it has left him with significant disabilities. Sometimes he has difficulty expressing himself the way he’d like to, and he says, “Just remember, I had a stroke.” So Joanna, shortly after being told that she had suffered these small strokes, looked at me and said, “Well, now Travis can’t say, ‘I had a stroke,’ as if he’s the only one. I can say, ‘Yeah, but I had more strokes than you had.'” And I replied, “Yes, but then he’ll say, ‘My stroke was bigger than yours!'” And we laughed. I’ll always enjoy remembering her delightful, almost pixieish, sense of humor.

On Thursday that week, they began giving her the once-a-week medicine intended to restore her blood platelets. It did have the desired effect, though slowly.

By the middle of the second week, she was already showing progress in regaining her vision, her ability to hold a fork and spoon, to put her glasses on, etc. We (𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐) were encouraged. They recommended that, after discharge from the hospital, she go to in-patient rehab for a few weeks to further recover from the effects of the strokes. However, her transfer to that facility kept getting delayed, day by day, for one reason or another.

Then this past Saturday, especially when I fed her dinner, she just wasn’t very responsive. It could have been that she was simply tired, but when I left that evening, just before 9, I spoke with the night nurse and expressed my serious concern. In the back of my mind, I feared she had suffered more strokes.

I was awakened 20 minutes past midnight with the news that she had grown increasingly unresponsive and was being taken for a CT scan to look for strokes, and the nurse suggested that I return to the hospital. The CT scan ultimately showed that she had, indeed, suffered, another series of strokes. Sadly, she didn’t even survive the scan.

As I drove to the hospital, I had this thought – 𝘪𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘴. She was already very weary of fighting her various ailments over the years, never feeling really healthy. Living with these strokes would have been torture for her – and torture for my family and me, watching the one we love the most suffer for minute upon minute, hour upon hour, year upon year.

When I was about 15-20 minutes away from the hospital, I received the call from the doctor overseeing her case . . . she told me that during the scan, all of Joanna’s vital signs had suddenly “𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥.” They worked for 45 minutes to revive her but never could get a pulse. She had passed away.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗪
Looking back on those 2 weeks, I can come to only one conclusion: while the transplant surgery was a success in itself, it was the last straw for a body that had taken simply too much punishment for too many years. It sent her body on the downward spiral that I have just detailed. Saturday night, when she suffered more strokes, her body said 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, and at 1:16 Sunday morning, it finally shut down.

I’ve made my peace with this, that whenever this surgery came, it was going to be too much for her body.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗬 𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘
I’ll be honest – I’m miserable right now. She was my heart, my life. For over 48 years (𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘑𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘺 1973), I invested every part of my being in her life, as she invested hers in mine. Right now, I’m asking God to show me how to live without Joanna Jones in my life. It’s a foreign concept to me. I see her everywhere I look in my house, whether in our bedroom, bathroom, closet (𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴), kitchen, living room, hallway, wherever . . . she’s there, but she’s not there.

We had a marriage made in heaven, but she’s in heaven now, and I’m not. Ours was a wonderful partnership . . . we simply loved being together, doing things together. I loved looking at her beautiful face and sweet smile across a table or across the room, and now I can’t.

But as I’ve written here, I now have made sense of her death . . . her body had been through too much, and this surgery was the last straw. So I can accept it, even though I wish with everything I have that she was still here. But not if she was going to suffer. I love her too much for that.

I’m happy for her, because she’s finally free of her pain-wracked body and has a new body that is eternally healthy. She’s with Jesus now, and with her daddy Wong Chi Chung, her brother Jovan, her nephew Wilkie, her brother-in-law David, my parents Jase and Vivian Jones – who loved her, as she loved them, and others.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗧 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗟𝗬 𝗕𝗔𝗡𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗧
I’ve talked with many friends this week, including some who have lost their spouse, and I have found encouragement from them. This morning, I read a blog post by my friend Paul Beasley-Murray, entitled “𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗟𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗻.” In it, he quotes 𝙇𝙪𝙠𝙚 6:21, where Jesus’s third Beatitude reads, “𝘉𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩.” Then he mentions Jesus’s frequent references to heaven as a great banquet (e.g., 𝙈𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙬 22:1-14; 𝙇𝙪𝙠𝙚 14:15-24). He goes on to write, “. . . 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳.”

I emailed Paul, telling him that his blog post was balm for my troubled and hurting soul. I love this imagery of heaven, and it comes straight from Jesus.

So I can see my beloved Joanna in this picture, welcomed by Jesus to the banquet, and sitting with her family and my family who have gone on before us . . . eating, drinking, hugging, and laughing. And she’s waiting for me to join the banquet – it could be years, even decades for me, but it’s only a moment in the eternity she now inhabits.

She’ll always be the love of my life. 𝙇𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙞𝙣 𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙚, 𝘽𝙖𝙗𝙚.