A year-and-a-half later: Missing Joanna more than ever 
by Bill Jones

(Scroll to the end for links to my previous 13 blog tributes to Joanna since her passing.)

It was a year-and-a-half ago today – in the wee hours of February 14, 2021, around 1:30 a.m., as I was driving back to the hospital in Fort Worth – that I received the worst news of my life. The doctor in charge of Joanna’s case was calling with the news that she had passed away while undergoing a C/T scan.

I have relived the last day and night of her life a thousand times and more – I can’t help it. I was in her room with her throughout the day, as I had been every day since her kidney transplant on Jan. 31. After her transplant, which was supposed to give her a new lease on life, she had experienced serious problems with her blood, followed by multiple strokes. Yet by that Saturday, Feb. 13, she seemed to be bouncing back, and the plan was for her to be transferred to Baylor Institute of Rehabilitation for what was expected to be a few weeks of rehab and recovery. But that evening, as I was feeding her, I noticed she wasn’t very responsive. Because of COVID, I was allowed to be there only during visiting hours, 8-8 each day. Before I left that evening, a little before 9 (I always “stretched” those visiting hours just a little), I told the night nurse that I was very concerned about her. I suspected that she had suffered more strokes, though I don’t recall whether I mentioned that to the nurse. Anyway, he dismissed my concerns, saying that she was probably just tired and would be better after a good night’s sleep.

Sadly, my concerns were proven correct when I received a call from another nurse at 20 minutes after midnight, telling me that Joanna had grown increasingly unresponsive; they were taking her down for a C/T scan, and I should return to the hospital. Then came the call from the doctor when I was about 20 minutes away from the hospital. The only “goodbye” I was able to say was to her lifeless body, which they had returned to her room.

I’ve learned a few things in the past year-and-a-half – about grief, about family and friends, especially about myself, and even about Joanna and the incredibly high esteem in which she was held by so many people.

A few weeks ago, Laurie Taylor – a longtime friend to Joanna & me and our kids, and in recent years the head of the Grief & Loss Center of North Texas, housed in our home church, Wilshire Baptist in Dallas – spoke to our Sunday School class about grief and about her Center’s ministry. One thing she said was very affirming to me. She mentioned the “five stages of grief” that we often hear recited and told us to forget them (I’m paraphrasing from memory – maybe she said to throw them out, or somesuch, but you get the point). In other words, everyone experiences grief in his or her own way.

Different people handle losing a longtime spouse in different ways. There is no “correct” or “incorrect” way to do it. It was so affirming to hear Laurie say that.

Before I go any further, let me make two things clear: (1) No, I have not “moved on.” I absolutely loved the live Joanna and I lived together, and for me there is no “moving on” from that; and (2) I am honoring her memory by “going on” (but not “moving on”) with my life, taking care of our family as she would want me to, and continuing to serve God in the ways that God leads me. I have plenty to keep me occupied/busy, including many of the same things that kept me occupied/busy while Joanna was here.

Sickness and death are no fun to talk about, and throughout my life I have tried to avoid those subjects as much as possible, especially death. But the longer we live, the more death becomes a reality in our lives – the deaths of loved ones and even our own ultimate mortality. None of us gets out of this life alive. I’ve found that we really need to think and talk more about it than we do. Truth be told, despite Joanna’s long illness, I simply wasn’t prepared for her passing, because I never wanted to consider the possibility. There are many things we could have done to make this transition easier – not only for our family, but even for Joanna, to make her feel better about our future without her – if I had only been willing to face it. She was willing to do that; I wasn’t, and I regret that.

Joanna was first diagnosed with end-stage kidney disease (yes, that’s what they call it) in 2010. She went on dialysis in January 2016. Her kidneys continued to deteriorate, and her kidney doctor had made it very clear in the past year that continuing on dialysis just wasn’t a viable long-term solution, that we should say “yes” the next time a kidney transplant comes available, no matter the “quality” of the kidney.

Joanna was very realistic about her prospects. From time to time, she brought up the possibility of her death. I didn’t want to hear it, didn’t even want to consider the possibility that I might lose her. One thing she would say was that, if I ever remarried, she wanted me to get a prenuptial agreement, because she didn’t want a “second wife” getting her hands on the money she had worked so hard to accumulate, invest, and save for our children and grandchildren. Well, I always told her not to worry about that, because there’s no way I would ever remarry, that she was the love of my life and there could never be another.

At the time, those were just words, because it was all hypothetical. Then, on Feb. 14, 2021, it became my awful reality. I mentioned that I had learned some things about myself. One of those things is that those weren’t just words. Joanna IS, not was, the love of my life and will be through eternity. I was blessed with a wonderful marriage to a very special woman for 44½ years; we worked all those years to build a relationship that would stand the test of time. I’m 71 years old now, and any relationship I could have now would fall far short of what I had with Joanna. I’m content with 48 years (from our first date to her passing) of beautiful, comforting memories, and the loving family – children, grandchildren, son-in-law – that we formed over the years.

I’ve also discovered a much greater interest in heaven and the nature of our life in eternity than I had when Joanna was still here with me. She’s in heaven now, and I’m trying to learn more about what to expect when the Lord calls ME home. Scripture doesn’t give us a lot of detail, but Jesus said to His disciples, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.” (John 14:1-3, NIV)

My trust is in Jesus, and I take Him at His word. Elsewhere, Jesus indicated there would be no marriage in heaven, but I firmly believe that the good, loving relationships we form during our life on Earth will not be wasted in heaven; they will continue in some form or fashion. I’ll see Joanna again and embrace her, and I sure am looking forward to that day.

What other thoughts, reflections, observations, even behaviors have characterized the past year-and-a-half for me?

• I still talk to Joanna all the time. I’ve talked to her for almost 50 years. Why change now? A few days before we inurned her cremains in Wilshire’s Columbarium on Easter Sunday last year, I spoke with George Mason, our pastor, on the phone. George told me that he believes that Christ’s death and resurrection freed Him from the constraints of his earthly body, to be at any place with anyone at any time. “Since Joanna belongs to Christ now, in His risenness,” George said, “you can expect to experience Joanna’s presence wherever you can expect Christ to be.” He said that he hoped I would be able to sense her presence in the places that we both loved and when seeing people do the things that I know she loved to do, and so forth. While I believe people in heaven have a robust life and are not waiting, Hollywood-style, to be summoned at our whim, I do gratefully affirm George’s understanding. I have sensed her presence. I can’t know with certainty when she is or is not “present,” but I talk to her regularly as if she were. And there are a couple of particular ways in which I speak to her frequently.
  • She spent much of her day sitting in her remote-controlled recliner next to the window of our bedroom, watching TV, using her cell phone (watching videos, texting, reading, playing games – she crushed me in Words with Friends!), and so forth. She often asked me to open (in the morning) and close (at night) the blinds on the two windows. However, she would actually ask me to “turn on” or “turn off” the blinds. So now, in the morning, I go over there to open the blinds, and look over at her chair, saying, “Okay, Babe, I’m turning on your blinds for you,” and reverse the process every evening. I can’t explain or describe how, but it brings me comfort.
  • Sometimes she would wake up early in the morning – or in the middle of the night – and, wanting to watch TV but not disturb me, go into the living room. However, I would have often been watching a DVD or streaming something on the Roku the night before and left the TV turned to one of those devices. Joanna never wanted to learn how to switch the remote back to satellite (we have DirecTV). One day, a few months before she passed away, she asked me if I would mind switching the living room remote back to satellite before I go to bed every night, just in case she got up later and wanted to watch TV in there. So now, every time I finish watching a DVD or streaming on the Roku, I say, “Okay, Babe, I’m switching it back to satellite for you,” and do so.
  • It would amaze Joanna that I’ve learned to cook a little bit – a VERY little bit! She was an amazing cook, and our family misses her delicious cooking. She not only made the food taste delicious; she also had a talent for making a scrumptious dish look like a work of art straight from Picasso’s palette. She tried to persuade me to learn to cook, but I always resisted, saying that I could never learn to do it right. I regret that now. I think it would have made her happy to see the cooking, even as little as it is, that I’m doing now for our family, and I wish I had done it while she was here. As I’m learning to cook something new, I talk to Joanna and ask her to help guide me along the way. Maybe she hears me and is helping me. I don’t know, but I hope so. (I can definitely use her help!)
  • I ask Joanna to accompany me to church and other places. I sure do miss her sitting in the car next to me. We went so many places together. Every week at church, I take the pendant – containing a few of her ashes and engraved in silver with her thumbprint – and, throughout Sunday School and worship, I rub her thumbprint. It’s my way of holding hands with her.

• It didn’t take long, after Joanna passed away, for me to start realizing how very much I relied upon her wisdom; for that matter, howmuch I relied on her for everything. Sometimes I wonder what in the world did I ever do around here. It makes me sad to look around this house – which we built in August 2008. The furnishings, the decorations, the displays; almost none of that is me. It was all Joanna. She’s the one who made this house a welcoming home. It was her idea to have a “bonus room” upstairs where the grandkids (we had only one, Avery, at the time, but three more grandkids joined her over the next few years) could play. After she retired from ExxonMobil in 2011, after 34½ years, she took up painting; she taught herself via YouTube videos and even took a class at Hobby Lobby. She became a very accomplished artist. Now a gallery of her paintings fills the entryway rotunda of our home.

 

• • Throughout the house – for example, the beautiful display of pottery, commemorative plates, etc., in a window-display cabinet in our kitchen – Joanna added beauty and love to make it a welcoming home. When Travis was in architecture school at UT-Arlington, he made a couple of remarkable drawings (he inherited his mom’s talent for that sort of thing); Joanna had them framed and hung them in the hallway off of the dining room. I said it makes me sad as I look around the house at these things – that’s because I’m sad that Joanna, who created the beauty that makes this house a home, isn’t here to enjoy them with us anymore.

• I see Joanna everywhere, because in 48 years – and the last 33½ of those years in this DFW area – we went everywhere together and did everything together. Especially in this house, I see her in:
  • the bedroom (the bed, her recliner, the chair at her desk where she worked our finances on her laptop computer)
  • the bathroom (brushing her teeth)
  • the closet (changing clothes, getting ready to go somewhere with me)
  • the hallways where she often walked for exercise trying to strengthen herself for her transplant
  • the kitchen
  • the living room
  • my study (where she often sat in my Lazy Boy recliner to talk to me when I was at my desk)
  • Travis’s room (where she would often come and sit on his bed while she talked to him – and I always got nervous, wondering whether they were talking about me, lol)
  • the backyard (where our landscaping was designed and arranged by Joanna)
  • WHEREVER I GO!
• I sit in her recliner at night to pray before going to bed, and I always remind the Lord how much I miss Joanna (as I look at the framed photos of us that I’ve placed on her dresser) and ask Him to tell her how much I love her and miss her. Often as I go to bed, I say, “Well, Babe, here I am – another night I have to spend without you.”
• I often think of traveling, places I’d like to go; then I remember that she’s not here to go with me, and I realize it just wouldn’t be much fun without her.
• I’m very thankful for my family, especially our kids – Alison and Travis; our four grandkids, Avery (14), Anderson (11), Scarlet (10), and Aden (8); and our son-in-law, Adam. What a comfort they are to me! Joanna and I have always been proud of them.

It hasn’t gotten any easier after a year and a half. In fact, it’s probably gotten a little harder, as the reality has set in that Joanna isn’t coming back in this life. (That’s a strange thing about grief – it can make reality, especially the finality of death, very hard to accept.) I’ve made the choice to keep her memory close, talk to her regularly – as I did when she was here, try my best to sense her presence – as George said.

I cry frequently. Some of it’s just a matter of a few tears or “choking up”; other times, it’s a full-out, full-throated, tear-gushing cry. I call all of it – small or big – “good tears,” because those tears are reminders of how very deeply Joanna and I loved each other. I am not bitter at all. It was not God’s will that Joanna get sick; God is not cruel. It was, however, an act of God’s mercy to take her that night when serious problems had developed that would have made recovery impossible and her last days/months/years sheer torture for her.

No, I’m not bitter. I’m grateful. Very few people get 44 years of such a wonderful, blessed marriage, full of love, devotion, and growing together. The collage that now hangs in my study – captioned “Joanna and Bill through the years: Our love is forever” – comprises six photos, each of which testifies to the love we had for each other and that we simply loved being together. Oh, how we enjoyed each other’s company, to the very end.

But then, it’s not the end. A few months after Joanna passed away, Travis and I were talking. I referred to his mom’s “death.” He said he didn’t like to hear that word and asked me to instead, when talking with him about her, to use the phrase “passed away” instead of “died” or her “passing” instead of “death.” I agreed to do so, though my first thought was that Travis didn’t want to face reality. (HA! Who am I to talk about facing reality?)

However, after thinking it over, and reflecting on Jesus’s promises, I realized that Travis was right. That night, Joanna didn’t die. The body she inhabited in this life had broken down and died that night. Her heart stopped beating, and her blood stopped pumping. Weeks later, that body was cremated and no longer exists except in the form of ashes. But Joanna lives. God healed her that night by taking her out of that broken body and giving her a new one that is incorruptible. She “passed away” from that body to a new one, from this life to a new one, from this earthly plane to a heavenly one. Travis is right.

Only a few days after Joanna’s passing, my friend Paul Beasley-Murray, in his Church Matters blog, wrote a post entitled “The Laughter of Heaven.” In it, he notes that “Luke says that when God’s Kingdom comes tears will be replaced by laughter.” He goes on to write that “Time and again in the Gospels we find Jesus likening heaven to a great banquet (see, for instance, Matt 22,1-14//Luke 14.15-24) – and where there is good food and drink along with good friends, then there must be laughter. . . . Our home is in heaven – described in the Scriptures not as an interminable church services (perish the thought!) but rather as a festive wedding feast, a place of laughter.” What a beautiful image!

After reading his post, I emailed Paul and wrote the following: “. . . your post this morning came as balm for my troubled soul. Joanna has a new body now, eternally free of pain, and is with Jesus. And now to think of her feasting at God’s joyous and sumptuous banquet table, and laughing and hugging with those who have gone on before – her father, both of my parents, her nephew and brother-in-law, and many others – that is an image that helps to give me great joy and peace.”

Amen

My 13 previous blog tributes to Joanna since her passing on February 14, 2021:

1/29/22 – One year ago – Joanna & I went out to eat together; then came the phone call that changed our lives
1/14/22 – 11 months of missing Joanna . . . my thoughts go back to another January, 49 years ago
12/14/21 – Ten months after Joanna’s passing . . . music, memories, and lumps in the throat
12/1/21 – 12/1/81, a great day as we became parents for the first time . . . Alison turns 40!
11/14/21 – Journeying with Joanna . . . Photo memories from a half-century (almost) of our travels together
9/14/21 – Pictures, pictures, pictures . . . remembering my wonderful trip with Joanna to Hong Kong, Beijing, and Macao 10 years ago this week
9/4/21 – Joanna and I were married 45 years ago today . . . Missing her and celebrating her
8/14/21 – Six months after Joanna’s passing . . . remembering her humor and all that she meant to me
7/14/21 – Five months after Joanna’s passing . . . remembering the lively soul who brought us joy
6/14/21 – Four months after Joanna’s passing . . . a few personal reflections
3/19/21 – Joanna spoke out against demeaning racial slurs and the fears they caused her as an Asian-American
2/22/21 – How Joanna and I got together . . . the beginning of our love story
2/19/21 – The painful journey that took the love of my life, Joanna . . . to the great heavenly banquet