(Scroll to the end for links to my previous 17 blog tributes to Joanna since her passing.)
c. ’73-’75, probably on St. Gregory College campus, just down the street from OBU
c. 1974-75, when we were dating; I believe this was at Turner Falls in Oklahoma
Joanna’s 20th birthday was approaching. She and I had been dating for barely 3 weeks. Her roommate, Shirley Ng, and I went to the Hallmark store in downtown Shawnee, and Shirley helped me pick out a birthday present – a little desk/stationery set, the kind of gift for which Hallmark was well-known. (“When you care enough to send the very best” was the famous Hallmark slogan.)
It was the first of what would turn out to be 49, from number 20 through 68, that we would observe together. On my 67th, in 2018, as we stood outside a restaurant awaiting the arrival of the rest of our family, Joanna teased me: “In just 3 years, you’ll be 70!” I replied, sarcastically, “Thanks a lot, Babe, for reminding me!”
As I’ve mentioned before, I still talk to Joanna many times every day. Today would have been her 70th birthday. This morning, I said to her (trusting that she heard me with her heavenly ears), “Well, Babe, now the shoe’s on the other foot. You may be a couple of years behind me, but now here’s YOUR 70th! Only you pulled a ‘fast one’ on me and left this life behind without giving me the satisfaction of seeing you reach it. Nice one, Babe!”
Tuesday, February 14th, will mark the second anniversary of Joanna’s passing. Two years! It seems more like an eternity to me, and for her that’s exactly what it is – eternity. I’ll join her there – in eternity – when the Lord calls me home.
Last night, I went back and read everything I wrote about Joanna during the first year following her passing. I cried a lot. After 2 years without her, it hasn’t gotten a bit easier . . . truth be told, it’s gotten harder. I still cry when I hear a lyric, in one of those love songs on Siriusly Sinatra satellite radio, that hits me where I am in my grief. I still cry when I think about the places we used to go together, the things we used to do together. I still cry when I look at pictures and videos of that lively wife of mine living life in her special way.
I still have a “crush” on that 19-year-old college freshman I asked to go with me to an OBU basketball game, and then to the Grubsteak afterwards, in January 1973. I look at pictures of her from when we were dating, and I fall in love with her all over again. If I could go back 50 years, I would – in a heartbeat – live the 48 years of our love story all over again. (and I’ve complained to God plenty that He didn’t allow for such a thing in this life)
9/13/2011 – in a Beijing teahouse
I’m still head-over-heels with the woman with whom I formed a family – two kids, four grandkids – and traveled to Hong Kong, Beijing, Israel, Rome and many other places.
April-May 2012, Israel
In my Weekly Baptist Roundup e-newsletter, which I published for 10 years until bringing it to a close in December 2021, I would always pick out a few quotes and feature them under the heading “NOTABLE QUOTABLES.”
Well, I’ve picked out some notable quotables from all my posts – in my blog and on Facebook – that I wrote about her in that first year. Except that “notable quotable” is a little misleading, because some of these are lengthier than just a “quote”; maybe a more accurate label would be “prominent passages” (gotta stick with the alliteration, and “prominent” seemed better than just “passable”). So this post, being a compilation, is pretty lengthy (you’ve come to expect that from me by now, haven’t you?), but the PROMINENT PASSAGES are, for the most part, bite-size (as passages go).
We had a marriage made in heaven, but she’s in heaven now, and I’m not.
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.
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.
Joanna left a legacy of love for all people. She truly taught all of our family, including me, how to love unconditionally and sacrificially, and with a full heart.
Joanna died at 1:16 a.m. on Sunday, Feb. 14. I was told later that our Sunday School class scrapped the planned lesson that morning and devoted the hour to sharing their memories of Joanna. Prominent among those memories was how Joanna had moved them – and educated them – about the hateful prejudice toward Asian-Americans that had frightened and hurt her. That evening, one friend from our class emailed me, writing, “When you ‘talk’ with Joanna – and I know you will – please thank her for the most powerful Sunday School class I have sat through in my 70 years, and I have sat through a lot of them!”
from a Facebook post (April 9, 2021):
On Easter Sunday morning, we inurned Joanna’s earthly remains – in accordance with her expressed wishes – in the Columbarium at our home church for the past 16-1/2 years, Wilshire Baptist Church in Dallas.
It was a beautiful service, led by our pastor and dear friend, George Mason, who delivered a wonderful eulogy and spoke lovingly of Joanna’s “resurrection eyes.”
Then my children and I placed her remains in the niche where mine will one day join hers. What the recording couldn’t pick up were my words to her as we did that: “𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘉𝘢𝘣𝘦. 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯.” For blessedly, this earthly life is just a blip in the scope of eternity.
from a second Facebook post (April 9, 2021):
Our pastor and dear friend, George Mason, concluded his Easter sermon last Sunday by referencing a conversation he and I had earlier in the week regarding my grief over Joanna’s recent death.
George shared that Jesus’s resurrection gives me hope of Joanna’s presence with me as I go to the places, and do the things, that were special to her, especially as regards the unconditional love and care she gave to everyone.
Joanna loved George’s preaching (as do I) . . . she and I have both grown deeply in our faith from his preaching and pastoring over the 16-1/2 years since we joined Wilshire Baptist Church. When he asked my permission to share this conversation in his sermon, I assured George that Joanna would be delighted to know that she had helped him with such an illustration – an illustration, particularly, that helped me so much.
from a Facebook post (May 14, 2021):
On this 3rd monthsary, . . . I just want to share a few of the things I miss about Joanna. . . .
Keep in mind – these are only a few, a very few, of the things I miss about her. If I were to list everything I miss about her, it would take me . . . oh, probably 48 years, for I found something new to love about Joanna just about every day of those 48 years since we went out on our first date.
I miss going out to eat with her – one of our favorite things to do – and seeing her beautiful smile across the table from me.
I miss hearing her laugh, when she really got tickled about something; it was a wonderful, full-throated laugh.
I miss giving her a hard time about her incessant mangling of the phrase “𝘴𝘪𝘹 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧-𝘥𝘰𝘻𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.” She never could get it right, but that didn’t stop her from trying. . . .
I miss Joanna’s wisdom. I never realized, until after she was gone, just how very much I relied on her wisdom – about all sorts of things; and I often feel lost without her wisdom to guide me.
I miss simply talking with her, about all kinds of things. The kids and grandkids, of course, were our most frequent subjects. But we also loved to talk politics, current events, and religion. When it came to her faith, she was always asking questions, and I rarely – if ever – had an answer for her. But we helped each other think through a lot of important questions.
I miss sitting on the couch with her on Sunday afternoons while watching a 𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘰 episode on DVD, which we loved to do.
I miss Joanna’s cooking – oh, from the start I knew I had a great cook on my hands. She rarely used a recipe. She had learned to cook from her grandma, who lived with the family when Joanna and her siblings were growing up. . . .
I miss having Joanna alongside me in worship, Sunday School classes, fellowships, etc., as she has been for over 40 years.
I miss having my arm around her or holding her hand; the knowing look we would typically give each other at the close of George Mason’s sermons, that said, basically, “𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬?” Oh, how I miss having Joanna next to me in church!
I miss going to plays and concerts with Joanna. We went to a lot of them together over the years. I went to see Paul Anka in Dallas a couple of years ago; it was in the evening, and Joanna didn’t want to have to delay her dialysis so late that night, so I went alone. When I returned home, I told her I wasn’t doing that again; oh, the concert was great, but I was missing her the whole time I was there. Nothing is as much fun when she’s not there to share it with me.
(𝘉𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘑𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘺 𝘞𝘦𝘣𝘣 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘙𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘖𝘉𝘜 𝘪𝘯 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 1973, 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 6 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘔𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 – 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘺 – 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨!)
I miss sharing my life with her. All the work I’ve done in Baptist life & leadership over the past 15 years or so has been a joy, but the greatest joy was sharing it with her.
I’ve already found myself working in my study on my 𝘞𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘙𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘱 e-newsletter, late at night, and reading something that I find especially interesting, and my first instinct being, “𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘑𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴,” and then it hits me – she’s not there to tell anymore.
So I miss sharing everything with her. Among my many prayers these days is that God will help me recover the joy in the things I do, joy that was lost with Joanna’s death.
Of course, I especially miss Joanna’s presence at family gatherings. She was the heart and soul of our family. Her eyes sparkling with wit, amusement, and even a little mischief, brought so much life to our gatherings. But most of all, it was her love for us.
Yes, I miss her love. I’m so thankful for having her love in my life. She was the love of my life (𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳), and I was the love of her life. How she could love me is something I’ll never understand, but I’m grateful she did.
I’m still working on sensing Joanna’s presence in what some theologians call the “𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴” between heaven and Earth, and I look forward to the day when I’ll join her. For truly, this life is but a blip in the scope of eternity. As I said on Easter Sunday, as Alison, Travis, and I placed the box containing her cremains into our niche in Wilshire’s Columbarium, “𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝘽𝙖𝙗𝙚. 𝙄’𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙤𝙤𝙣.”
from Four months after Joanna’s passing . . . a few personal reflections (June 14, 2021):
I cry every day, some days several times. Sometimes it happens when I start thinking of the places we went together, the things we did together . . .
It also happens when I start looking at pictures or videos of her.
I call these tears “good tears,” because they remind me of how deeply we loved each other. . . .
Perhaps the most difficult thing for me has been accepting the reality . . . and the permanence . . . of Joanna’s death. . . .
I see Joanna’s face everywhere I go and in everything I do, yet she’s not there anymore. . . .
. . . there’s this totally irrational thought, deep in the recesses of my emotions – not my brain, mind you, but my emotions – that, if I keep telling the Lord how much I miss Joanna and how deeply I’m hurting without her, the Lord will be moved with pity or simply by my nagging persistence (Luke 11:5-10 has long been one of my favorite scripture passages – go figure) and suddenly, mystically, materialize Joanna in my presence, but now healthy and free of disease, and we can go on as before. As I said, that’s my emotions speaking; my brain knows better. . . .
And yes, I do say, at least a hundred times a day, “Lord, I sure do miss Joanna,” or sometimes I say it directly to her – “Babe, I miss you with every breath I take.” . . . because I simply have to say it, because I feel it so deeply. Joanna’s death hangs heavily over every moment of my life. Oh, I have plenty to keep me busy, and I stay very busy. But Joanna is never out of my mind.
So I don’t believe Joanna is hanging around here all the time, waiting for me to “summon” her. Nevertheless, I do feel an occasional “nudge” to get busy about the things I know she wanted me doing, and I have to believe it’s her . . . seriously! And I do talk to her all the time, often – as I said earlier – just to tell her how much I love her and miss her (though I really don’t want her worrying about me – after all, she knows the “end game” now, so there’s no reason for worry on her part anymore); occasionally, I sit on the edge of our bed, facing that recliner in which she spent so many hours, and tell her what’s been going on with our family. . . .
Joanna often asked me to open the bedroom blinds for her in the morning and to close them at night. Only, she rarely said “open” or “close.” She usually asked me, “Would you please turn on (off) the blinds for me?” So now, every morning – without fail – I open the blinds in the bedroom; as I’m doing it, I look over at her chair and say, “Okay, Babe, I’m turning on the blinds for you,” and the reverse in the evening. . . .
I began offering to make breakfast for her and serve it to her in her recliner. . . . One time she got tears in her eyes and said, “For all these years, I’ve cooked for the family and served them. It’s so nice to be served for a change.”
Of all the wonderful things that people have written and said to me since Joanna’s passing, few have meant as much to me as what Keith Stone – one of Joanna’s friends from her ExxonMobil days; in fact, she and Keith carpooled together for awhile – wrote to me. Keith wrote that, in his last telephone conversation with Joanna, she had told him, “Bill is my hero.” Wow! I will cling to that for the rest of my days – how beautiful to hear that.
Now the first thing I do every morning is to thank God for giving me Joanna’s love for 48 years. I was blessed beyond measure. I still will never get over my amazement that someone as special as Joanna would choose to spend her life with me. Joanna is the love of my life . . . and she always will be.
from Five months after Joanna’s passing . . . remembering the lively soul who brought us joy (July 14, 2021):
It’s still hard to accept that Joanna’s death is real, that her absence (in this life) is permanent . . . my heart says it just can’t be. I’ve told friends that, if I ever write a book about my grief (which I don’t expect to do), I’ll probably title it, I’m Beginning to Think Joanna’s Not Coming Back – what you might call a seriocomic title.
In the early 1980s, I attended a funeral at University Hills Baptist Church in Denver, where we were then members. A young man, in his 20s, who had grown up in that church, had been killed in a car accident. I have never forgotten what our pastor, Davis Cooper, said in his eulogy of David. He told us that, following the service, we would be passing by the open casket at the front of the sanctuary. He urged us to take part and to not look away but, instead, to look at David’s face as we walked past his casket.
“You will see that David is not there,” he said. “He no longer even looks like the David we knew. As you look, you will realize that David is no longer here. This is just the earthly shell . . . his soul, his spirit is with Jesus now.”
When I arrived at the hospital on the night of Feb. 13 (actually, around 2 a.m. on Feb. 14; she had died shortly after 1 a.m.), shortly after being told that Joanna had passed away, I was given time alone with her body. I used that time to say a few words of goodbye that I never got to say to her before she died, and to give her a hug and a kiss. But I noticed something. She no longer looked like the Joanna whom I knew and loved for 48 years. I noticed the same thing when the kids and I went to view her body in the funeral home weeks later. That wasn’t Joanna . . . it was, as Davis Cooper (who, by the way, baptized Joanna in August 1981) said about David’s body almost 40 years ago, just the earthly shell. There was no longer the sparkle in her eyes, the blush in her cheeks, the smile of many kinds – sweet, wry, laughing . . . no, none of that. Joanna had left that body to meet Jesus in her new eternal home.
You see, in this life we are obsessed with our bodies, but it is the soul that animates the body; the soul, not the body, is where life resides, where life emanates.
from Facebook (August 9, 2021):
I‘ve been going through the photos on Joanna’s iPhone and transferring them to my computer. I just came across this one, from January 2017 – a little over 4 years before we lost her, and I just have to share it. It’s a wonderful picture of Joanna surrounded by our four grandchildren (L-R, Anderson, Scarlet, Avery, and Aden) seated in front of our fireplace.
She loved – doted on – our grandchildren, and they sure did love their grandma. The ear-to-ear smile tells you how happy her grandkids made her. She was so beautiful – in every way, and I miss her with every breath I take.
from Six months after Joanna’s passing . . . remembering her humor and all that she meant to me (August 14, 2021):
On this sixth “monthsary” of Joanna’s death, I simply want to share two very short videos with you.
The first video was recorded on August 29, 2008. We had built a new house at 1834 Childress Lane in Allen (about a 12-minute drive from our old one) and were preparing to leave, for the final time, the house in Plano, where we had lived for 21 years and raised our kids. . . .
First day of school was a special tradition in that house. On the first day of school, every year, I would record the kids – standing in the entryway, with their backpacks – responding to my questions: “What day is it? What grade are you going into? What school are you going to?” As they grew older, they grew increasingly impatient with my questions, and would show me a little “attitude,” mostly disgust!
Well, as Joanna and I prepared to leave our home of 21 years, we decided to record a tour of the house, for the sake of nostalgia and posterity. Before beginning the tour, however, we paid tribute to all of those “first day of school” videos, with Joanna playing the role of Alison/Travis and her purse playing the role of her backpack. In this short video, her sense of humor shines, as she plays her role perfectly, right down to the “attitude.”
In August 2018 (it seems we’ve had quite a few significant events in August), Wilshire Baptist Church and the Texas Baptists Committed Board of Directors gave me a retirement dinner. My remarks at that dinner focused mostly on saying thank you to the many people who had been special contributors to my life and work through the years. I saved the best for last: saying thank you to Joanna. But it was more than just a thank you. It was my way of letting people know how important she was to me and what a very special person I had married. I was okay emotionally until I got to talking about Joanna . . . it was then that I finally started choking up and getting a little teary-eyed.
I’m so glad that I had that opportunity to say publicly – with her sitting there listening – just how very much she meant to me, and that I had come to admire and respect her more than anyone I knew. For you see, any joy that I’ve experienced over the past 48 years (since we started dating in January 1973), including the joy I’ve experienced in my Baptist-related work, was always tied to sharing it with her.
from Joanna and I were married 45 years ago today . . . Missing her and celebrating her (September 4, 2021):
I miss Joanna with every breath I take, but I also thank God for Joanna first thing every morning, thank God for blessing me with her love for 48 years, her companionship, her friendship, her wisdom, her smile, her laugh, her teasing, her deep love for family, and the wonderful wife, mother, and grandmother she became. And I could go on and on.
Yes, I wish she were still here to celebrate more anniversaries with me. Nevertheless, I want to treat every anniversary as an opportunity to remember and celebrate a life well-lived; a woman of remarkable grace, love, and courage; a truly wonderful and blessed marriage. We simply loved each other’s company, just loved being together. We went through a lot of very difficult, even heart-rending, times together, and those difficult times – without exception – always brought us closer together and deepened our love and appreciation for each other. We were partners in every sense of the word, and we loved each other with a love that truly knew no bounds.
We were blessed to celebrate 44 wedding anniversaries . . . and 48 “first date” anniversaries!
Joanna was special. Her life was a gift to me, to our family, to her family, to her friends, and to so many more.
from Facebook (December 27, 2021):
Our family – minus one, of course – gathered to celebrate Christmas at our house Friday evening and then at “the A’s” house (Alison, Adam, Avery, Anderson, & Aden) Saturday afternoon. Our gathering included sharing memories of the one we miss so much – Joanna/Mom/Grandma, the one who was truly the heart and soul of our family.
Alison and Travis gave me a wonderful gift – a hologram (𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭) of a joyful photo of Joanna and me, taken from one of the poses we did for the 2019 Wilshire Baptist Church Directory. Beneath it is the caption, “1 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘴 13: 4-7” (“𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥. . . .”), a passage that epitomizes Joanna and the love we shared.
When I opened the box and saw this gift, I broke down and cried for two minutes straight. I miss Joanna with every breath I take. Thank you, kids – you couldn’t have given me a more beautiful, thoughtful gift this Christmas. It now sits on Joanna’s dresser in front of four other pictures of her – and us – as well as the heart box and pendant each containing a few of Joanna’s ashes (𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘶𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘯 𝘌𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺), and her glasses.
Joanna loved this family, and so do I. I was richly blessed to have Joanna and her love in my life for 48 years, and am richly blessed to have the ongoing love of this family that we formed together. Each one of them is very special.
After our Friday night family gathering, I drove to Wilshire for our 11 p.m. liturgical Christmas Eve service. I needed to be with my church family as well on this evening. It was a beautiful service. George Mason presented a Christmas homily that both inspired and challenged us to “𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴” that Christ might push out “𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘹 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘦” that too often rule our hearts.
This is the kind of preaching that caused Joanna and me, on many occasions, to turn to each other at the end of a George Mason sermon, with one or the other saying, “𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵, 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵?” She and I both loved the challenge that George has brought for us to truly grow in our faith and to live the life and teachings of Jesus. I once told Joanna that she did a better job than I of practicing that life of Christ in her everyday life. . . .
Even in the shadow of losing the love of my life, Christmas is still Christmas. It is about God becoming human to live among us, experience what we experience, feel what we feel . . . God becoming human to live as the poorest of the poor, as a refugee, as an oppressed minority, as one falsely accused and executed as a criminal . . . God becoming human to seek fellowship with all humanity . . . out of a love more abundant than we can comprehend.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
from 11 months of missing Joanna . . . my thoughts go back to another January, 49 years ago (January 14, 2022):
If I had to put my finger on one thing I’ve learned since Joanna passed away, it would be not so much something new that I’ve learned, but an affirmation – and even a much greater appreciation – of something I’ve known for a long time: Joanna and I shared a wonderful life together (with apologies to Frank Capra & George Bailey), a truly wonderful life. The old axiom tells us that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Well, no, Joanna’s absence couldn’t make me any “fonder” of her than I have been all these years, but her absence has given me both the time and distance to deeply contemplate what she means (means, not meant) to me, and my appreciation of both the life we shared – and the wonderful woman with whom I shared it – grows ever deeper.
. . . she still is and always will be the love of my life. “‘Til death do us part” isn’t for us. Such a love doesn’t end with passage from this life to the next. As I whispered last April, as my kids and I put the box containing Joanna’s ashes into the niche in Wilshire Baptist Church’s Columbarium, “I’ll see you soon, Babe. I love you.”
from One year ago – Joanna & I went out to eat together; then came the phone call that changed our lives (January 29, 2022):
We had that kind of special marriage marked by a deep love and care for each other, and a little thing like death isn’t going to get in the way of the love we have for each other.
Death . . . hmmm. I know that “passed away” is often regarded as a euphemism for death, a phrase that softens the blow, makes it a little more palatable. But as I’ve read scripture and pondered Joanna’s passing, I’ve come to believe that – for Christians – “passed away” is really more accurate than “death.” Jesus tended to say someone had “fallen asleep.” In Eugene O’Neill’s play, Lazarus Laughed, after Jesus raises Lazarus from his “sleep,” people ask Lazarus what it was like to die. Lazarus replies, “There is no death, really. There is only life. There is only God. There is only incredible joy. Death is not the way it appears from this side. Death is not an abyss into which we go into chaos. It is, rather, a portal through which we move into everlasting life. The one that meets us there is the same generosity that gave us our lives in the beginning, the one who gave us our birth. . . . The grave is as empty as a doorway is empty. There is nothing to fear. . . . There is only life. There is no death.”
So let me amend the last sentence of that previous paragraph: We had that kind of special marriage marked by a deep love and care for each other, and a little thing like Joanna passing into everlasting life isn’t going to get in the way of the love we have for each other. I’ll be there with her – and with Jesus – soon enough.
from Facebook (February 12, 2022):
Today, February 12, would have been Joanna’s 69th birthday. I celebrated it with our kids and grandkids by gathering for dim sum at Joanna’s (𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘳) favorite Chinese restaurant, JS Chen’s in Plano. Anna, the owner, who had become a good friend of Joanna over the years, greeted us and led us to the table that had been reserved for us.
We have many wonderful memories at JS Chen’s, including Joanna’s 60th birthday party in 2013, which was held in the big room there. I surprised Joanna with that party; she thought that she and I were simply going for lunch there, as we did on so many other Saturdays. She was rendered speechless when we walked into that back room and our family and several of her good friends from ExxonMobil days yelled, “𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗯𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆!” It took a moment for it to register with her that she had been snookered into attending her 60th birthday party! (𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 48 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.) . . .
I’ve also included a couple of pictures of that 60th birthday party nine years ago, one of Joanna with our family, and the other of Joanna with a few of her ExxonMobil friends. I should add that she remained very close to several ExxonMobil friends following her retirement in 2011, and they have been extremely loving and supportive of our family since Joanna’s passing just two days after her birthday last year.
Happy birthday, Babe! We love you and miss you, and know that you were in our midst today as we gathered to remember you. I miss you with every breath I take.
from Facebook (February 14, 2022):
I‘𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭 Joanna, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘰𝘧 44-1/2 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 14𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘍𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘺 14 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳. 𝘔𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨.
𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 (𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘑𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳).
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 – 𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 – 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵. . . . 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘐’𝘮 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸.
𝘍𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯.
O • N • E year ago today, I lost my best friend, my mom.
Throughout the year, I have reflected on all of the “firsts” without her. It is so hard to imagine continuing this cycle for the rest of my life.
I’ve spent a whole year NOT calling my mom, not seeing my mom, not talking to my best friend.
The pain is still so real and so raw. But I move forward-one day at a time. Because if my mom taught me anything (which she taught me SO MANY things), it’s that I am strong. And I am resilient. And that I can do anything I put my mind to.
Mom always told me to go for it. She had the most faith in me and in anything I wanted to do.
So as I begin another year without her, and another, I will always hear her voice, cheering me on, supporting me, and loving me, alongside my dad.
It has brought me so much comfort to read all of your comments from this day last year. The outpouring of love and support through this past year has really helped to carry me and my family through this difficult time.
𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘑𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘑𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘺 20, 1973, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯 𝘖𝘉𝘜 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘵𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘙𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘒𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘵. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 ‘𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐’𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳.
𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘑𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘐 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦. 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 (𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘯-𝘪𝘯-𝘭𝘢𝘸); 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦.
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘑𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢’𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺, 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘈𝘥𝘢𝘮’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦. 𝘚𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘑𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘢𝘵 𝘌𝘹𝘹𝘰𝘯𝘔𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳𝘴. (𝘞𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.)
My 17 previous blog tributes to Joanna since her passing on February 14, 2021:
1/20/23 – 50 years ago tonight – January 20, 1973: Joanna & I went on our first date at OBU
10/28/22 – 50 years ago – October 1972: Audio of Joanna beginning to teach me Cantonese (3 mo. before our first date)
9/4/22 – On our 46th, remembering anniversary celebrations with Joanna through the years
8/14/22 – A year-and-a-half later: Missing Joanna more than ever
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