The Valley of the Shadow of Death

A Mothers Journey
Through the Dark Days of Grief
to a Brighter Tomorrow

Chapter One

In life we are all well aware that there are no guarantees. The natural order of things, or so it has seemed for the majority of our life, is that we are born, we grow up, we grow old, and ultimately we diepreferably of old age of course. We dont really like it, but the cold, hard truth of the matter is that we all die. No one lives forever. There is no getting around it.

The old saying is very truethe only sure things in life are death and taxes. Unfortunately, we know when taxes are due every year, but maybe fortunately, we cant be that sure of when we are going to die. We just know that we will. We accept it as being part of life. But, it is always so much harder to accept when the person who dies hasnt reached the magic ripe old age.

When we are young, old can be anyone over the age of 20. But as the years go by, and we ourselves attain whatever age it was that we considered a person to be old at, that age gradually gets years and years added to it. Before long, a person needs to be at least in their 90s, or maybe even 100 years old, for us to consider them old. Funny how our prospective changes over time as to what age old really is.

Im going to start telling you about my journey by beginning when I was 7 years old. At that time I also had a younger sister, Joanne Marie Chapman (now Sundsmo), who was 5. We experienced our first real tragedy when our mom, Gertrude Bertha Chapman (Skolaski) died from that dreadful c wordcancer.

At the time of her death she was 30, which, at that time of my life didnt really seem all that young to me. That is, not until my perspective on age changed the closer I got to age 30. I remember thinking, Man, this is how old mom was when her life here on earth was over. And then it hit me, 30 really was not that old. It was, in fact, quite a young age at which to die. Especially when she died leaving behind a loving husband and two young children. I remember wondering what she must have felt like, knowing her life was about over. Being excited to go to meet her loving Savior, yet wanting to be there as my sister and I grew up.

I remember praying and asking God that when I had children, He would grant me the privilege of at least seeing them grow to adulthood before He called me home.

In anticipation of leaving my sister and me, mom wrote a letter to me when she was very ill, and she had our grandmother hand-write a copy for my younger sister. It was to be given to us when we reached a more suitable age, where we would better understand it, and all that had gone on. (I have shared that letter with you, by making it a part of this story, for anyone interested. It can be found in Appendix A)

Although it was devastating to have our mom sick, we really believed that she would get well. After all, we were all praying that God would heal her. When He didnt, I thought my world had come to an end. There were some very traumatic years following her death. As I grew older, though, it still seemed within the realm of the natural order of life. A parent had given birth to a child. She had gotten older and sick, She had died. Then the child had to bury the parent and mourn the loss of one of the family patriarchs, as well as the loss of the future with that parent. Even though my dad married again several years later, we had a wonderful mother, Vivian Mae Martin, and we were blessed with five more siblings, Rebecca Sue Chapman, Philip Arden Chapman, Steven Martin Chapman, Sonya Jean Chapman (now Schultz) and Ronda Jane Chapman (now Kopfhamer), there were still times, like when I wed, or when my two children were born, that I longed for her to be there with me. But, as traumatic as that was for all concerned, we all lived through it and our faith in God grew stronger because of it.

God has promised in His word in that He will not give us more than we can bear. Sometimes as we are going through trials in our life we wonder if He really has a handle on just how much we can actually bear. It seems to us, as we are going through the trial, that there is no way we will be able to handle it. That is true, we cant. But God has promised to be there, and to help us, and He is faithful to that promise.

I do, however, remember always being afraid that something was going to happen to my dad or my sister almost any time I wasnt with them. That fear came partially because moms headstone had dads name on it, too. I remember thinking that meant my dad must be sick and going to die, just like mom had. I dont remember ever asking him about it, but I worried that was what it meant. I would worry about what I would do if that did happen. I even prayed that if one of us had to die, that it would be me. Silly me, as if I could make a deal with God and seal the safety of the rest of my family. I must admit, I had a selfish motive in praying like that. I didnt want to have to go on living through losing anyone else I loved.