memorial tribute - Five More Minutes With

The Red-Headed Cubs Fan

Written by Marilyn Moore on October 24, 2011

My dear friend, Marilyn Moore, was one of the first people to post on Five More Minutes With. Thank you, dear Marilyn, for sharing your memories about your dear son, Linden, who died at the tender age of 51. . .

Linden (left) and his buddy Marvin at a Cubs game.

Linden was supposed to be a red-headed girl named Elizabeth Ellen. I got the red hair right, but he was definitely not a girl. With a crew cut, thick glasses and a grin on his face, he was a boy you gave a big hug to when no one was looking. His bad eyesight would keep him from pursuing his childhood dream of going to West Point and becoming a real-life war strategist.

My little red-headed kid was indefatigable. He was a Cubs fan and kept pencil-written spiral bound statistics notebooks of every Cubs game he attended or listened to. I doubt he ever missed one. Later he used that attention to detail to become a top-notch auditor for the state of Illinois. His hobby was war-gaming.

Linden played LaCrosse. He coached his girl’s softball teams. He umpired local baseball games, sometimes being escorted off the field if his calls were unpopular. He taught Sunday School to toddlers.

Linden studied law online and passed the California bar, hoping to forge a new career after retiring from his current job.

Then the phone call came. Linden’s wife Deborah told me Linden had died in his sleep. He was diabetic. That may have been a factor. He was 51.

Funerals have their good parts. Going out for dinner with Linden’s family, and the families of his sister and brother, brought lots of smiles and laughs. The next day was the service.

I was raised by Mennonites. I am stoic. I do not cry at funerals.

Linden’s girls, Rebekah and Rachel, along with their cousins, Bonnie and Lillian had made a photo display of Linden that they propped on an easel at the front of the church. To pass the time before the service started, I went up to look it over. I think it was the picture of Linden and the girls walking down the beach – away from the camera. They were holding hands, one on each side of Linden. I started to cry. Embarrassed, I returned to my seat. I don’t remember much of the ceremony. I sobbed all the way through.

There were many things that were left unsaid. I wish I had called Linden more often. I could have praised him more. I could have encouraged him more. I could have listened longer. I’m glad I was able to cry.

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A Legacy of Hospitality

Written by Martha Marino on October 20, 2011

One of my very best friends in the world, Martha Marino, describes her Scandinavian grandmother, who definitely new the in’s and out’s of hospitality and died on her own terms.

This post was first published in April 2010.

Three generations proudly surround Grandma

My Danish grandmother lived all her life in Nebraska, and since I grew up far away in California, our family would visit just twice a year.

When we did, Grandma bustled about with genuine, but soft-spoken hospitality. Meals with the extended family were fun and abundant with vegetables she had “put up” from her garden and fruit trees.

Grandma had a special fondness for her many grandchildren: on the third story of their farmhouse she had built low shelves stocked with a Santa’s-workshop array of toys, dolls, games, dress-up clothes, blocks, puzzles, stuffed animals, blocks.

It now seems bizarre but she even had a toilet in the corner of the room, out in the open, so little ones could “go” without interrupting their play.

She was a gentle soul, a quiet leader, with high expectations of herself (she was born in 1900 and went to college, rare at that time for a woman), her four daughters, and all of us grandchildren.

When she was nearing the end of her life in her 90’s, still healthy in her mind and body, I wrote a letter to her, asking what legacy she wanted me, as her oldest grandchild, to carry on in her memory.

When she died, I was at a loss because I had never heard back from her.

She even died with hospitality. My mom was with her and Grandma said to her, “Janet, it’s my time. Please call the pastor, take the cookies out of the freezer for him, and make some coffee.”

After he had said his words and had his dessert, she was gone. Hospitality even at the end.

When my mom and her sisters emptied out her apartment, they found my letter to her. She clearly had kept it, intending to respond at some point, since she always answered correspondence. My mom sent it back to me and I still have it.

If I had had five more minutes with Grandma, I would have asked her about that legacy. Or perhaps if she had had five more minutes, she would have written to me.

A few years ago when I visited our relatives in Denmark, I heard them use the word hygge frequently, especially when visiting someone’s home. It was the highest compliment.

The word translates most closely to “cozy” but not in a cutsie way. It means warmth, intimacy, cheerfulness, good simple food, relaxation, enjoyable conversation, and a heartfelt sense of togetherness.

I had experienced Grandma as the epitome of hospitality, and I think the legacy she would be happy for me to carry on would be from her Danish roots, hygge.

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One More Hug, One More Time

Written by Liz Boenig on October 17, 2011

This is one of those stories that literally made me start to cry the first time I read it April 2011. In subsequent emails, Liz and I became Internet friends. I admire her strength and courage very much, and so wanted to share her story with you a second time.

Liz and Miles

Dear Miles,

It has been six-and-one-half years since you died. You were only 21!

There is so much more I wanted to teach you and tell you.

If I had five more minutes with you here on earth, I first would hug you one more time nice and tight and tell you that I love you very much!

Then I would tell you what I have learned since your death and how important it is to live in the present moment.

Yes, it’s fun to dream and think about the future. Yes, it’s nice to remember the past.

But I have discovered that the important thing about life is living in the here and now. Each moment is a gift.

I am trying to use all of my senses, including my intuition, to take in as many everyday moments as I can.

And by living in the moment, I look at every person or animal that I come in contact with, however briefly, as important.

I try to smile at them and encourage them. I’ve found out that sharing my love in small ways is extremely powerful medicine.

I try to listen earnestly to what people are saying without trying to fix them or judge them for their feelings or thoughts.

It is not always easy to do these things, but because of your life and death, I know that showing love and living in the moment is crucial.

It gives me a heartfelt purpose for being alive.

I have you to thank for my renewed outlook on life. I think of you each and every day and hold your love precious in my heart.

Take care, my darling son,

Mom

Note: Liz Boenig is an elementary school teacher and Miles was her and her husband’s only child. During our e-mail exchange, she told me, “Now-childless parents like myself have a set of difficult issues to deal with. I subscribe to Alive Alone newsletter, which has a website and an Other Links page with additional resources.”

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Losing an Angel

Written by Tawnya Bulger on October 13, 2011

Losing a best friend to death, or even simply by falling out of contact over the years, is so hard. Tammy Bulger’s story explains this sort of loss in such a moving way. This was first published in March of this year and bears sharing again.

I lost my best friend 18 years ago. She committed suicide and I’ve often wished that I had more time with her; she was 17. I was 16.

Angel and I had been friends for 7 years; she was a riot.

She was a very beautiful person who had a lot stacked against her in her life. She lived with abuse her whole life and finally believed that it just didn’t make sense for her to gut it out any longer.

If I had five minutes with her, I would encourage her to not take her life (obviously), but I would also want to tell her that we are created to live eternally. Even after our bodies are dust, our souls–that which makes us “us”–continues.

I would tell her that amazing news that the God who created her has an amazing plan for her and that He died for her sins and to give her a place in Our Father’s arms.

I would tell her that what she was going through was never part of God’s plan for His creation, but that the gift of free will can be a double-edged sword that brings hurts and pain into our lives.

But this free will also allows us to choose to love God and the sacrifice He made.

I would encourage her to choose to accept that Christ died for her and to live eternally with Him.

Because I know that I know that I know, all sins are nailed to the cross when He covers a believer with His righteousness, even suicide.

But I would hope that she wouldn’t chose to end her life and to live it instead for the Author of her Life.

Lastly, I would tell her I love her.

And even if I got to choose again whether or not to have befriended her at age nine, I would most certainly choose to be her friend.

I loved her dearly and there’s rarely a week that goes by that I don’t think of her.

Editor’s Note: Tawnya Bulger is owner and founder of Tate Publishing in North Dakota, where she writes and sells her books including “Katrina: Growing Wings.”

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Alma’s Grace and Style

Written by Kate Heyhoe on October 10, 2011

This was the very first story ever published on the Five More Minutes With website, written by my friend and fellow cookbook author and food writer (turned artist), Kate Heyhoe.

To the Momster!

I’ve only got 5 minutes, so I’ve got to talk fast: You already know, I hope, how much I love you. Thank you for being my best friend and such an extraordinary person. You really got the fact that in this life, love means everything.

Dying doesn’t look easy. We were amazed how such a tiny person could last a full seven days and nights without food or water. But then again, you were never less than super-hero strong in character. Still, it wasn’t until both your children were in your room at the same time did you finally release and let go. We believe you were waiting for that very moment, with each of us holding your beautiful hands, to remind us to go on together as family. Your last breath was your exclamation mark.

I wish I had known better how to tell what your thrashing really meant, whether you were in agony or just seeing something that the living can’t. Were those “Oh, mama!” moans of extreme pain, or expressions of awe and wonder as you touched the next plane of consciousness?

The hospice nurses explained what each drug did, but they didn’t really prepare me for the rest of the details, the ones that drugs can’t fix. I figured it was okay to ramp up the morphine. But comforting a person transitioning through death just doesn’t seem to work the same way as cozying a person with a cold or the flu. Wish I could have done better. And I’m sorry we encouraged you to try cancer treatments; they bought a couple of years, but you may have been happier without them.

I think about you every day, and try to make those thoughts of joy now, rather than sorrow. Not always successful; I miss you so much. You are my muse, and as I work at your old oak drawing table, I feel your presence. You were and still are so inspiring, something I wish I had told you more often. And you were such a good person, going out of your way to bring a smile to everyone’s day just through a little comment or action. I think you were scared going into death, but I hope you’ve found a bright new phase of being, plump with joy and peace and all things good.

Until we play together again…
Lovey doveys,
Kate

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Why Share Your Story on FMMW?

Written by Braiden Rex-Johnson on August 25, 2011

As a professional writer all my life, I have never had any problems opening my thoughts, heart, and emotions up to others.

And so the entire concept of Five More Minutes With has never seemed awkward or scary–instead, I view it as a forum for consolation and commiseration. . .an inspirational-tribute website.

But although an old high-school buddy of mine is intrigued by the Five More Minutes With concept and website, he voiced trepidation about actually sharing his story. And especially about revealing his true identity.

“Dave” says:

“I feel happy and accomplished when I’ve finished writing something, regardless of the subject matter. But it is a difficult and sometimes grueling process for me.

“This is the main reason that I have historically been and remain a terrible personal correspondent to even my favorite people.

“I feel a compulsion to write something that meets my standards of being both meaningful and really saying what I want it to say.

“So I tend to agonize over language.

“I’m flattered that you find my words worth sharing, and I’m willing to allow them to be shared in any forum where they might be enjoyed or appreciated in some way.

“I would prefer to remain anonymous, at least for the time being.”

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Are you too private to share your name?

Then please consider posting anonymously.

One writer said that sharing her story with the Five More Minutes With audience was more cathartic than years of therapy!

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The Importance of Anniversary Dates

Written by Braiden on August 18, 2011

Today is the anniversary date of my parents. They were married almost 60 years and my father is still with us to help celebrate and commemorate this very special day.

I was moved by the story of a local Seattle couple who were married for a whopping 74 years, then died just 15 hours apart.

According to the story in The Seattle Times, Bob and Kay Sarver “were together every day of their lives except when he was in the Navy.”

Bob died at age 92; Kay was 93. They married in 1937.

“I never thought of them as individuals. I always thought of them as one,” daughter-in-law Sandy Sarver said. “They were joined at the hip.”

It’s an inspiring story, and a marriage we could all learn a lesson (or three) from.

Cheers to the important anniversaries in all our lives.

More stories from: Featured Story,With My Husband,With My Wife

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What Would Ebenezer Think?

Written by Laurie Halladay on August 1, 2011

On a warm, sunny summer day in Lowell, Michigan, five-year-old Sydney was enjoying ice cream with a new acquaintance, four-year-old Max. They were seated at the “kids'” table with an array of older children whom they were told were cousins.

What brought them together for this first-time meeting was the memorial service for Max’s great grandfather and Sydney’s great grandfather’s first cousin, Fred.

If you shook the family tree hard enough, Sydney and Max might be fourth or fifth cousins.

If they even thought about it, they were probably just as confused about how they were related to each other as the adults gathered at the adjoining tables were.

Cousin Fred was the last of my mother’s generation of first cousins.

I remember when I was not much older than Max and Sydney, the family would gather in our backyard for the annual Labor Day picnic.

I would be seated at the kids’ table with some of these same adults that now had become strangers to me.

They, too, had children and grandchildren whom I had never met until Fred’s memorial.

Sadly, it occurred to me, that we may never meet again.

But here for one day, the mantle had been passed, and I was the older cousin at the table.

Before gathering to give Cousin Fred a final toast, we had assembled at the little country cemetery where my ancestors were laid to rest.

Big headstones with our family name attested to the fact that we owned several sections of this burial ground.

Over in the back, I found Ebenezer and Carrie, my great grandparents, who had six sons and a daughter.

Max, Sydney, and all of the rest of us were the result of that union in 1867.

Ebenezer served in the 16th Michigan Volunteer Infantry and fought in 38 Civil War battles before coming home to Carrie, his Michigan farm, and a life with her for 50 years.

I had known things about my great grandparents, but visiting the grave site and being in the community where they lived brought them to life for me.

As I stood there, I wondered if Ebenezer and Carrie had noticed the crowd gathered in the cemetery on that Sunday.

If I had had five more minutes with Ebenezer, I would have introduced him to the family that carries on his name and blood lines.

I’d ask him what he thought of us. I am sure the generations that followed would be beyond his imagination.

But, I’m glad we could be there for him to see, and I am sure Carrie would be beaming.

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Bonding with a Special Animal

Written by Anonymous on July 25, 2011

I’m missing my pet orangutan, Jesse.

He was the cutest thing to ever walk the earth. I only was around him for about five minutes a day, but the bond was special when I went to visit him at the local zoo.

I’m telling you, he was closer to me than any human could have ever been. He didn’t even have to speak–the way he gazed lovingly into my eyes was enough for me.

After about seven months of going to and from the zoo, Jesse was taken away to live in another zoo.

I haven’t seen or heard about him since.

I cry myself to sleep each night just thinking about his fuzzy fur and his bright eyes.

He smiled at me once, and I break into tears, as I am now, just recalling the memory. It’s a vivid one.

Oh, I hope my Jesse is in good hands.

If I could only have five more minutes with him, at least, to say goodbye, I would be happy.

DON’T TAKE PET ORANGUTANS FOR GRANTED YOU MINGING MINGERS! I LOVE JESSE <3

More stories from: Featured Story,With an Animal

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Remembering the Great Musicians

Written by Cheryl Hanson on July 21, 2011

I think back to the movie, “Walk the Line,” and the scene when Elvis, Johnny Cash, and all the great singers and songwriters of rockabilly were playing in tandem. . .and that is my five more minutes.

I have been blessed with never losing a loved one that I have missed time with, and I find that I need to share this gift with others.

There is missing time, but only when I lose myself in music, and especially the old-time rock-and-roll legends.

I wonder when time travel is achieved, would we be selfish, and ask to just attend a show, see a past love, learn more about history, or find a way to enjoy the day a little more?

I think that my five more minutes would be to hear those great players share their gift, and to be the one to witness their understanding that yes, they really are good enough to matter.

Editor’s Note: Cheryl Hanson is affiliated with the website Living Frontiers Now.

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