When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.” “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?”
1 Corinthians 15:54-55

There they were, sitting side by side on a sofa at a funeral home – Mom, Dad, and my Aunt Margie, Dad’s only remaining sibling. The occasion? The service for another of his sisters. A solemn thought pervaded my soul later that evening when I gazed at the photo capturing the moment. Mom was one of eight siblings, and Dad was one of ten. Eighteen siblings had been reduced to three, and, given their ages and the relentless march of time, I knew they, too, were drawing near to the end even if the Lord blessed them with several more years.

That was January 2020. Mom passed in April 2021, Dad in July 2023, and Aunt Margie joined the family circle on high ten days ago. Oh, how it hurts to write those words and contemplate the void left in our family. A whole generation is no longer with us.

But what a generation it was! Dad’s family line-up began with two older brothers, followed by four older sisters. Dad came next, the eldest of the four younger boys. The siblings who preceded Dad served in WW II. Uncle Harry was in the army and helped liberate one of the concentration camps. Uncle Fred flew numerous bombing missions. Meanwhile, the sisters worked for the Justice Department in Washington, DC. The younger brothers served our country in later conflicts and times of peace.

With birth dates ranging from 1916 to 1937, Dad and his siblings lived through the hardships of The Great Depression. Their experiences during that tough time and humble beginnings in rural North Carolina undoubtedly shaped their values. During his eulogy for Dad, one of my cousins described him and his siblings with three Ds: Duty to country, devotion to family, and dedication to their chosen professions.

Aunt Margie

I could say so much more about my aunts and uncles, but I want to turn my attention to Aunt Margie.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve known Aunt Margie was a widow who raised four children on her own. My admiration of her as a single mother grew exponentially when I, too, was widowed at a young age and started raising my two elementary-aged daughters alone. Knowing she’d persevered for years and seeing how my cousins turned out inspired me to keep going. It wasn’t until I read Aunt Margie’s obituary that I realized she began her solo journey at an even younger age than I did – 33 years vs 38.

But that wasn’t the only area where Aunt Margie’s determination encouraged me. Like me, she loved to work in her yard and continued to do so well into her 80s.

Mom and Dad kept in touch with Aunt Margie and would fill me in on their conversations, including reports of “Margie was out working in her yard again!” which they inevitably conveyed in concerned tones. My enthusiastic reply? “Good for her! I hope I’m able to do the same!”

I felt a similar sense of, “You go, girl!” when I read this section from Aunt Margie’s obituary:

She didn’t care for Pilates or yoga, and she absolutely despised having to do physical therapy after a fall. She preferred to get her exercise by planting, weeding, and tending her flowers and vegetable garden, and insisted on mowing her yard with a push mower. Her approach to physical fitness served her well, as evidenced by her longevity.

Grandmama

Speaking of longevity, though Dad was the only one of the male siblings to make it into their 90s, all four of his sisters did. Two passed away within days of their 94^th birthdays, while the other two made it to 95. And Grandmama, who bore those ten children, surpassed them all. She lived 95 years and 10 months, six months longer than Aunt Margie.

Though I have fond memories of visiting Grandmama when I was a child, I treasure the times I visited her as an adult, especially when it was just the two of us. She’s been gone 30 years, but even now, as I type, I can envision her serene countenance and see the Bible she kept on the table next to her favorite chair. I recall the softness of her skin as I held her hand during our quiet chats.

Another memory comes into focus, one of a visit my husband Ray and I paid her. When our visit was over, Grandmama walked us to the door. As we lingered on the porch, saying our reluctant goodbyes, she said, “Don’t wait too long to come back to see me. I’m going Home soon.”

I have no doubt that confident assurance contributed to Grandmama’s serenity. After a long and often challenging life, she knew she was nearing Home.

The Ultimate Longevity

It’s been heartbreaking to lose so many loved ones over the years. But death doesn’t get the final say. Regardless of how many years God grants us in this life, they’re a mere drop in the vast ocean of eternal longevity. As I grieve the loss of my last aunt, I’m once again turning to the promise of a grand reunion to assuage my sorrow. If it weren’t for that, our lament would know no solace, but because of it, we can rejoice in knowing that for those who die in Christ, death isn’t the end. It is a most glorious beginning.

Dear Lord, last Sunday, we celebrated Your resurrection. Thank You for conquering death so that we, too, will rise again when You return with glorified bodies like Yours that will never get sick or grow old or die! What a joy to know that we’ll be reunited with our loved ones and live in Your presence forever!