Jonathan's Story
by Nicole Imgrund

[This is a story I will tell from my own experience (as a teenager) as part
of my sermon tomorrow.]

Jonathan, a sweet and caring man in his late 30's, was more fortunate than
many of the mentally challenged people I met while working at Camp Easter
Seal. Still living at home, he was deeply loved and cared for by his mother.
Jonathan was one of those joyful and selfless people that others gravitate
towards, and so some of the counselors made a point of keeping in touch with
him and visiting him occasionally at his home. His mother was grateful for
these visits from Jonathan's friends and she would always greet us warmly. \

A single mother, Rachael had devoted her life to her son. Her love for him was
fierce. She often found herself fighting for basic rights for her child that
other parents could take for granted. She was also tender and creative in
her loving, offering him a safe, nurturing environment and creating
opportunities for him to live meaningfully in the world. We knew that
Jonathan depended on his mother. But it was also clear to us that the love
he shared lavishly with her, was her sustenance and her joy. And so, it
brought us great sadness one fall day to hear from Rachael that she was
dying of cancer.

We visited Jonathan a few times through that winter, first at
home, and then finally, in the hospital room where he sat faithfully at his
mother's bedside. On our last visit, Rachael asked if we would attend her
funeral, so that Jonathan would have friends with him. She then handed me an
envelope to give to Jonathan after the service.

The service was in a small chapel at the funeral home. It was a
hot day and the air was muggy. We only filled the first few pews, but it was
clear that those who attended had loved Rachael and were committed to caring
for Jonathan. Like most funerals, the mourning was silent and controlled.
All but for the sound of Jonathan weeping. His heart wrenching cries rose up
out of him and filled the space.

After the service, we gathered at his mother's grave for the internment. The
pain of loss so tender, so near, so fresh, it was almost too much for
Jonathan to watch her casket being lowered into the ground. Sobbing, he sank
to his knees. As time passed, it became clear that Jonathan would have
difficulty leaving. He wanted to stay near his mother as long as he could.

Eventually, only Jonathan, myself, and his uncle and aunt remained at the
graveside. Sitting beside Jonathan on the grass, I pulled out the envelope
his mother had given to me. 

"I have a note for you from your mother." 

He looked at me with confusion. "But...Momma's dead." 

I didn't know how to respond. I hadn't considered how confusing this might be to him, already
struggling to grasp the permanence of his mother's death. Unable to find the
right words, I held out the envelope to him. Across the front of it, Rachael
had written his name in bright blue crayon, his favourite colour. As soon as
he saw it, the confusion and anguish on Jonathan's face melted away.
He had recognized her handwriting. And I could imagine that the sound of her
voice, calling his name, echoed through his mind and reverberated into the
deepest part of his being. 

He opened the envelope and read the simple note: "Jonathan. I love you. I will always love you. 
Go home with Auntie Sally and Uncle Richard now. Go home. It's okay. They will take care of you."

Jonathan rose and walked over to his aunt and uncle, who enfolded him in
their arms. I watched as they walked, arm in arm, across the cemetery. When
they reached their car, Jonathan's uncle helped him in and fastened his seat
belt. His aunt pulled a blanket out of the trunk and tucked it in around
him. And then, huddled together in the front seat, they drove away.

(Comments to Nicole at nimgrund@shaw.ca.)

Mill Woods United Church, Edmonton, AB