In Memoriam D.L.S.

“...because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets: Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern. Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.” (Ecclesiastes 12:5-7)

Last weekend I attended the memorial service for Lynn Storey, the father of my daughter, Brittany, and the adoptive father of my children, Eli and Chelsea. He was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 1993; we were divorced about 6 months later after 14 ½ years of marriage. He soon was married to another woman which later ended in divorce. His battle with cancer, although intermittently relieved by remission was long and painful. There were many times when we all wondered how long he would have to suffer and for what purpose.

We now know the answer to the first question—17 years. I don’t know if we’ll ever know all the answers to the second, however this is what I observed. An attractive athletic man of many interests and a zest for life but also plagued with bouts of discouragement and self-doubt led a life filled with portions of love, marriages, children, divorces, jobs, entrepreneurships, successes, failures, formal education, self-education, exploration, reclusiveness, service, selfishness, compassion, openness, and introspection—pretty much like all of us in one way or another. He had periods of estrangement from family members and periods of reunions. I’ve seen him kick dogs and be cruel to animals and I’ve seen him love dogs and cats and provide good homes for them. I’ve seen him obsess over his career and desire to climb to the top, and I’ve seen him learn to accept job losses and pave a pathway of endurance. I’ve seen his anger and mean-spiritedness and I’ve seen his inner man embrace the blessings and opportunities that God has graced him with and his ultimate refining as he learned to really love the Lord, his children, his family, and his life. He learned to express gratitude for the things that matter most. Each of his 5 children and I were able to meet with him individually prior to his death and express love and concern and caring. His two oldest children, Holly and Jim, either lived with him or nearby and were able to care for him in his last few years of poor health. We all had closure in a peaceful and healthy way. When the doctors told him there was nothing more they could do for him and he was assigned to a nursing home we knew he wouldn’t linger here much longer. And in fact, he found his appointed time to return to Heavenly Father only 2 weeks later. We’re all grateful, Lynn included, that he didn’t need to stay there very long.

I’m in the process of moving into another house. I’m unpacking way too many boxes that have been in storage for 2 years. I’m unloading photograph albums and looking inside and seeing pictures of those years I spent with Lynn Storey between 1978 and 1993. Although I’d seen him occasionally since those years, these were the ones that were memorialized with photographs and memorabilia. I see the picture of Lake Camanche and his orange and yellow Hobie Cat sailboat. I see the picture of Eli and Jimmy, young boys in sleeping bags in the back of an old station wagon with a bumper sticker on the fender that says “Happiness is Family Home Evening”. I see our wedding announcement, 4 young hopeful children in a library announcing the “merger” of their parents. I see Brittany sitting in a highchair. I see Chelsea graduating from pre-school. I see Holly dressed for Prom. I see pictures of our homes in San Pablo, Benicia, New Jersey, Georgia, Danville, Chicago, and Texas. Some of these pictures are houses under construction. Some are of homes we plan to remodel or redecorate. I see pictures of our cars: two Pontiacs, a Honda, a BMW, and a Mazda SUV. I see pictures of vacations and holidays, birthdays and celebrations. And then the photographs in the albums stop and I find them uncatalogued in small boxes. Just like Lynn Storey’s mortal life, the collection of albums has ended.

Brittany, Chelsea, Eli, Lynn, Joyce--Wheaton, IL--Christmas, 1990

D. Lynn Storey--Wheaton, IL--Summer 1990

But our memory of Lynn Storey remains and his essence is strong. While I’m unpacking in Laguna Niguel, 4 of his children are sorting through his belongings in San Pablo. Although an intruding thief has taken some of Lynn’s things the week before, the children are experiencing their history again just like I am, but in a different light and in a different frame of reference, through their father’s eyes. They read his journals. They touch his ties hanging on the door. They discuss what to do with his photography equipment. Brittany calls me and tells me that she’s in the house alone and she doesn’t know what to do with all the medicine. “There’s medication everywhere, Mom, all over the house, in every room”. Lingering evidence of a sick and dying man. It’s painful to experience for his youngest child, the union of our marriage. “But I feel privileged that I get to go through his things and help box them up.”

We all feel privileged that we had time in this life with him, a mortal man striving for immortality.

“…Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man. For God shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good or whether it be evil.” (Ecclesiastes 12:13-14)