This year, the world lost another hero on September 11. Most people in the world will never hear anything about him, but those who knew him know he made an enormous impact on the lives of those around him.
Four years ago, Kenny learned he had cancer. From the beginning, it was said to be a cancer that was "easily treatable." Wrong! The devil played a mean game, and the doctors at UAB were constantly perplexed at how and where and when the cancer kept coming back. There were times that we all wanted to scream and cry and ask "Why?" But not Kenny. He kept his faith. He encouraged others. He worked to raise money for a relative who had cancer even when he was so low himself. He fought. Hard. And on September 11, 2011, he won.
Some people would say he lost that battle, but they would be wrong. He did not give in. He did not give up. He was not depressed. He did not, as Job's wife encouraged her husband to do, "curse God and die." Kenny's death was not unexpected -- we were not in denial -- but it was unexpectedly quick. Even in that, he won. Quietly, in his sleep, he passed gently from this life to the next. And I'm pretty sure as he stepped over, he looked back at the devil and said, "Thought you had me didn't you?" No, Kenny did not lose his battle. He is victorious, pain free, cancer free, in the prime of his life, without swelling or scans or needles or tubes.
And so now we are faced with finding the new normal. Life will certainly be different for all of us, especially for Pam and his girls. But we will all find strength in the way Kenny lived his life and the lessons we have learned from other losses. Over the past two and a half years, I have heard many well-meaning people try to make me feel better about losing Robert. Most of their little remarks don't really matter, because he is still gone for me. One remark stuck in my mind and has only recently begun to truly make sense. I shared this with Kelly at Kenny's visitation, and I pray that it will become a planted seed that grows and develops deep roots. This is the way I think of Robert: He is in my future now. For the present, he is absent, but he is not gone. Instead, he waits for me, and I certainly wouldn't want him to be disappointed by not showing up!
If you haven't read Heaven Is for Real, I can't tell you how good it is. I have always had faith, always known what happened to the soul of one who loved God, always been assured of eternity in heaven. But I don't deny that I have always wondered just how that would go--how it would happen. Would you just have to find your own way around, hoping to see someone who looked slightly familiar? Would Moses be the same in importance as Pigo? That didn't seem right. And then I read this little book about a four-year-old boy who becomes incredibly sick and later tells of his experience while his body was in the operating room. I say his body because his soul was not there. And so this is what I think happened at 4:43 on September 11, 2011: I believe Kenny's soul stepped into the next life as easily as stepping across a threshold; I believe that the first person he saw was Jesus and that Kenny knew Him immediately; I believe that Robert and Pigo and Granny and Mamaw and Grandaddy Hartin and Granny Hartin and all the others who were already there came to find him; I believe that every pain, weakness, and defect was gone; I believe that true to his personality he is laughing, telling stories, and saying to Jesus "You something else, ain't ya?";I believe that he is waiting--happily waiting-- for those who will come after him; I believe that when we go, he will be one of the ones who meet us at the feet of Jesus and offer to show us around; I believe he is in our future now.
In the last weeks of his life, Kenny and all of us claimed the verse Jeremiah 32:17, proclaiming that "nothing is too hard" for God. We will continue to claim this verse, because the hard part on earth is learning the new normal. It sure does make our loss easier to bear, though, to know that our loved ones are safely with God and with each other.
Married September 19, 1981
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