The Long Goodbye

Copyright © 2008 by Carole A. Lattin

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ISBN: 978-0-595-51388-8 (pbk)

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Printed in the United States of America

In loving memory

of Tim.

I miss you.

To

Becky, Rachel, and Daniel

I’m proud of you, my warriors.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

1

First Comes Love

2

Then Comes Marriage

3

Then Comes Carole With a Baby Carriage"

4

Bracing for Colder Winds

5

Battle Plan

6

In the Trenches

7

No Pain, No Gain

8

Eye of the Storm

9

Shattered

10

Prognosis

11

Watching and Waiting

12

Roles Reversed

13

Going Home

14

A New Reality

15

Time Consuming Issues

16

Not My Own

17

Change

18

Losing Ground

19

Lord, You’ve Got Some Explaining to Do!

20

To Have and To Hold

21

For Richer, For Poorer

22

To Love and To Cherish

23

For Better For Worse

24

In Joy and In Sorrow

25

In God’s Presence

26

Till Death Parts Us

27

Closure

Epilogue

Bibliography

Acknowledgements

Chris Horn, I am indebted to you. Without you, this story would have remained merely a cathartic personal endeavor buried in my hard drive. Thank you for your encouragement, suggestions, guidance, prodding, and invaluable editorial expertise. One of these days we’ll actually have to meet in person!

Special thanks to my mother, Darlene Reints, my daughter, Becky, and Emily King for your encouragement and

proofreading skills. Your willing hearts and keen eyes were greatly appreciated.

Introduction

00000000000000000000000000000

Tell it to your children, and let your children tell it to their children, and their children to the next generation. Joel 1:3

You’ll never guess what happened today.

I could tell by the look on his face that this was going to be good. Interpreting Tim’s varied expressions was pretty easy for me, having been an avid student of my husband for more than twenty years. In fact, we often joked that we could read each other’s minds.

The expression he wore conveyed the idea that he had received some exciting information that would affect our entire family, and he was very, very pleased to share it with me. His blue eyes were sparkling and he had a cat that had swallowed the canary grin on his face. Tim was like every good man in that it gave him great satisfaction to bring happiness to his family.

I give up, I said as I stepped into his open arms for my afternoon sugar. What happened?

"I got a call today from the personnel office at Misawa AFB in Japan. Out of the blue! They want me to come and work for them. It’s not a promotion or anything. I’d still be doing the same job. But, I think it would be a better situation for the family. Plus, it’s Japan, Carole. Just think of it … another adventure!"

Up to this point in my family’s history, life had seemed like a great adventure. We had traveled to exotic places, met interesting people, and even faced natural disasters. We couldn’t wait to see what was in store for the next leg of our journey, and Tim would often remark, We ought to be writing these things down because someday we could write a book. Little did we know that our adventure was about to take a perilous turn that would leave both Tim and I fighting for our lives.

I once read a quote that said there is enough material in every man’s life for a novel. Funny, now that I think about it, the author who spoke those words didn’t elaborate whether each person’s life novel would necessarily be interesting or mind—numbingly boring. At any rate, between the covers of this little tome is my attempt to capture the development of my family’s faith, a faith centered on the person of Jesus Christ. I am not an expert or a theologian, but I am a bona fide human being who, like you, is grateful for the good times in life and who struggles to cling to faith during the troubling times.

The writers of the Psalms admonish us to remember and declare the works of the Lord so that future generations will trust and follow Him. I hope that our story exhorts our children, our future grandchildren, and the body of Christ to hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering … (Hebrews 10:23) no matter what lies ahead.

This short work is based mostly upon journal entries and a collection of Web mails written during the two years after tragedy struck my family. My prayer for you as you read this book is simply to remember that God is good.

Carole Jones

1

First Comes Love

On February 1, 1981, the scales fell from my future husband’s eyes, and he noticed me for the very first time. Our first date was in a jacuzzi.

I was lounging in my dorm room at Idaho State University that evening, talking on the phone with my sister, Connie. With Connie living and working a state away in Washington, it wasn’t easy keeping up with each other’s lives. Every month or so, one of us would call the other to catch up. Inevitably we’d end up discussing the one topic that is foremost in the minds of all young, single women—young, single men.

So, who are you dating? she asked.

Nobody. I’m not dating anyone right now. There is one guy, though, that I would love to get to know better. His name is Tim, and we have a class together. There’s just something about him. I don’t know how to describe it, but he’s different than most of the other guys that I know.

Did he ask you out on a date yet? she queried.

No way. He doesn’t even know I’m alive, I said dejectedly. Tim and I had been in class together for at least a month, and he barely noticed me.

At that exact moment, there was a soft knock on my door. Hang on a second, Connie. Someone’s at the door.

Opening the door, I was stunned to see the young man that we’d just been discussing.

Hi, he said, I’m Tim Jones. You’re Carole, right?

I managed to nod my head calmly, but internally my emotions and thoughts were out of control. "Oh my gosh! He’s standing right here! And he’s actually

talking to me! Oh, he’s so handsome what’s he doing here? Is he going to ask

me out?"

Tim awkwardly apologized, Hey, I’m really sorry to bother you, but I hurt my hamstring, and I was wondering if you had keys to the training room? I know it’s after hours, but I really need to soak my leg in a whirlpool.

So, it wasn’t exactly a date, but it was close enough for me.

I had been working as a student athletic trainer for the men’s athletic program during the school year, and that is where I had first noticed Tim. Late one afternoon I was kneeling on the turf of the indoor stadium taping an ankle when out of the corner of my eye, I observed a very nice pair of masculine, athletic, tanned legs. I glanced up, wondering who belonged to those incredible legs, and found myself looking into the blue eyes of a tall, handsome young runner. He acknowledged my gaze with a smile, said, Hi, and jogged off.

Cute, I thought. Wonder who that was?

Later on, my boss, Phil, the head athletic trainer, introduced us. I found Tim to be soft spoken and polite, but upon hearing that I thought Tim seemed like a great guy, Phil warned, Stay away from that one. He’s really religious. He’s always talking about the Bible.

Come to find out, Tim and I had the same majors and minors, and even though he was an upperclassman and I was a lowly sophomore, we ended up in a class together during the second semester.

The head of our physical education department, Dr. M., led the small class. Doc M. was a great guy and wonderful teacher, but he greatly intimidated me. Because he genuinely enjoyed spirited debates, he often played the devil’s advocate during group discussions—and he was notorious for putting students on the spot.

He seemed to enjoy embarrassing me, and I would always crack under the pressure of these debates—my mind would go completely blank, and my cheeks would turn bright red if it was my turn to defend my point of view. Dr. M. would say, Don’t worry, by the time you’ve finished this class, I’ll have taught you not to blush.

Tim became something of a hero to me because no matter what subject came up, he was never embarrassed, never at a loss for words. I remember once that Tim was still espousing his point of view when the class period ended. Dr. M. got up and left the room, and Tim pursued him down the hall, up the stairs, and through the corridors to Doc’s office, arguing all the way. This guy definitely had guts and wouldn’t back down if he thought he was in the right.

Another time, Dr. M. left town leaving Tim in charge of the class. Tim showed up to teach the class wearing a gray, three-piece suit that made him look very professional and mature. And handsome! I have no idea what he lectured on that day, but he sure looked terrific.

I had a major crush on Tim, so when he asked me to let him into the training room that evening, I had to fight off the urge to yell, Anything for you!

Instead I said calmly, Sure, I’ll open up the training room. But could you hang on a second? I’m on the phone with someone.

I gently closed the door, picked up the phone and whispered frantically, He’s here! It’s that guy I was just telling you about, Tim Jones—he’s standing right outside my door! I’ve got to go. Call ya later!

A five-minute walk and a ten-minute whirlpool turned into an hour and a half of sheer bliss. Tim and I really clicked. Conversation flowed so easily that before we knew it, Tim had been in the 110-degree whirlpool for over an hour. He was dripping with sweat, and I finally suggested that he climb out of the tub before he passed out. He walked me back to my dorm, and as we said goodbye, he stood and looked at me as if he’d never seen me before—but now that he noticed, he definitely liked what he saw.

The next evening, Tim strolled down to the cafeteria that connected the men’s and women’s dormitories. He had a standing policy of never entering the door of the cafeteria if the word liver showed up on the menu marquee in any way, shape, or form. The fare of the day for supper? You guessed it. So Tim walked right on past the door and headed for the women’s lobby intending to snag a chum before heading off to one of his favorite places to eat—Skipper’s Fish and Chips.

I just happened to be sitting in the lobby studying. OK, OK, to be completely honest, I never studied in the lobby. But I decided to conveniently place myself there that evening hoping to run into Tim again. He was one of the resident advisors for the men’s dorm, and I knew that he often frequented the RA office, located in our dorm, in the evenings.

Tim came sauntering in with his hands in his pockets heading for the office. When he spotted me, he stopped. He stood thinking for a couple of seconds, then breezed over and asked, Hey, Carole, have you had dinner yet?

I said I hadn’t. He explained the whole liver predicament and suggested that we both go and get a bite to eat. I thought that was a great idea and floated up to my room to get my jacket while Tim waited for me in the lobby.

Dinner and conversation went on for such a long time at Skipper’s that the manager finally had to ask us to leave so he could close up. By this time it was after 10 p.m., so we returned to my dorm where we sat in the lobby talking until 3 a.m.

That became the pattern for the next few weeks. Tim and I would have dinner together, sometimes taking in a movie, and then return to the lobby of my dorm to talk late into the wee hours of the morning.

Phil had been right on about Tim. This guy was extremely passionate about the Bible. Rather than finding that a deterrent, though, I found it quite appealing. I had noticed that there was something different about Tim, and now I knew what it was—a personal relationship with God. On our very first date at Skipper’s, Tim had shared openly about the difference Christ had made in His life.

Having been brought up attending a Protestant church, Tim had always assumed that if you believed in God and were a good person that meant you were a Christian. His family faithfully attended church services, and his father, the local pharmacist, had even been an elder at one time.

Although Tim’s life looked pretty typical on the surface, in reality there was dissension and strife in their home. Unable to handle the stress, Tim’s father* turned to alcohol and drugs. Tim grew up feeling very resentful towards his father and the underlying simmering anger left him with a temper that continually got the better of him. This amazed me because Tim didn’t strike me as an angry person at all. In fact, he seemed quite the opposite.

Over the years, Tim’s inability to change increasingly frustrated him, and it wasn’t until he had gone to college that he discovered a cure. It all began when Tim went to listen to Josh McDowell, a Christian speaker with Campus Crusade for Christ. Josh spoke about the evidence for the resurrection of Christ and Biblical prophecy, all of which captivated Tim’s interest. But I think Josh’s personal testimony impacted Tim the most.

By this time we had returned to our dorms, so Tim ran upstairs to get his copy of Josh’s book, The Resurrection Factor. Tim turned to the back of the book and had me read several paragraphs.

I had a lot of hatred in my life. It wasn’t something outwardly manifested, but there was a kind of inward grinding … The one person I hated more than anyone else in the world was my father. I despised him. To me he was the town alcoholic. If you ‘re from a small town and one of your parents is an alcoholic, you know what I’m talking about. Everybody knew. My friends would come to high school and make jokes about my father … they didn’t think it bothered me. I was laughing on the outside, but let me tell you I was crying on the inside…. After I made that decision for Christ, love from God through Jesus Christ entered my life. It was so strong, I was able to look my father squarely in the eyes and say, ‘Dad, I love you.’ And I really meant it…

—Josh McDowell, The Resurrection Factor

Tim said, Carole, that was me. That was my life until Christ came into it. As Tim began to grow in his relationship with God, he had discovered that only in and through Christ could he find forgiveness for his own shortcomings, and also the ability to forgive his father.

I can remember Tim leaning toward me, gesturing excitedly and talking earnestly about Jesus Christ. Wow! This guy really knew his Bible. I was impressed, although that wasn’t Tim’s intention. He was completely sincere in his passion for God’s Word.

Finally, Tim asked, So, Carole … how about you? What’s your spiritual background? Have you ever received Christ as your Savior?

Um … I think so … I mean, I did something like that last year.

I went on to explain that, like him, I had been brought up attending a Protestant church. As I got older, I quit attending church regularly along with the rest of my family. Except for my sister, Connie, who went a little more often than the rest of us, my family only went to church on holidays. I didn’t feel like I was missing out on anything, though, as my life had been happy, busy, blessed, and, I thought, fulfilling. Besides, I rarely understood what the reverend was talking about anyway. I believed in God, knew right from wrong, was a patriotic American, and liked apple pie. If that didn’t make me a Christian, then what did?

By the time I was sixteen, I began to have a sneaking suspicion that something was missing in my life. I thought it might help if I joined the youth group at church, but the first night I visited there, Barb G., a longtime classmate, informed me that I wasn’t a Christian. She was very kind in the way she approached me and was sincerely trying to help, but I became incensed. Who did she think she was? Offended, I left that meeting vowing never to set foot in a church again.

The following year, the week before my high school graduation, an assembly was held to honor the graduating seniors. During the assembly, our guidance counselor quipped, We ought to name this the Carole Reints Awards Assembly because I really cleaned up that day. I was the valedictorian, the prom queen, voted the best overall female athlete, and was awarded several scholarships. Pretty heady stuff for a seventeen year old, but as I stood there amongst my family and friends receiving their hugs and congratulations, I remember feeling frightened and empty and lost.

I knew that I was blessed. I knew that I should feel happy. I knew that I should be eagerly anticipating the future, but all I kept thinking was, What’s the point? The world around me constantly pointed to personal glory and power and popularity as a means of fulfillment. But, if those things left a void, what else was there?

I had tried church, and that hadn’t helped at all, so as I began college at Iowa State University in the fall, I found myself trying even harder to excel. I studied harder, I trained more diligently, and in my perfectionist attempts to become the best possible person that I could be, I began a private battle with anorexia.

To top it off, I was scared. I lived in a huge, rambling old dormitory with a vast labyrinth of hallways, and one day as I was trying to find my way back to my room, I stumbled upon a group of people watching a movie.

The film was captivating and disturbing. It was all about something called Armageddon and the end of the