On January 2, 2011, at 3pm, a memorial service will be held for Pop at Mount Joy Mennonite Church, followed by a light dinner. The church is located at 320 Musser Rd, Mount Joy, PA, and all are welcome to come. The service will be a time where we celebrate Pop's life, and share with one another. Pop wanted everyone to come as they are, so we ask that you wear whatever you are comfortable in (jeans are welcomed) and colors that help to celebrate Pop's life. We look forward to sharing the day with each of you, and family will be greeting everyone immediately following the service. Again, thank you for being a part of this journey!
With our love - The Keefer Family
A link to further information:
Info for Pop's service
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Finishing Well
This morning, in the first hours of a new day, Pop finished his earthly journey, and strolled onto heaven's golden streets. We noticed late last evening that his breathing was becoming shallow, so we gathered around his bed in prayer. As we sat there holding Pop's hands, we wept. The tears weren't simply tears of sorrow, but were also tears of joy. The time of pain, suffering, anguish, and sorrow are no more for Pop, and he has been restored. Sitting in the quiet morning hours, waiting for Hospice and the funeral home to arrive, we simply sat with one another and held hands praying. Tears dripped onto Pop's covers as we were honest with God in our pain; but smiles overcame the tears as we thanked Him for allowing Pop to be such an influential part of our lives. We told our fondest memories of Pop, and with quivering lips, recalled the multitude of stories that he brought to us. Pop has meant the world to us, and always will.
I remember when I was 6 years-old, living in Georgia, and Pop registered me for the county "fun-run". This run was a 1 mile course for people of all ages, and Pop was excited to run it together. I had never done any distance running before (not that 1 mile is any great distance), so I didn't know how to pace myself. Naturally, I wanted to run as fast as I possibly could. Pop casually ran along-side of me with a grin on his face, and kept saying, "Slow down a bit. You're doing great, but you need to pace yourself." As we neared the ending gate, I was breathing heavily and just wanting to be done. Ten yards from the start/finish line, I stopped running, and started walking. Pop turned around surprised. "Keep going bud. Keep running," he encouraged from the other side of the timing gate. I lightly jogged across the finish line. Pop strolled back to meet me, and gently placed his hand on my shoulder. A smile came across his face, and in a calm voice he said, "You always run through the finish line bud. It is good to run a race strong, but you always want to finish well." Pop taught us how to finish well. He ran, and fought, for as long as the Lord gave him strength; and when it was time for him to finish the race, he ended well.
A song that has meant a great deal to our family:
Chris Tomlin - My Chains are Gone
As details come together for a celebration of Pop's life, we will post them here. Thank you all for the outpouring of love that we have felt as we walk this journey. Your love and support has been a blessing beyond words. Thank you!
I remember when I was 6 years-old, living in Georgia, and Pop registered me for the county "fun-run". This run was a 1 mile course for people of all ages, and Pop was excited to run it together. I had never done any distance running before (not that 1 mile is any great distance), so I didn't know how to pace myself. Naturally, I wanted to run as fast as I possibly could. Pop casually ran along-side of me with a grin on his face, and kept saying, "Slow down a bit. You're doing great, but you need to pace yourself." As we neared the ending gate, I was breathing heavily and just wanting to be done. Ten yards from the start/finish line, I stopped running, and started walking. Pop turned around surprised. "Keep going bud. Keep running," he encouraged from the other side of the timing gate. I lightly jogged across the finish line. Pop strolled back to meet me, and gently placed his hand on my shoulder. A smile came across his face, and in a calm voice he said, "You always run through the finish line bud. It is good to run a race strong, but you always want to finish well." Pop taught us how to finish well. He ran, and fought, for as long as the Lord gave him strength; and when it was time for him to finish the race, he ended well.
A song that has meant a great deal to our family:
Chris Tomlin - My Chains are Gone
As details come together for a celebration of Pop's life, we will post them here. Thank you all for the outpouring of love that we have felt as we walk this journey. Your love and support has been a blessing beyond words. Thank you!
Friday, December 17, 2010
Learning to Say Goodbye
We threw a few last things into the back of the truck and shut the cap. "We should be good," Joel said as he came around the side of the truck and jumped-in. It was Saturday at 12 noon, and we were getting ready to head up to Grandma and Grandpa's farm in Halifax for the last day of deer season. Pop had gotten the idea on Friday night that he would like to try to hunt the last day. So, Joel, Harley Kooker, and myself decided that we could certainly make that happen. When we arrived at the farm in Halifax, the weather was gorgeous. The sun was beating down, and there were only a few high-level clouds in the sky. We set-up a lawn chair on a hill, so that Pop could see as much as possible, and slowly walked him to the chair. Pop's walking had been progressively getting worse, but he still wanted to walk as much as he could; said it was good to keep his muscles in shape. So, he had refused the wheelchair idea, and instead opted for a walker with someone helping to stabilize him. As we climbed the small hill, Pop joked, "It might take us 20 minutes to go a hundred yards, so y'all might want to start hunting, or it's likely get dark on us." His eyes never wavered from where he was heading, but a big grin appeared on his face. We all chuckled. Arriving at his spot, we got him settled into the chair, and one of us stayed with him the rest of the day. Diligently his eyes would scan the horizon, and follow down to the flowing creek at the base of the hill, searching for movement. We stayed out until the sun was setting, casting its orange and red streaks across the sky. Slowly, Pop made his way back to the house to visit with his parent's a bit, and to rest his legs. As we loaded the truck to leave, Grandma was at the door waving as she always does. Pop smiled and waved back. "Thank you guys for doing this today. I really enjoyed it," he said with a satisfied grin on his face. None of us knew how much this had really meant to him, nor the downturn that the next few days would bring. Instead, we joked and reminisced on the drive home.
The next few days did bring an unexpectedly quick decline in Pop's health. His walking, which had been getting worse, slowly became nearly impossible. The thought-patterns of his mind began to become sporadic and inconsistent from the tumors growing in his brain. And, his overall energy plummeted to the point where he has been unable to get out of bed the past two days. Seeing the progression of things, we decided to do a few things that we knew Pop would enjoy. A close family friend had stopped by last week and sang Pop a few worship songs. Laying in his bed, Pop had basked in the beautiful music and talked about how much he appreciated it. So, on Tuesday evening the Meador family came to the house to play worship music for Pop. We sang a variety of songs, but mixed-in with them was a song that has become Pop's favorite. It is titled, I Can Only Imagine, by the group Mercy Me. As we sang that song to end the evening, Pop's eyes became misty, and he closed them to hold back the tears. It was a wonderful evening of songs and prayer being lifted-up. The other piece that we decided to do, sooner rather than later, was to have a small family early-Christmas. Wednesday evening, our immediate family gathered in the living room around Pop's bed. We talked for a while about the year, and the roller-coaster that is has been. We then opened to the Christmas story in Luke, and read aloud the amazing gift that we have all received from heaven. Upon completing the story, we all recited one of Pop's favorite verses Psalms 23. We fought back tears as we recited the words, and thought about the meaning they have for Pop and our family. To end the evening, we got on our knees around Pop's bed and prayed. When we had finished, we sat around and talked as a family. The recent changes had come so quickly that we had found little time to sit-down and process. The emotions came gushing to the surface as we spoke openly about this being part of goodbye. Tears streamed down each of our faces as we internally fought a battle of emotions. How can we want so desperately for Pop to be both here and gone at the same time? We pray for Christ to come and usher him into heaven, but we'd be lying if we said that it is easy to let go. We mourn even the thought of Pop being physically gone, but rejoice over the thought of him becoming restored and spending eternity with Christ. As we talked, we know where we would rather have Pop; it is the saying goodbye that makes it so hard. It is in these moments that we get to see God's power, and promises, in action. It is Him who sustains us through the good times of life, as well as the bad, and who's presence is a comfort and strength along the path. Leaning over Pop's bed to say goodnight, he slowly tilted his head up, and unable to open his eyes, quietly mouthed the words, "I love you." "I know," I said gently, my voice wanting to fail me from the lump in my throat, "I know you do."
The next few days did bring an unexpectedly quick decline in Pop's health. His walking, which had been getting worse, slowly became nearly impossible. The thought-patterns of his mind began to become sporadic and inconsistent from the tumors growing in his brain. And, his overall energy plummeted to the point where he has been unable to get out of bed the past two days. Seeing the progression of things, we decided to do a few things that we knew Pop would enjoy. A close family friend had stopped by last week and sang Pop a few worship songs. Laying in his bed, Pop had basked in the beautiful music and talked about how much he appreciated it. So, on Tuesday evening the Meador family came to the house to play worship music for Pop. We sang a variety of songs, but mixed-in with them was a song that has become Pop's favorite. It is titled, I Can Only Imagine, by the group Mercy Me. As we sang that song to end the evening, Pop's eyes became misty, and he closed them to hold back the tears. It was a wonderful evening of songs and prayer being lifted-up. The other piece that we decided to do, sooner rather than later, was to have a small family early-Christmas. Wednesday evening, our immediate family gathered in the living room around Pop's bed. We talked for a while about the year, and the roller-coaster that is has been. We then opened to the Christmas story in Luke, and read aloud the amazing gift that we have all received from heaven. Upon completing the story, we all recited one of Pop's favorite verses Psalms 23. We fought back tears as we recited the words, and thought about the meaning they have for Pop and our family. To end the evening, we got on our knees around Pop's bed and prayed. When we had finished, we sat around and talked as a family. The recent changes had come so quickly that we had found little time to sit-down and process. The emotions came gushing to the surface as we spoke openly about this being part of goodbye. Tears streamed down each of our faces as we internally fought a battle of emotions. How can we want so desperately for Pop to be both here and gone at the same time? We pray for Christ to come and usher him into heaven, but we'd be lying if we said that it is easy to let go. We mourn even the thought of Pop being physically gone, but rejoice over the thought of him becoming restored and spending eternity with Christ. As we talked, we know where we would rather have Pop; it is the saying goodbye that makes it so hard. It is in these moments that we get to see God's power, and promises, in action. It is Him who sustains us through the good times of life, as well as the bad, and who's presence is a comfort and strength along the path. Leaning over Pop's bed to say goodnight, he slowly tilted his head up, and unable to open his eyes, quietly mouthed the words, "I love you." "I know," I said gently, my voice wanting to fail me from the lump in my throat, "I know you do."
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Treasuring every Moment
The alarm clock jolted us awake last Monday, November 29th, at 4:45am. We had made the trip up to Grandma and Grandpa Keefer's the night before, in Halifax, PA, to go hunting on opening day. Pop had been feeling well enough to make the trip, and he was excited for getting out into the woods. As we made our way into the kitchen to start preparing breakfast, a faint snore could be heard from the living room couch. We poked our heads in, and slowly crept over to where Pop was sleeping. He heard the floor squeak as we neared, and opened his eyes. "Hunting time already?" he whispered with a grin on his face. We talked for a minute, and Pop decided that he'd come outside at sunrise with Mom helping him. So, sure enough, as the sun rose over the far mountains, Pop slowly made his way out to his spot on the side of a hill. Mom sat with him, and they had opportunity to simply be in each other's company with no distractions. They sat there for several hours until it was nearing lunchtime. With a warm house calling, the two of them made their way back inside for some lunch. As the sun continued to bring it's warmth throughout the day, Pop decided that he'd like to go back out for the last several hours of the day. Megan, who had come up for the adventure along with Emma (our evening entertainment), decided she'd like to take Pop out and sit with him in the afternoon. They picked a new spot to park themselves for the remainder of the day, and waited patiently for the deer to move through their area. As the light began to fade on opening day, we all met-up where Pop and Meg were sitting. We recounted the various deer we saw throughout the day, and laughed about some people's legs going numb from sitting so long. In the waning light of evening, as we stood there talking and laughing, four deer appeared on the far horizon. Silhouetted against the amber sky it was a beautiful picture, and a great ending to the day.
On Thursday and Saturday of last week, we had the opportunity to get Pop out into the woods again for a few hours. Although we didn't bag anything, we had a great time slowing down a bit and spending some fun time together. They are memories that we will all carry with us.
Part of why the time was so valuable, was the fact that Thursday morning, and most of the day on Friday, were spent in testing for Pop. He received another full body PET scan, as well as CAT scans. He always jokes that these are his favorite tests since he gets lectured for not laying still enough. "I can't lay without moving for that long. I mean, I almost start twitching," he laughs. The results were sent off to the oncologist, and a meeting was schedule for yesterday morning.
In the cold morning air, Pop zipped his jacket up tight against his neck, as he slowly made his way out of the car and into the Cancer Center. He was leaning hard on Joel, and was visibly uncomfortable. We checked in with the receptionists, and they sent us back to have his blood work started. Pop sat down in one of chairs in the blood work room, and let out a sigh. He closed his eyes, and tightened his lips. "You okay Pop," I asked as I leaned down. He slowly shook his head, "Just give me a second." That morning he had woken up at 3:30am with a sharp pain in several areas of his body. After Mom gave him a few of the pain medications that he has been prescribed, the pain dulled but wouldn't subside. Just then Emma came into the room tucked in Joel's arms. Emma outstretched her arm and pointed at Pop. "Pop-pop," she yelled and got a big smile on her face. Opening his eyes, Pop got a grin on his face and whispered, "Well, good morning beautiful." After they ran his blood work and gave him his card, we were shown to our room where we'd meet with the doctor. Emma was in rare form, and easily kept us distracted as she ran around the room and refused to sit on any one's lap. We laughed as she pushed the doctor's rolling chair around the room. When the doctor entered the room, suddenly she was ready to sit on Mommy's lap. The doctor hugged each person in the room as he always does, and took a seat. "So, how are you feeling Ken?" he asked. Pop responded with his typical, canned answer, "About the same I guess. I probably have a little less energy than before, but, you know, that's probably normal." We looked around at each other, and just smiled. Mom, right on que, spoke up. "A lot has changed since we last saw you," she started off, "he has been experiencing a lot more pain, and his walking is very difficult. His energy is down considerably, and there has just been a number of changes in the last 2-3 weeks." She tried to be strong, but the frog in her throat grew as she talked. "I guess are just wondering what is going on," she said as her eyes filled with tears. The doctor sighed, and turned around to open Pop's file. You could hear a pin drop, as we collectively held our breath. Finally the doctor spoke, "Well, the cancer has progressed, and...well, the progression is significant. There are several additional tumors growing in your brain Ken, which would explain the difficulty in walking and numbness in the legs. Also, your liver is enveloped in lesions, and it is in the lymph nodes all around the area, including spots on your diaphragm." He took a breath, then paused and looked straight at Pop, "I'm sorry Ken. I'm so sorry." Pop stoically sat in his chair and nodded, "Hey, you don't need to apologize. We tried. We did our best, and that's all we can do." Misty eyed, the doctor shook his head, "I'm still sorry. I wish I had different news." He proceeded to talk about the various options moving forward, but he sounded like a far off voice. We each sat somewhat stuck in the moment. Reality is a strange visitor that I'm not sure that we can ever fully prepare ourselves for. We had talked so many times about the progression of Pop's symptoms, and the expectations of what this visit could bring; yet, hearing the doctor confirm our suspicions still came as somewhat of a shock in the moment. Mom finally spoke up when the doctor paused. Looking down at Pop she began, "We have talked about this as a family, and we'd really like for whatever time we have left..." Hearing the words come out of her own mouth, she paused and began to cry. Pop patted her knee, and continued, "We'd like to contact Hospice so that they can be involved at home." A few details were talked about, and Hospice was called. No more treatments were scheduled. No more tests were put on the calendar. We simply hugged the doctor said that we'd be in touch.
Back at home, Pop was finally getting sleepy and his pain was under control. We took him in and laid him on the couch. Mom knelt beside him to pull the blankets high around his neck. She kissed him on the forehead and whispered in his ear, "This is quite the journey, huh honey?" Closing his eyes, he rested his head on the pillow and sighed, "I believe it's the last leg of the journey." A tear slipped from the corner of his eye and slid down his red cheek, disappearing into the pillow.
On Thursday and Saturday of last week, we had the opportunity to get Pop out into the woods again for a few hours. Although we didn't bag anything, we had a great time slowing down a bit and spending some fun time together. They are memories that we will all carry with us.
Part of why the time was so valuable, was the fact that Thursday morning, and most of the day on Friday, were spent in testing for Pop. He received another full body PET scan, as well as CAT scans. He always jokes that these are his favorite tests since he gets lectured for not laying still enough. "I can't lay without moving for that long. I mean, I almost start twitching," he laughs. The results were sent off to the oncologist, and a meeting was schedule for yesterday morning.
In the cold morning air, Pop zipped his jacket up tight against his neck, as he slowly made his way out of the car and into the Cancer Center. He was leaning hard on Joel, and was visibly uncomfortable. We checked in with the receptionists, and they sent us back to have his blood work started. Pop sat down in one of chairs in the blood work room, and let out a sigh. He closed his eyes, and tightened his lips. "You okay Pop," I asked as I leaned down. He slowly shook his head, "Just give me a second." That morning he had woken up at 3:30am with a sharp pain in several areas of his body. After Mom gave him a few of the pain medications that he has been prescribed, the pain dulled but wouldn't subside. Just then Emma came into the room tucked in Joel's arms. Emma outstretched her arm and pointed at Pop. "Pop-pop," she yelled and got a big smile on her face. Opening his eyes, Pop got a grin on his face and whispered, "Well, good morning beautiful." After they ran his blood work and gave him his card, we were shown to our room where we'd meet with the doctor. Emma was in rare form, and easily kept us distracted as she ran around the room and refused to sit on any one's lap. We laughed as she pushed the doctor's rolling chair around the room. When the doctor entered the room, suddenly she was ready to sit on Mommy's lap. The doctor hugged each person in the room as he always does, and took a seat. "So, how are you feeling Ken?" he asked. Pop responded with his typical, canned answer, "About the same I guess. I probably have a little less energy than before, but, you know, that's probably normal." We looked around at each other, and just smiled. Mom, right on que, spoke up. "A lot has changed since we last saw you," she started off, "he has been experiencing a lot more pain, and his walking is very difficult. His energy is down considerably, and there has just been a number of changes in the last 2-3 weeks." She tried to be strong, but the frog in her throat grew as she talked. "I guess are just wondering what is going on," she said as her eyes filled with tears. The doctor sighed, and turned around to open Pop's file. You could hear a pin drop, as we collectively held our breath. Finally the doctor spoke, "Well, the cancer has progressed, and...well, the progression is significant. There are several additional tumors growing in your brain Ken, which would explain the difficulty in walking and numbness in the legs. Also, your liver is enveloped in lesions, and it is in the lymph nodes all around the area, including spots on your diaphragm." He took a breath, then paused and looked straight at Pop, "I'm sorry Ken. I'm so sorry." Pop stoically sat in his chair and nodded, "Hey, you don't need to apologize. We tried. We did our best, and that's all we can do." Misty eyed, the doctor shook his head, "I'm still sorry. I wish I had different news." He proceeded to talk about the various options moving forward, but he sounded like a far off voice. We each sat somewhat stuck in the moment. Reality is a strange visitor that I'm not sure that we can ever fully prepare ourselves for. We had talked so many times about the progression of Pop's symptoms, and the expectations of what this visit could bring; yet, hearing the doctor confirm our suspicions still came as somewhat of a shock in the moment. Mom finally spoke up when the doctor paused. Looking down at Pop she began, "We have talked about this as a family, and we'd really like for whatever time we have left..." Hearing the words come out of her own mouth, she paused and began to cry. Pop patted her knee, and continued, "We'd like to contact Hospice so that they can be involved at home." A few details were talked about, and Hospice was called. No more treatments were scheduled. No more tests were put on the calendar. We simply hugged the doctor said that we'd be in touch.
Back at home, Pop was finally getting sleepy and his pain was under control. We took him in and laid him on the couch. Mom knelt beside him to pull the blankets high around his neck. She kissed him on the forehead and whispered in his ear, "This is quite the journey, huh honey?" Closing his eyes, he rested his head on the pillow and sighed, "I believe it's the last leg of the journey." A tear slipped from the corner of his eye and slid down his red cheek, disappearing into the pillow.
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