Sandy Spisiak

When word came that Sandy Spisiak died last night, succumbing finally to the cancer that had dogged her steps for the last seven years, I was sad but not surprised. Nor, I suppose, was anyone surprised who knew her during the long years when she fought as hard as anyone could ever fight to stay alive. She was around 40 when they diagnosed the breast cancer. It had already spread to the lymph nodes, meaning that it was aggressive and deadly and moving fast. After surgery and chemo and radiation, she went into remission. It seemed as if she had beaten it, but cancer is a tricky foe. It comes and goes, seemingly having a mind of its own. Two years ago the cancer reappeared. This time it would not depart despite the best efforts of the best doctors and the latest and best that modern medicine has to offer.
Three days before we left Oak Park, on a bright October afternoon, when the truck was finally loaded and our house was empty except for a few boxes, a couple of chairs, a king-size mattress, and a TV perched on one of the boxes in the living room, Dan called and said could he and Sandy come over and say goodbye? Yes, of course, and so they did, and we sat and talked in the now-empty living room, moving the boxes around and finding places to sit. Sandy was cheerful and smiling as always, and Dan was full of questions about where we were going and what we would do next. We talked openly, as friends can do, about the cancer coming back and the prospects for a cure, which even then were not very good. Then we hugged and prayed and said goodbye.
In August when we had Josh and Leah’s wedding reception in Oak Park, Dan and Sandy came by to say hello. She was so thin, a grim testament to the cancer that could not be stopped no matter what the doctors threw against it. But there was the same smile and the same grace that Sandy carried with her everywhere.
She continued to fight valiantly. And she continued to come to church and to play with the worship band as long as she was able. She never complained and didn’t really want to talk about herself or the cancer treatments or the fact that nothing could help in the end. Meanwhile Dan stood by her side. He was her rock, her strength, and she was his.
As I write these words, tears are coming to my eyes that I cannot stop. I confess that sometimes I do not understand the ways of the Lord. Just yesterday I read that John Calvin said that when we are faced with things we do not understand, we should go back to the cross of Christ and ponder the death of our Lord. Only in the cross and through the cross and by the cross can we understand the true heart of God. I do not know why Sandy was stricken with cancer or why the treatments ultimately did not work or why she died when she did. My sadness today is for Dan and for Andrea and Brian. Life will never be the same.
Somewhere I have in my possession a book that my father once owned. It is a book of occasional writings–letters and so forth–by William Faulkner who came from the same small town in Mississippi where my father grew up. It is the only book my father owned that I have. In it William Faulkner records a eulogy that he gave at the funeral of a beloved friend of his family, a woman he had known since childhood. After extolling her virtues, he ended by saying, “If there is a heaven, she has gone there.” Somehow that statement came back into my mind last night. I wish to revise it slightly. There is a heaven, and Sandy Spisiak has gone there. I am glad her suffering is over, but oh, the sadness to those who knew and loved her.
When W.H. Auden was grief-stricken over the death of the poet W. B. Yeats, he wrote these immortal words: “Earth, receive an honored guest.” I thought of those words last night and pondered their meaning. And it came to me this way. Near the end of the funeral service for Gerald Ford at the National Cathedral, the congregation sang one of the greatest hymns ever written, For All the Saints. That was earlier this week, and when they sang, I stood and sang along, and tears came to my eyes because death has taken so much from us, but thanks be to God, death will not have the final word. There is a stanza that goes like this:
But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on His way.
Alleluia, Alleluia
Sandy is gone from us for a while, but she is not gone forever. Earth, receive an honored guest. Better days are coming for all the people of God. Until then, we move forward with faith and hope and yes, with tears, still believing in Jesus Christ and clinging to him by faith, moving toward the day when death shall be no more, when we will see our loved ones once again, and in the presence of the Lord, we will laugh and sing forever. To my beloved friend Dan and to Andrea and Brian, you know how much we love you. Rest well, Sandy. We will see you again.