Faithfully Thinking: Eating Watermelon with Shirley

/ Lisa R. Howeler

A friend of our family, of mine, died last Thursday.



I was already having a bit of a down day and struggling with a lot of memories and feelings from past events when I received the news that Shirley had died.

How dare Shirley die on one of those down days I have from time to time. Yes, I can say that with the utmost sarcasm, knowing that it would have cracked Shirley up if she heard me say it.

Shirley and I could exchange sarcastic retorts affectionately and easily anytime we were together, no matter how long it had been since we’d seen each other.

Her youngest daughter, Denise, and I have been friends since I was probably six or seven.

We visited the Davis family often when I was growing up and there was even a short time they lived with us, pitching their teepee in our backyard. Poor Gary, Shirley’s son, was the one who had to tell me when my 14-year-old dog died. My dad had gone to work and my mom was too emotional, if I remember correctly.

When I am down or feeling off kilter emotionally, I turn on either The Andy Griffith Show or The Dick VanDyke Show and on the day I heard Shirley died, I chose Dick VanDyke. I didn’t look at what the episode was about, I just clicked on it. I need laughter, and I needed it quickly.

The episode was entitled “Never Name A Duck.”

It was about Rob Petry, the main character, bringing home two baby ducks and Laura saying they couldn’t keep the ducks but then their son Richie saw the ducklings and begged to keep them. Rob and Laura agree but, sadly, the one duck, Oliver, dies. Stanley, the other duck, lives into adulthood but Laura and Rob notice one day that he is starting to look sick, similar to how Oliver did before he died.

Rob takes the duck to a vet and comes home without him.

Laura and Richie think Stanley has died, but Rob tells them he didn’t die; Rob just released him into a lake to be with other ducks because he was slowly dying in captivity. He didn’t belong in a human house. He belonged in nature with other ducks. It was what the vet suggested.

Richie is absolutely devastated and screams that if Stanley can’t live there, he doesn’t want to live there either. He runs from the living room, to his bedroom and slams the door.

Rob follows him and they have a heart-to-heart. He tells Richie he knows it hurts, but that by making Stanley stay in their home they were actually being selfish. Stanley was sad in their house. He needed to be with other ducks and in nature. That was his real home.

He asked Richie if he would want to take his goldfish out of its bowl and lay it on his pillow next to him at night.

“No,” Richie says tearfully.

“Why?” Rob asks.

“Because he’d die out of water,” Richie responds.

Rob explains that this was what was really happening to Stanley. He was slowly dying in their house.

In a similar way, we humans don’t belong on earth. Not really. This is not our ultimate home and we Christians believe our body is also temporary- a shell to hold our spirit or soul.

As Rob had this conversation with Richie, I immediately thought of Shirley.


Much like Richie didn’t want to let go of his duck, and I didn’t want to let go of my aunts and uncles and my grandparents and won’t want to let go of my parents one day, I don’t want to let go of Shirley.

I want Shirley here with us.

I want to hear her laughter and see her mischievous smile.

I want to watch her eat a whole watermelon drowned in salt.

I want to hear her preach again about the goodness of God despite all her family went through.

I want to hear her saying, “Oh, shut up, you” when I one-up her on the sarcasm level.

I want to hear her tell my parents, again, how much she loves them.


I have what Rob Petrh called selfish-love.

“I love Shirley. I want her here, so am I really being selfish?” I asked myself that day when I thought about this connection.

The answer that came to mind was, yes, I am selfish because Shirley is worshipping Jesus now.

She’s in his arms. Tom, her husband, and her children, Gary and Mechelle, are with her. They have surrounded her, and they are having what my family calls a group hug right now — a very long, very overdue group hug.

One day, a very, very long time from now, Denise will join them, so it is up to all of us to give Denise group hugs here on earth until God chooses to take her home.

It is selfish of me to want Shirley to leave all that beauty, all that glory, all that all-encompassing love and come back to all this pain and sadness here on earth.

She is where she was meant to be, created to be. Earth was never her permanent home, and it is not ours.



I once heard a story about a very young girl dying of cancer and shortly before she died, she took her mom’s hand and said, “Don’t worry, Mom. Heaven is closer than you think.”

Heaven is closer than we all think which means Shirley is also closer than we think.

Shirley is home, her real home, with her family and more importantly her creator. That home is also our home when we ask Jesus to forgive our sins and become our savior.

Shirley would want you to form a personal relationship with Jesus because she wants you there with her. Don’t make her eat all that watermelon on her own.

When it is time for you to leave this temporary home, when God decides it is your time, Shirley and Jesus are waiting for you.

They’ve left a seat for you, for all of us, at the table.



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15 thoughts on “Faithfully Thinking: Eating Watermelon with Shirley”

  2. Pingback: Sunday Bookends: It’s A Wonderful Life Radio Play and a Beatrix Potter-based cozy mystery series | Boondock Ramblings

  3. Such a beautiful tribute Lisa, and so heartwarming as I’m missing so many loved ones today. It won’t be long, our life is but a vapor here, and we will join them there. So I pray that I will live with that sense of wonder and worship that you described about Shirley. Have a Blessed Thanksgiving with your family!

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  6. First, Lisa, this is such a beautiful tribute to your faith and your friend. It’s so difficult to lose our loved ones to death even though we know they’re going home. Second, I want to tell you a short story about my mom’s death (promise it will be as short as I can make it). Mom was in the hospital with yet another round of pneumonia (COPD because she had smoked since she was 15). I was her medical POA. I knew she didn’t want any heroic measures, and she had a DNR in her file. The morning before she was going to be released, I stopped in to see her and she told me this story. She told me she’d died the night before. I tut-tutted and told her she’d just had a really vivid dream because she hadn’t been sleeping well. She said, “No, I died, and it was so beautiful. I didn’t need any of this.” And, she gestured to the oxygen and her glasses and the room in general. The look on her face was so peaceful and accepting. During that day, I’d made arrangements for her to go to a nursing home for a couple of weeks just until she was well enough to go back to her apartment (how I wish I’d told her to just come home to our house for that time). That afternoon, after school, I stopped in to see her again as I’d been doing. We talked for a bit, and then I got ready to leave. As I was walking out the door, for some reason, I turned around and said, “I love you, Mom.” And, she croaked back, “I love you, too.” Now, that doesn’t sound like a big deal, but it was. We just weren’t that kind of family. Maybe we were when we kids were little, but we weren’t anymore. That night, around 11:00, the hospital called and said the doctor needed to talk to me. I knew what he was going to say except it wasn’t. He said the respiratory therapist had found her unresponsive, and they needed to know what I wanted done. I fumbled around and said I needed to talk to my siblings. Of course, none of them answered their phones. I called the hospital back, and the doctor said they’d given her some kind of drug to get her heart beating, but they had no idea how long she’d been without oxygen. I asked him what the next steps would be…would she be intubated? He said she would be. At that point, I told him to let her go. So, here’s the thing. I truly believe, down to the depths of my soul, Mom died the night before, but it wasn’t time. She came back, and we had that last moment of whispered “I love yous” so that I could live with the decision I had. So, I want you to know that Heaven is a beautiful place without pain or need for anything medical. I know because my mom told me so! I need to also tell you I think Mom chose to die rather than go to the nursing home. She was just that stubborn. So, my second biggest regret (after not thinking to bring her to my house) was that I didn’t ask her more about Heaven rather than dismissing her dream. I hope this helps you just a little bit even though I know your faith is deep.

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    • Oh my goodness, Marsha. This comment broke me down. What a beautiful story and what an encouragement. Sometimes I really doubt my faith. Deep down I can’t totally deny it, but some things I do doubt. It’s human nature. When I hear stories like this, though, it’s so encouraging and uplifting — even though I am crying right now. I’m so glad you had that time with your mother. What a wonderful comfort for you and for her.

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      • I’m sorry, Lisa. I hope you had tissues at the ready! I have really been struggling with my faith for a number of reasons, and yet I’m not…if that makes sense. I know God has a plan, and I also know I don’t need to know that plan. But, as a Type A person, I want to know it. I just keep wondering how He could plan for the past few years Mike and I have been through and what lessons I’m supposed to be learning from them. I honestly do wish I’d just been late to school that day and talked more with her about what Heaven was like. For some reason, and maybe it was just my idea of Heaven, I thought she said something about a field of flowers. That could just be me. But, I will never ever forget the peacefulness in her eyes because Mom was scared of dying. There was no mistaking that…until that night. And, then I think she knew and was ready, but God wanted her to have that last bit of time with me…her most cantankerous of offspring, the one who was most like her in almost every way!

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        • Struggling but not struggling with your faith makes perfect sense to me. Also, it is hard in the moment to know when we should ask more questions and when we shouldn’t, so I hope you’ll be able to let that regret go and at least rest in the comfort that She was able to tell you that she wasn’t afraid to die anymore.

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    • Oh that is a whole ‘nother story. Ha! It involved them hitting some really rough times and they owned a teepee…yes a real, legit one…that they used to go camping in and then lived in for a while when times were tough.

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