A video tribute to Mom

 

Eulogizing my mom— such an honor

Colleen was a private person.  She didn’t complain; instead, she would fix it.  She always tried to make things better for the people, animals, or organizations that she cared about.  Sometimes she would go overboard if it meant that she could fill a need by purchasing something.  She found joy in providing items that others needed or wanted.  She loved the CBA plays and loved helping Roshelle pull together props or costumes for them.  As the Wherritt girls grew and were faced with new adventures and new household needs, school needs, or personal needs, they always found themselves saying “we need a . . .” fill in the blank, and they would always end it with “Grandma probably has it—call Grandma.”  She also liked helping others anonymously. If a need was brought to her attention, especially around the holidays, she would figure out a way to supply it.  She’s been there. . .  on the giving side and on the needing side.

 

Because Colleen was such a private person, many of you probably don’t know how much she enjoyed working in her yard or taking care of the swimming pool.  She always welcomed her kids and granddaughters and their friends over to her backyard to swim or cookout—especially Rita and the girls, because if they stayed long enough, Wayne would show up, too, and grill supper for everyone.  You also probably don’t know about her love for animals.  She wanted every animal to have a home or someone to care for it.  Some of you in here are probably recipients of stray animals that she knew needed rescuing.  She always fed the strays and made a warm home for them.  During her illness, Denny continued to feed the stray cats and the resident opossum.  She loved her horses and her house cats and spoiled them.  The running joke with the family is that if they died, they wanted to come back as Colleen’s house cat.  Her cats loved her too.  Girl, her smallest calico, would spend all of her time on the hospital bed in the living room with Colleen, even until the very end.

 

I could stand here and tell you that Colleen was a polished, sharp dressed woman or that she had good taste in furnishings and décor.  I could tell you that she loved the holidays and loved her family.  I could tell you that she was determined and opinionated and liked to learn and discuss topics or events, but you know all of that.  The most important thing that I can tell you about Colleen happened just 4 years ago.  She asked and the Holy Spirit came into her life and everything changed.  The things that she used to spend her time doing weren’t as important to her anymore. She was hungry for knowledge.  Different knowledge this time. She was hungry for Jesus.  She read the Bible, books about the Bible and took notes; she started listening to preachers online and watching sermons and studying basically everything she could get her hands on, and it all started making sense.

 

Colleen told Roshelle in January: “I’m amazed at how the Bible is everything ever that did happen and ever will happen and there’s nothing new.  It’s all in this book [the Bible] if you can put it together properly.”

 

Colleen has always been a reader and a learner. Even in her last weeks when reading and learning and even lengthy conversation wasn’t really possible, she would say to the kids, “talk to me.” She still wanted to learn.  Wayne would read through headlines he knew she would be interested in.  Roshelle started searching for everything she could find about heaven and had been listening to Dr. Dixie Yoder’s videos about heaven.  She shared with her mom what she had learned: in heaven we will still be learning the greater knowledge that we seek, but it’s much easier to do so because it’s easier to learn, to remember, and to understand.  Paul tells us in 1 Corinthians 13 that our learning will be fuller and more intensive—we will be not be making assumption or learning errors.  It will all be truth and it will be clear.  We won’t become omniscient like God and have all the answers when we get to heaven, like the world seems to believe, but we will continue to learn and study God’s truths.  This made Colleen very happy and gave her more peace.

 

Right now, Colleen, as a child of God, has the ability to sit at the feet of Jesus and just soak up his presence and his truth.  She is still learning.

Mom's obituary

 

Colleen Ridenour was born to Ding (Wilbur) and Dee Dee (Corinne) Krull on March 8, 1955, in Austin, Minnesota.  Colleen passed to the peace of the Lord on February 22, 2021, in her home at Thomas, Oklahoma, after a short but difficult battle with cancer.  

Colleen grew up in Southeast Minnesota, where she met the love of her life at 16 years of age and thereafter married Denny (Dennis) Ridenour in a small ceremony in Springfield, Missouri, on June 17, 1972.  Denny and Colleen initially made their home in Missouri and then returned to Minnesota before moving to Oklahoma in 1984.

In Oklahoma, Colleen attended realty school with her mom and became a realtor in Weatherford, until she retired about 10 years ago.  Colleen attended Southwestern Oklahoma State University in the 90s and earned her master's degree in Psychology, graduating in 1996.

Colleen is survived by her husband, Denny; her daughter Roshelle Wherritt and her husband Rodney; her son Wayne and his wife Rita; and 6 granddaughters, Regan Lemieux and her husband Hayden, Rosalind Wherritt, Rayne Wherritt, Ali Ridenour, Taylor Ridenour, and Shelby Ridenour, all of Thomas.  She is survived by her brother Wayne Krull and his wife Marsha of Thomas; her sister Karen Clapham and her husband Bill of Dubuque, Iowa; her sister Lisa Goucher and her husband Steve of Rockwell, Texas; and her step-father Richard Gieser of Thomas.  Colleen was preceded in death by her parents and brother John Krull.

Memorials may be made to Corn Bible Academy.

My heart is broken

My mom is dying and my heart is broken.  I can't stop it.  I can't fix it.  There is no piece of it that I can control except the portion that I am given.  I do all that I can but it doesn't feel like enough.  I rack my brain trying to find a way to stop the pain.  I just want to sweep all 100 pounds of her up into my arms and hold her close and comfort her and tell her that it's ok.  It's ok if she's tired.  It's ok if she just can't do it anymore.  I want to stroke her hair and rock her and tell her it's ok to go to sleep.

Stage IV lung cancer that's metastasized into her lymph system, spreading into her gall bladder, adrenals, and most likely liver and kidneys: that's the battle.

I pray daily for a miracle to heal her or for God to take His child home.  She's weary.

So.  Much.  Wasted.  Time. 

She lives 20 blocks away.  She's 65 years old.  She push mows her yard, for goodness sake!  There's plenty of time.  A couple short weeks ago, I held her in my arms and apologized for all the wasted time.  She just smiled through her tears and reassured me:  we all thought we had more time.

Some days I feel like Hezekiah in Isaiah 37, taking the letter he received (full of bad news) and marching to the alter and laying it out before God, crying "Look at this!"  Now, "Do something about it!"  

Other days I just weep.  

Some days I am all out of tears.  Mourning the living is something I've never experienced before now.  It comes in waves and some days I'm drownding.  Some days I find it too hard to engage in the tedious details of my work.  Grading term papers is definitely going to have to wait for awhile; I'm thankful it's play season because it's a new creation, bringing new life into my soul.

The love that radiates from those who love me makes me weep too.  Their prayers sustain me right now.  My husband, my children, my sisters-in-law, my aunts, my extended family.  In the other hand is my co-workers, my dear friends, and my students and their families.  My cup overflows from the grace and the love and gentle care that comes from their actions, words and their prayers.  I am truly loved, and that love is what's holding my broken heart together right now.  The only thing that could heal it is a miracle from heaven.