Loss, Laughter, and Party Hats

Jun 23, 2021 | Hope Chest

I noticed the elderly man sitting alone on the bench, his hands covering his face. I had finished making hospital visits and delivering care boxes and was enjoying the mild summer breeze as I walked to my car. He heard me coming closer and lifted his head, giving me a faint smile.

“Hello ma’am. Isn’t this weather nice?”

“It sure is,” I replied. “I hope you’re enjoying it too.”

That quick exchange about the weather was all it took to begin a conversation. The man told me his wife had been gravely ill, and now he was losing her. There was nothing more the doctors could do, so she was on her way to hospice. He was taking a break to sit outside where he could take a deep breath, pray, and try to wrap his head around the news.

He seemed eager to talk about his wife, and his eyes sparkled as he spoke. She was the life of the party, full of joy and always passing it on to others. She gave constant encouragement and inspiration to everyone around her. He had married the love of his life 70 years ago, and the two of them had filled those years with such beautiful memories. “Oh, she loved Jesus. Boy, did she love Jesus!” His eyes twinkled and then a moment of sweet laughter. “And now she gets to meet Him.” That laughter was from a deep place in his soul, and I knew I wouldn’t forget it. Even in his broken place that day, he could still find joy. He knew she wouldn’t be with him on this earth much longer, but he wanted her to know she was being celebrated as she made her journey home. “I don’t want her homegoing to be sad,” he said. “I want it to be a party. She loved parties.” He paused for a moment before asking, “Does that sound weird?” Obviously, he didn’t know my history with chicken suits and party hats, so I told him about my mom, the hats, those funny dogs. And that chicken suit. We sat on the bench and laughed until our bellies ached.

I know it wasn’t an accident that I met this precious man on the day I was delivering Resilience Care boxes that contained, of course, party hats. We place those hats in our boxes to symbolize choosing joy and celebration, even when we are walking through brokenness. I happened to have an extra care box, which was also not an accident. I retrieved the box from my car and brought it to my new friend. “What’s this?” he asked when I handed it to him. I told him it was a gift of encouragement and hope as he walked through this last part of the journey with his sweet wife. “I’ll be praying for you,” I said.

He opened the box. And the image of what happened next is something I’ll always carry with me. He saw the party hat and grabbed it out of the box, clutching it to his heart as he cried. Tears were falling faster than he could wipe them. As they fell, he began to laugh, and the joy he felt at that moment radiated. I gave him a big hug, silently thanking God for my new friend.

He took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready. It’s party time.” My friend stood up and walked back to the hospital to be with his wife, clutching his box as if it were a treasure, and wearing that big party hat. I’ll never forget the sight. The smile on his face told the story of how we can find laughter in the darkest places. It’s always possible.

I think you know the rest of the story. It ended with me sobbing all the way to my car. Divine appointments are just that. Divine. This moment was a gift not only for my new friend, but for me as well. I needed it, and I’ll never forget it. My divine appointment confirmed once again all that I learned during my mom’s cancer journey. I thought back to the conversations Mom and I had about party hats, and how it’s possible to find laughter even in the most broken places. But we must look for it. I was reminded of her funeral, filled with people wearing party hats, and then I thought about what a party it must have been at the moment she met her Savior. My new friend’s wife will soon meet my mom, and knowing Mom, she’ll be wearing a party hat.

The encounter that day would not have happened if not for the legacy Mom left. Those Resilience Care Boxes would not have been in my car, and a chicken suit and party hat

would not have been in my story. Lisa Bain Ministries would not have become a reality without her legacy. God knew on that first day Mom and I wore our party hats to chemotherapy that I would someday sit on a bench with a grieving man who also needed a party hat.

Life is short. Choose to celebrate every second. Find beauty in the broken–it’s there if you look for it. And have a party hat by your side. You never know when you’ll need it.

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