Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘life’

If we believe what we say we believe…

We attach a virtue to grief that perhaps is undeserved.

waves of body of water splashing on sand
Photo by Quino Al on Unsplash

Joyous Road is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

We can become mired in it: the sympathetic glances, the soft tones as people speak of those passed, the concern for our well-being, the gentle pats on the back.

I am so sad that Robert didn’t get to go with me on the trip to Normandy, that M— will never graduate from high school, that they will miss this Christmas with the family.

Who am I kidding?

I miss them! I miss the conversations, glances, jokes, and tears that build intimacy and memories. I need them with me day to day, in the flesh, to love me and validate my existence and purpose.

Anyone see a pattern here?

If I believe as I say I do, in eternal rest in the presence of a loving God, and if I love the departed as I claim, then why am I mourning that they are not here? If I really believe that they are “in a better place”, then why in the world do I keep wishing they were still in this physical world, with all its pain and imperfections?

Let’s face it. Because I am a selfish soul. My love for them has a needy root centered way down in my gut. I need them! I want them! Universe, this is not fair to me!

I admit that I do not love them unconditionally. If I did, and if I believed in a heavenly hereafter, then I would be at peace. I would wake up smiling at the sunrise, knowing they would never face darkness again. I would sleep at night knowing they would always find rest.

But I wallow in my selfishness and doubt. I cry and moan to an uncompromising universe. Part of the pain of grief is facing my own human frailty, and it is ugly. It’s not the specter of death I should worry about; it’s the darkness of my own nature that should frighten me.

Would I pull them back from death for a few more days, an hour, a moment? Even if it returned Robert to all his physical pain and mental worries? Even if it plunged M— back into her emotional torment?

Yes, in a heartbeat! I need them here with me!

We typically don’t acknowledge this side of grief. People are too caring and polite to point out the obvious: If we believe what we say we believe, then they are better off than we are.

If they are in the presence of an all-knowing God, then they know the whys and wherefores to all the questions that torment us. They can see all of time, unfolded and unfolding. They can understand the reason they left us. They can see the purpose in it all.

God knows I can’t.

Especially not for M—. Her death violated the natural order of things. Children should not die before their lives have a chance.

Yet here I am. Still selfish and wrestling with the reality of loss.

© 2025 Joyce Martin. All rights reserved

Note: None of my content is AI generated. 

Thank you for reading! I appreciate your support. 

Please subscribe below!

You may also find my writing on my Joyous Road newsletter on Substack: joyous461.substack.com & at

Joyce Martin on Medium

Please consider tipping my writing at: https://buymeacoffee.com/joycemartin

Read Full Post »

How do you sum up a human life? It’s impossible, especially when the human is Robert Glenn Eddings, and he impacted so many people in positive and different ways. This is my feeble attempt to describe more of who he was, not just a telling of where he lived or worked or what he did. Specific dates and names don’t matter in the greater scheme of things, but the journey of a heart does. 

I only knew Robert for 7 ½ years of his 65 year existence in this life, but what wonderful years they were! I treasure every day. I met him when he had lived through and learned all the hard lessons in life. If anybody was a graduate of the Hard Knocks of Life University, it was Robert. He held a PhD from that notorious institution!

He overcame childhood abuse and hardship. He often told me that when his grandfather died when he was eight, he lost his protector. Robert had to scramble to survive, and it haunted him that he was not able to protect the other children around him. So naturally, he entered young manhood angry and desperate. He went into the Marine Corps and wished that he had stayed in because it gave him the structure and discipline that he needed. But he was too restless, and went on from there to a tumultuous life. He worked various jobs to support his wife and young daughter Renee. He went through several other relationships, and could not settle into a stable life. 

One thing led to another, as often happens, and Robert’s life became even more chaotic. Known as Bulldog on the streets of Fort Worth, Robert existed on the outside of the law. When I asked him what that was really like, he told me that staying in perpetual motion kept the demons at bay, but just barely. Sure, it was thrilling and exciting here and there, but Death was always right behind him. He said it was truly no kind of life at all. He called them his lost years.

When he talked about those years with me, he expressed deep regret at what those choices cost him and those he loved. He could not go back in time and change those experiences, so he used them as cautionary tales, especially when counseling young men caught up in that lifestyle. He valued time highly because he felt he had lost so much of it. 

Robert expressed deep gratitude for those through the years who had helped him better himself. He worked as a mechanic and learned the trade well. Some of the men in the Lutheran Church in Springtown had influenced him greatly, extending trust and respect to him and setting him up in a mechanic shop of his own. His Uncle Anthony and Aunt Barbara never lost faith in him. Every good seed planted by others eventually bore fruit in Robert’s life. 

Robert described the moment when his mother told him she had cancer as the most dramatic turning point in his life. He threw away his book of contacts from his old life and dedicated himself to caring for her. Robert said he started to see another way to live. After her death, he felt adrift and almost lost himself again.

With time and struggle, Robert found stability within himself and in his life. He learned to value every life and treasure every moment. He demonstrated this as a fierce protector, a generous benefactor, and a loyal friend. HIs phone is full of names titled “Brother”, “Sister”,  “Bonus Son”, “Bonus Daughter”, “Adopted Grandson”, and so on. Everyone he knew he considered as family, not just as friends. He gave love easily and fully, and woe to anyone who threatened harm to his loved ones!

Robert had extra patience for children and animals. He nursed our little dogs when they were sick. They all adored him–he gave them extra treats!! He tried to act tough. He would bellow at them, “Get outta my chair,” right before scooping them up and putting them on his lap. He loved his boxer Stevie so very much, and he is probably roughhousing with him at this very moment! 

He loved time with young people, especially if he could teach them something useful, like how to air up a tire or tighten a bolt. The exchange students who spent time at our house ended up calling him Grandpa. He charmed the ladies, young and old. At Allsup’s they cooked his food just the way he liked. The nurses in the hospital would tolerate his teasing and bring him milk and peanut butter on command. His secret? He simply treated people the way he wanted to be treated. 

My nephew simply described Robert as “a lot”, which sums him up well! Robert filled a room with his presence and his personality. He was impossible to ignore, and he insisted on connecting with everyone. He made you feel like the most important person around and devoted his full attention to you. He did not live by a schedule; he lived fully in the present. He said he believed in living each day as if it was his last, and he succeeded. 

If you went somewhere with Robert, you didn’t know when you would be back. We once set out to go to a garage sale or two, and returned about seven hours later with a pickup and flatbed trailer loaded down with a toolbox, a huge ladder, various household items, and a hulking, old SUV! He could not resist a good bargain, even if it was something he absolutely did not need. Robert loved to trade, mostly in cars, tools, and engines. He liked the challenge of taking something that was not working and making it like new again. He had a natural mechanical mind. He used this gift to benefit all around him.

If Robert did something, he often did it to excess. Go big or go home! If we needed a flashlight by the door, let’s have one by every door and in every vehicle. If one pizza will serve everyone, let’s get three, just in case. Someone needs to inform the corporate offices of Harbor Freight, Braum’s (he loved their whole milk) and Dr. Pepper that their profits may drop, since Robert is no longer buying from them! 

Robert knew his own faults, and could take teasing as well as dish it out. We laughed so often and so much. Robert would often joke about me being a mean old teacher. When he would brag about a chore he’d completed, I would tell him he had earned another sticker. Then he would complain that I owed him an awful lot of stickers! I hope he knows that he deserved all the gold stars. 

Robert’s love language was giving and fixing. Ask some of his friends how many times they were out at his shop and left with stuff they didn’t know they needed! Or when he insisted visitors leave with a Dr. Pepper in one hand and some gadget in the other. Once I saw him empty his wallet for an acquaintance he saw at the convenience store. The young man had lost his job and desperately needed help for his young family. If someone was cold, Robert would give them blankets and a heater. If a family was struggling, he would buy them groceries. If someone’s car broke down, he would drop everything to help. 

Robert loved us all big, and we loved him back. Robert valued his life here, but he also knew and longed to return to his eternal home. No more pain, no more sadness, no more struggles. HIs beautiful golden heart has finished its journey and rests in peace, harmony, and love in the arms of God.

We love you, now and forever, Robert Glenn Eddings (5-6-59).

                                                                                As remembered by Joyce Martin,

Robert’s life partner, lover, & friend    

© 2025 Joyce Martin. All rights reserved

Note: None of my content is AI generated. 

You may also find my writing on Joyce Martin on Medium

If you choose, you may tip my writing at: 

https://buymeacoffee.com/joycemartin

Substack link: joyous461.substack.com

Read Full Post »