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Memoir

Loss

Loss. 

The memory comes back. Distinct. Clear. From 1972. One hot, humid afternoon in Kediri, Indonesia.

I’m just arriving at our home. After being away for high school a couple of months. In Jakarta.  

Standing outside. Reaching for the handle of the screen door. And suddenly a subconscious map surfaces.  One I never knew was there. 

A map of presence. Home and those who belong in it. 

Without warning, the realization of deep loss hits. Full force. There’s an empty space on that map. 

The place where my sister Ann has always been.

Grief. Tangible. 

Me with Momma and my new baby sister, Ann. Bangkok, Thailand. 1961.

Family

I’d never been in the habit of noticing my sister’s presence. 

Playing dress-up with Ann on Aunt Wilma’s driveway. Surabaya, Indonesia. 1963.

As far back as I could remember, Ann was part of the normal rhythm of my life. Her voice. Just there. 

At the table. On the swings. In the upstairs school room. In the sandbox. Playing dress-up. Roller skating down the driveway. Circus in the front yard. At our bedtime stories. 

I was the oldest. She was next. Then came John David. And Julie. Ours was a family of six. Mom, Dad, and four kids. 

Our family. Tretes, Indonesia. 1967.

Diagnosis

Ann was 11 when cancer returned with a vengeance. She passed away in our home on August 9, 1972. I’d just turned 14. 

Six months before, I sat with my dad in the living room of our temporary duplex. Near the Kediri Baptist Hospital. And shivered in the tropical heat as he shared hard news. “Ann is very sick.” 

Her diagnosis: leukemia/lymph-sarcoma. 

At the time, my mind immediately traveled to a story in Life magazine. About a child with leukemia. Black and white pictures detailed her struggle. And captured my attention. 

The hospital rooms and blood tests. Chemo and hair loss. 

Now my heart beat rapidly. Fear slipped in.

A turn for the worse

Our family quickly settled in the town where the Baptist hospital was located. And Ann went through chemotherapy. Eventually she entered remission. 

It didn’t last long.

One week in August, things took a turn for the worse. Internal hemorrhaging began. 

Doctors and nurses, who were part of our mission family, came to the house. Set up equipment in Ann’s room. 

Other friends arrived to help. Caring for my younger brother and sister. Checking on me—I had a bad case of flu and strep throat.

Last hours

One of those friends led me down the hallway from my bedroom to Ann’s the evening of August 9. 

She was lying on her bed. Looking at the calm face of my mother who was seated on the right side. While my father quietly wept on the left. Both held her hands.

Uncle Clarence (our missionary “uncle”) was standing nearby. Reading Scripture aloud as the medical personnel monitored her physical condition.

In my weakened state, I wasn’t able to stand long, so they led me back to my room. 

It was the last time I saw my sister alive. 

“More”

Later, Mom described what happened right before she died. Ann was thirsty due to the hemorrhaging. So they gave her sips of water. 

When she whispered, “More,” my mother asked if she needed more water. Ann shook her head. 

“Do you want Uncle Clarence to read more Scripture?” She nodded.

“The Lord is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul;
He leads me in the paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
For You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil;
My cup runs over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life;
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” 
Psalm 23

He was reading as she took her final breath at 9:05 p.m.

Death

How was I told of her death? I don’t know. But I remember lying awake. Restless. Late that night. 

Dad came in the room to check on me. We stood at the window and looked out at the night. We talked about Ann. Death. Fear. And he took me to the Father. Prayed for me.

The next day, we went to the hospital so I could see her body. It didn’t look like my little sister any more. Just an empty shell.

Because there was no embalming available, the casket was closed and her photograph displayed. An image of Ann smiling. Taken before cancer and chemo ravaged her body and changed her appearance.

Because He lives

Uncle Ed, another missionary uncle, came to preach the sermon at Ann’s funeral. He told us about Aunt Jaletta (his wife) having a vision of Ann the night they received news of her death. Ann was looking up. Smiling the brightest smile. As two arms came down to lift her up.

That image comforted me. And Scripture brought assurance and truth. Ann was gone from this earth, but present with the Lord. “O death, where is your victory?” (1 Corinthians 15:54-55)

We sang, “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow….” Even years later, singing this song reminded me of Ann and brought tears to my eyes. 

Tears of sorrow. And hope.

After the funeral

After the funeral our family went to the mountains. Sarangan. A favorite vacation spot. We rested. Played. Hiked to a waterfall. Talked about Ann and what she loved. 

How we missed her. 

Less than two weeks later, Mom and I boarded a train to Jakarta where I started high school. I moved into the Baptist Hostel. Living with dorm parents and other TCKs (third culture kids). Across the island of Java from my family.

Waves of grief

After I left, my 5-year-old sister Julie asked, “Is Susan not coming back either?” So they flew me home for a visit. 

And there I was. 

Standing at the screen door. 

Feeling unexpected waves of grief. Over a subconscious map and loss. The empty space. Where Ann had always been.

Loss and life

There are few things that define life so clearly as death. And my sister’s death marked my living. 

Ann Catherine Ingouf. 1961-1972.

The loss of Ann deepened my understanding of faith. Taught me that God was not threatened by my questions or fears. 

I could talk with Him about anything. Absolutely anything.

And I did. 

Her death revealed the life and beauty of the Body of Christ to a 14-year-old. Believers from various nations mourned with us. Comforted our family in song and the Word. With prayer. And by their presence. 

Another map

Today I think about another map. Of a greater Home. 

People I love fill places on that map. Family and friends, followers of Christ, who’ve passed away. 

They rest with Christ. Forever in His presence.

And the grief and sorrow of this earth mixes and mingles with hope. Giving way to peace. And joy. In the Good Shepherd. The God of all comfort. 

Our Lord and Savior leads us all the way.

I love you, Ann. See you later. (Bandung, Indonesia. 1962.)

Jesus said, “Do not let your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me.
In My Father’s house are many rooms;
if that were not so, I would have told you, because I am going there
to prepare a place for you….
I am the way, and the truth, and the life;
no one comes to the Father except through Me.”
John 14:1-6 NASB

What about you?

How has the Lord comforted you in the midst of loss? When did you first think about eternity with Christ?

Related posts

Dare to hope – Ruin and glory – Coming through the night – Witness – Standing on gravestones – 

46 replies on “Loss”

Oh Susan, thank you for this piece. It resonates in my bones. Seeing both hard things and God’s goodness. How disease changes our loved ones appearance. How their body looks after their spirit has left to be with God. I love the map imagery! How it shifts and there is an empty space. And another heavenly map. How precious Ann’s life is. And God continues to work out the impact of her life through those that loved her here. Praise the LORD for Ann and for you.

Thank you so much for sharing Ann’s story! My sister-in-law, Kelly, is battling leukaemia which has prevented her and her husband from returning to the field in Brazil. Her life theme is “Choose Joy.” I’m so comforted of this thought of a map of our greater Home. Your last comment reminded me of this verse I shared with Kelly recently, “Remember how the Lord your God led you all the way.” Deut. 8:2

Similar vision, same hymn, same pain returning home to an empty chair. Thank you for sharing from a sibling’s perspective. ❤️

Aunt Bobbye and I cried through the precious memories this stirred in our hearts. We had been with you at Glorieta missions week prior to our appointment, bonded with your family during our language study in Bandung in 1971. You moved to Kediri about the same time we moved to East Java in 1972 and spent much time in your home during this difficult time, learning to eat durian and praying with your family for Ann. We have photos of our times together, including one of Ann laughing when he put on her wig. We drove home to Jember on one occasion when he told us his name was “John David” and he refused to answer to “Russell” for several days. The faith and victorious testimony of your parents in this tragic loss are an indelible mark on our lives in discovering a new dimension of God’s grace we had never known before.

Aunt Susan, thank you so much for letting us remember Ann with you. There were so many familiar faces in this story, and I could feel the memory of their love surrounding me as it surrounded your family all those years ago.

This took me back to the time when I was 11 and my little sister,10, died in a tragic road accident. I was devastated. Only 18 months separated us in age. Loss. Her death physically separated us for the rest of my life. Praise God for I Corinthians 15: 54,55. There is MORE. Psalm 23 and John 14:1-6 nails it. Thank you, dear Susan.

Grief doesn’t leave out anyone, even children, and I know you’ve walked a long journey in the loss of your sister. So thankful you held on to God, and know he’s using your experience to speak into the lives of countless others. “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” Psalm 56:8

Susan, This was such a wonderful story of victory even in death. Thank you for sharing! I still am so blessed to have my baby sister Anne and grieved with you as I read of her diagnosis and her death. Your family’s loss. How exciting to think you’ll be on the same place in the map when you pass from this world!

Our little sister passed away earlier this year… the youngest of five siblings. She had been fighting lymphoma for a year and had recently undergone immunotherapy treatment after chemo treatments hadn’t cleared up all the cancer. We had claimed and were constantly singing the “Waymaker” song… even bought her the t-shirt! I really thought she would get well… yet the Father took her home just a few weeks later. I got to spend about 5 days with her a couple of weeks before she died. It took me weeks before I could really believe she was gone— since I have lived overseas for the past 30 years, it sometimes just felt like another long absence between visits. But every time I heard the “Waymaker” song on the radio, it just felt like a gut-punch to me. I’m doing better with it— still don’t understand why, but trust the Father’s wisdom & purposes. She was such a beautiful soul… I miss her ❤️

I’m sitting here crying on a snowy afternoon after reading this. Thanks for writing it. I remember bits and pieces about Ann and her dying but I think I dealt with them in a 5 year old way. Mom said I kept burying my toys after going to the funeral. And what I asked that you wrote above. But I don’t remember much of it. I wish I remembered more. I’m thankful I’ll get to see her again some day.

A friend lost her mother last week and I’ve been thinking about death and dying the last few days. Didn’t have a chance to read this until today. I’m thankful that when a believer dies, we can grieve with hope. But those of us left behind have to learn to live with a huge hole in our lives. Came across this quote I like:
“Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like (heck).” Edna St. Vincent Millay. (She used a different word instead of heck.)

Love you, sis!!

This is such a reminder of how death affects us all and how different it is for a follower of Jesus. Those who don’t know Him have no hope as we do. I think losing a child when they are young is especially hard. What a testimony of faith and hope you have shown n this blog. I am sure it will touch many lives. Thank you for being sensitive to the leading of the Holy Spirit. What a wonderful day it will be when all who know the Lord will be together with our Savior and Lord.

Beautiful! Thanks for sharing Ann’s leaving and your adjustment as a child. So powerful. Thankful we have another Home.

As we have dealt with a variety of grief causing concerns, loss, and circumstances, my children have often come to us for comfort. I have pointed them to Christ in each and every moment possible. My prayer for them is simple. “Lord, let them want more of You.” To be satisfied only in Him, yes, but ever wanting more of Him. My youngest went through such darkness of spirit during his last hospitalization. He and I have never been the same. One evening, during that stay, he told me I was his “only.” In my heart, I knew what he meant, but I explained it away and tried to change the subject. He insisted on discussing it. Pulling back the layers, he had started to believe he no longer existed to anyone else but me. That those people didn’t really exist any more. Including God. Delirium, of course, fueled his perception, but through thorough conversation, his true contempt for what God was doing to him was laid bare. Beckoning him to take his eyes off me, his “only,” and placing them instead on Christ, was a true and clear calling in that moment. Asking a 4 year old to want more of the God who had planned suffering, was and still is a tall order. But I also knew the only way for him to sleep during such strain was for me to recite Psalm 23. His shepherd walked with him in the valley of the shadow of death. Your sister grew to want more of His wonderful presence. May the Lord answer my prayers in the same manner; that no matter what still lay ahead for us, that we would want more.

Oh Lori, my heart aches for him. Suffering so much in his life. I pray that none of this pain and struggle will be wasted, but will bring him to a beautiful and ever-deepening relationship with the Lord, our Good Shepherd. Grace to you, momma. HE is worthy.

I recall Ann so well. Remember the day the family found out she had leukemia, and how heart broken we were. It was close to our furlough time, and plans were made for your family to move to Kediri so she could receive the care she needed. I think you lived in our house while we were in the states?? When we received word that she had passed away. My thoughts were seeing Ann running through fields of beautiful flowers with the biggest smile on her face. She was a little angel.

Thank you for sharing this story of faith in the face of grief. I haven’t thought of the map picture and will meditate on it. Our lives here are so temporary. Part of my prayer this morning was asking for grace to look up and seek eternity instead of being burdened by the evil all around.

Thank you Susan. I remember your mother sharing of Ann’s illness and death, but this is my first time hearing it from your perspective. You and your writings are such a gift to so many. Thanks for being willing to share your heart.

Thank you, Sharron. We enjoyed time with Mom and Dad last week and pulled out the album of Ann’s writings and pictures that they have. Thankful for them and their long obedience through the heights and the valleys.

Thank you for sharing such a painful time of loss. I can remember another young girl who passed away when we lived in East Java. She was in a bicycle accident. I could not fathom how her family could deal with such a painful loss of a child. As a mother, I could not imagine a more difficult loss. I am thankful for your remembrance of this time and how you describe the map of people in heaven. It is hard to have waves of grief when people that should be in places are no longer there. I am grateful for the family of faith that holds us close through these dark days and point us to Jesus. He is our hope and He brings the joy of knowing the One who calls us lovingly home. So thankful for those faithful friends who walk with us through life’s valleys and help us to see the Shepard more clearly in the midst of it all.

My mom and dad often talked about the pain of losing a child. Whenever they heard of someone else going through this grief, they wrote them and often sent them a book by Joseph Bayly that helped them during that time. The original title of the book was “The Last Thing We Talk About”–later published under “The View from a Hearse.” Three of Bayly’s 7 children died at young ages.

Halo. Apa kabar. The names of Kediri, Jember, Surabaya and Tretes (!) may be unfamiliar to most of your readers but certainly not to me. Born and bred in Surabaya during the 70s I can’t recall seeing many “bule” around. But in his sovereign orchestrations, somewhere in East Java, your family was at work planting gospel seeds. Thank you. Thank you for doing what you did! The coming to faith of many Indonesians, myself included, must owe its origins in the missionary works of you faithful ones, however indirectly.

Halo, Joseph. Our family was serving in Surabaya in the 1960s before moving to other places on Java. Praise God for the way He has worked all across that island, drawing many to Himself. Grace and peace to you, brother.

Sickness and death are such a large part of all of our lives. We walk broken and hobblng along their crevased thoroughfare. I hate and despise them so… yet I have met my savior so many times along their road that I’m glad I walked there and would fearfully and trembling tread there once again. Oh to be home and with the Lord and His saints. What joy it will be. Thank you for sharing…

Susan, you don’t know me, but I knew of your family many years ago. My dad, Lamar Skinner, was a friend of yours. My sister, Rhonda, was a pen pal of Ann while she was ill. I am putting Dad’s sermons on a blog (he died January 2022) and your family appears in #582, written just a month after Ann’s passing. My blogsmanship leaves much to be desired, but I’m attaching here the sermon which I have uploaded moments ago, where the Ingoufs are on the front page. What a gift it is to have discovered your memoir and to bring my families back into the same microverse. https://awayhome.blog/the-person-of-the-holy-spirit/

Robin, my daughter who is your coworker on the foreign field, was letting me know about your mother getting her Master of Arts in Discipleship degree at the age of 91!! Such a blessing!!

Then she told me about Ann – such a sad and joyous story. Joyous in that the friend had the vision of an Ann being greeted with someone holding their arms out to her. Such a beautiful promise for a Christian.

I wondered if the Glorietta conference about which Jerry Rankin spoke was the one where my mother met you. I have your autograph in the Bible of my mother, Faye Sanders. Susan Ingouf – such a small, pretty signature!

I was truly touched about your remembrance of Ann. And to know you will see her again!!

Thank you for rejoicing with us about my mom😊. And for your words about Ann. Today is the anniversary of her passing away. It’s possible we were at Glorieta when I signed your mother’s Bible. Small world, isn’t it? Grace to you and thank you for sending your daughter!

I would love to hear from you!

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