Into The Misty Fog

The picture is from August 9, 1986, but the story began in mid-September the year before. It's Baptist Student Union Gathering at the beginning of Fall Quarter for the University of Georgia. I'm there with high hopes of seeing Dawn, a girl I'd gone out with a couple of times before Summer Break.

I honestly can't remember if Dawn was there. But I do remember another girl . . .

We started talking in the refreshment line. I'd later learn her motivation for being there was similar to mine - she was hoping to bump into Kevin, a fellow she'd gone out with in Spring Quarter. Her name is Regina Meeks and like me, she'll wrap up her college education in December. She's a Risk Management and Insurance major from Warner Robins, Georgia.

Our paths cross several times over the next few weeks as both of us attend the Wesley Foundation, which is the United Methodist Campus Ministry. We go on our first date in early November and by Thanksgiving I'm falling in love. We meet each other's families around Christmas, get engaged in February, and on August 9, I marry my green-eyed beauty from Warner Robins.

You can read other blogs to learn the particulars of our life together. Heaven blesses us with two sons, Miles and Cole, and our life in ministry takes us all over North Georgia and ultimately now to Fort Valley, Georgia. Miles brings Kimberly into our family, and Cole brings Alecia. "Our girls," Regina calls them. Cole and Alecia have the first two grandchildren, Hazel and Alden, and Miles and Kimberly have little Bennett.

So many wonderful milestones and memories are packed into those almost 40 years of marriage. Some heartaches, too. We've buried loved ones, gotten into a squabble or two, tried to figure out how to spend and stretch the budget, and walked beside our church families as they've gone through challenges and heartbreak. Through it all, the good has so outweighed the bad.

And then a visit to a doctor changes everything. Thank God for physicians like Dr. Christina Mayville, a neurologist in Macon, Georgia. She speaks gently with Regina, asking her questions about how things are going. She does a brief test. Then, she talks about the results of my beloved's MRI.

"Our brains," she explains, "will naturally shrink as we age. That's normal, but what we expect is that the whole brain will lose volume proportionally." She hesitates, glances at me, then focuses on Regina. "Your results show that your parietal lobe has shrunk more than the rest of your brain."

Then she says what no one wants to hear. "The main disease associated with this kind of shrinkage is Alzheimer's."

She doesn't have to say any more. Regina's daddy died in January of 2023 after a long battle with that nasty stuff. We've seen it in church members and neighbors. We know that if the other tests Dr. Mayville performs confirm the diagnosis, then we're headed into the misty fog.

Dr. Mayville calls me with those results. Alzheimer's. It's why Regina struggles to get her words out these days. It's why she mispronounces things. It's why she says "uhm" so much. It's why she asks me several times, "Now, tomorrow's Saturday, right? And do we have anything special planned?" It's why she struggles to follow stories people are telling, and it's why she asks me about things on TV. It's why she starts telling something and it just drifts away and ends. It's why she no longer sends notes and cards to people. It's why she asked me to help her cook the other day.

Alzheimer's.

But she's still the same Sweet Regina - her daddy's pet name for her - that she's always been. Same smile. Same green eyes that light up when I walk in the door. Same woman who starts her day with her Bible and devotion book.

I marvel when I see her moving about the Fort Valley sanctuary before Sunday Worship. She sits in a different place each week, not because she's the preacher's wife, but because she simply loves getting to know more people. She's often in Youth Sunday School, and there's not an activity at our church that she doesn't want to be a part of. She adores our grandchildren and she counts down the hours until we get to see them. Once there, she'll read books for ours if they'll sit still and, if they're ready to get up and do something else, she's right behind them.

All of that she has been, and is, and somehow or another, forever will be for me. But . . .

We know, barring a medical breakthrough or a Red Sea miracle straight from God, what we're headed for - the misty fog, as I call it, and then the parting. That's the single hardest sentence I've ever written. Bar none.

She'd want me to say this, not to sound brave or spiritually arrogant, but because she's always lived by it and I'm convinced she will continue to do so. God is good, He loves us, and, though we struggle to make sense of it all, He's right here in the middle of this. Even now, she starts her prayers with, "Dear God, thank you for this day."

So, no matter how thick the misty fog gets, I'm going to try my best to hang onto that anchor. And even when I'm losing my grip, He's still holding onto me and to my green-eyed beauty from Warner Robins.

No matter what. No matter where.

Even into the misty fog.