It’s been nearly 6 weeks since Bev passed, and Krissy, John, Kathy and I have struggled with her leaving this earthly world.  There’s no way around it, it simply hurts every day, but our hope is that each day gets a little better.  We’ve been slowly working thru the things that need to be done, and I wanted to relay some information to you.

We’ve decided to hold a “Celebration of Life” service for Bev, and are planning it to be as positive and uplifting as possible.  It will be held at our church on Saturday afternoon March 24th starting at 1:30 pm in the Sanctuary.  We will continue remembering her in the Gathering Hall over desserts, coffee and tea.  Canyon Creek Presbyterian Church is located at 9015 South Gale Ridge Road, San Ramon, CA 94582.

Bev certainly didn’t want a morbid affair, so leave your black clothes and stuffy suits in the closet at home.  Casual attire is in order, even sun dresses, Hawaiian shirts, shorts and flip-flops will be just fine, weather permitting.  Please bring your remembrances and funny stories about Bev to the celebration to share.  Please RSVP to me at ADKD@chevron.com so that we can ensure there are plenty of desserts!

Bev’s desire was to be cremated and her ashes spread in all the places she visited and had fun, as well as any place we visit in the future that she would have liked.  We had a small private cremation service on Saturday January 13th that was unexpectedly comforting for us.  I brought her back home the following Thursday which felt good; it was as if I were drawing the circle closed and got a tiny bit of closure.  Krissy, John and I started spreading Bev’s ashes the weekend of January 19th in three of her favorite places in Eugene Oregon ….. Go Ducks!!

Bev’s Obituary ran in the East Bay Times newspaper this past Sunday, 2/11, and will run again on Sunday 2/25 and Sunday 3/18.  You can see the obit on line at Lasting Memories:

http://www.lastingmemories.com/memorial/beverly-chattin-adkins?about

Bev really wasn’t a flower person, so instead we’re requesting donations specifically go towards lung cancer research.   One of the few lung cancer non-profits is the Lung Cancer Research Foundation (www.lungcancerresearchfoundation.org/) so if you feel like donating do so in honor of Beverly C. Adkins. 

Bev was also very involved with Krissy from an entrepreneurial perspective, and helped her become a Mixed Bag Design rep while at the University of Oregon.  Another way to support lung cancer research is to purchase from Mixed Bag Designs - Krissy set up a fundraiser in Bev’s honor and 40% of the sales will be donated to the Lung Cancer Research Foundation.  Just be sure to use fundraiser ID 183622 during checkout, or start from this link: www.mixedbagdesigns.com?fundraiserid=183622  The fundraiser runs thru July 1st.

We’ve found solace in many friends, places, songs and stories, often quite by surprise.  During her cancer fight Bev connected with one song in particular, “Mountain at My Gates” by Foals, and one line “I'll drive my car without the brakes”.  That’s how she wanted to, and did live the remainder of her life.  A friend of John’s (who lost his Mom last year) sent him a great read “Shipwrecks and Scars” which  attached below.

Thanks for all the concern, support and prayers from so many of you …..we all feel it and it’s greatly appreciated!

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From GSnow on Reddit.com:

Shipwrecks and Scars

Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.