Janna's View

Sunday, September 20, 2026

15 Years

REVEREND ROBERT EDWARD SHELTON

January 18, 1959

(born at 1:01 a.m.)

- September 20, 2011

(passed away at 4:13 a.m.)

Saturday, September 19, 2026

September 19, 2011

15 Years Ago

Rob died early on September 20, 2011

but the 19^th was the day we were watching him die.

September 19, 2011 was the worst day of my life.

September 19, 2026 was a good day.

Anna, Luke, Lauren, and I went out to eat.

(Wish the out of state children could have been here, too)!

In Rob’s memory, we went to a steakhouse

because steak was Rob’s favorite food.

We also ran a few errands and did some shoe shopping.

It was a good day together.

Living in the present.

Enjoying each other’s presence.

But even though today was a good day,

it didn’t keep the memories at bay.

The clock always,

at each tick of the minute hand,

reminds me

of where we were and what we were doing

on that day of agony.

It truly was the worse day I have ever lived.

But it was also a day when I knew God

in a way I had never known Him before.

His strength, mercy, and grace sustained me.

And I felt His presence in a way I had never felt before.

It was palpaple.

For that, I am so thankful.

I’ve written about it many times before

so I will do what I did yesterday and repost

what I’ve written before for those who may be new to our story.

This post was written in 2020

but it’s still just as true today as it was then.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Saturday, September 19, 2020

I am so thankful for the
strength, mercy, and grace
I was afforded as Rob was dying
(and after and since).

What you may not know is that
I am also thankful
for the agony I was gifted
between when
we found him unconscious
and when he died.

Now, that’s an interesting statement.

But it’s a true one for me.

We found Rob unconscious.
He never regained consciousness.
But, after being put on a ventilator,
he lived for 23 ½ hours more
before his heart stopped
after all of his organs
very efficiently and systematically
shut down.

23 ½ hours.

We were gifted time.

Precious time.

Full of wondering.

Full of questioning.

Full of agony.

Even to this very day 9 years later,
September 19, 2011
was the worst day
I’ve ever walked
through in my lifetime.

I was watching my husband die.
I was watching our children watch their daddy die.

Pure agony.

How can I be thankful for that?

Because it was also full of love.
Love for Rob.
Love for each other.
Love from others for us all.

Because the alternative could have been that Rob died suddenly
and we didn’t get a chance to hold his warm hand
just one more time.

Because the alternative could have been that
I, as Rob’s wife,
didn’t get a chance to tell him
all the things a wife says to
a husband as he’s dying.

Because the alternative could have been that there wasn’t time
for all of our children to get there to kiss their daddy goodbye.

Because the alternative could have been that
all of our family and friends
and church members and clergy colleagues
who could make it to his ICU bedside
would not have had the opportunity.

Because the alternative could have been that
Rob died during a global pandemic
and he would have died without his family by his side
telling him how much we all loved him
all while we were being allowed to
touch him.

There is so much value
and sacredness
in touch.

A simple touch.

It’s that connection that so many are missing during
this global pandemic our world is suffering through right now.

Even through the agony of September 19, 2011,
we were not denied touch.

I wanted more.
We wanted more.

I wanted him to wake up.
We all wanted him to wake up.

All of us were begging him to.

We wanted him to open his eyes.

We all wanted to hear his voice again.

We all just wanted him back.

I remember gently pulling his eyelids back
so that I could see those beautiful eyes of his.

But they were vacant.

I quickly let go because peering into those vacant eyes.
was more painful than not seeing them at all.

So we all definitely wanted more.
But I’m so thankful for what we got.

That time we were allowed,
as hard as it was to walk through then,
and as hard as it is to remember now,
is what,
at least for me,
has allowed me to move forward.

As I’ve said in a previous blog post about this day,
remembering that day and the processes that had to happen
have reassured me that we all did everything we could do
to help Rob live and very simply,
it was his time to die.
His race was finished.

I believe God’s providence was in place
for me in the hours of Rob’s dying,
even through the agony.

One example is that, just the week before,
I took my dad to a doctor’s appointment.
While we were waiting in the waiting room,
I picked up a magazine
and happened to read an article about the dying process.
It likened the dying process to the birth process.
I still remember the comparisons of how the struggle
of labor and delivery that, step by step, leads to the birthing of new life
is like the process of organs shutting down that, step by step, leads to
the dying being ushered out of this life.

I thought of this article many times on September 19, 2011.
It had detailed the stages of dying.

Even in the moments when my heart had hope that Rob might recover
(and there were only a few of those moments),
my mind was recalling that article
and how what I was seeing happening in real time with my Rob
was exactly what I had read the week before.

Having that article in my mind
was what started leading me to acceptance of what,
against all of my hopes and wishes,
was actually happening.
That article helped me to start accepting
that Rob’s life on Earth was finished.
That, for him, death was merciful.
It was time for him to be free from all issues
And time for him to be with our Lord.

Being with our Lord after death is what he believed.
It is what I believe.

To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.

That’s the hope that I had throughout that horrible day of agony.

That, even though I was losing my Rob
and my children were losing their daddy,
I had faith that Rob,
as soon as his last breath was breathed,
would be present with Jesus.

The first time I ever saw my Rob,
he was singing in his church’s praise band.
After the opening songs,
Rob was to portray Judas in the church’s
portrayal of “The Last Supper.”
Rob was already dressed as Judas
so he was in a robe and he was barefoot.
He was playing his guitar
and jumping up and down
praising Jesus.

At first sight, I obviously knew how handsome he was
and I was instantly attracted to him.
But what attracted me more than his looks
was the joy exuding from him as
he praised and worshipped our Lord.

During that September 19^th day of agony
and right after Rob died early on the 20th
(and many, many times since),
I kept thinking of that moment.

I can only imagine the joy Rob felt
when he met Jesus
and was in His presence.

That thought kept me grounded
and it enabled me to be present for our children
on the worst day of our lives.

That thought about my Rob
still keeps me grounded.

I have faith that he is with God.

I have faith that I will see him again.

Last night,
as I was going to sleep,
our children were in the living room.
The sounds of their laughter
wafted into my bedroom
and I, once again,
gave thanks
for the parts of my life that
I was given through my Rob.

Through Rob, God blessed me with
many wonderful times and memories
of loving and being loved.
Through Rob, God blessed me with
our four children who are my treasures.
Through Rob, God blessed me with
many ministry years
that have reached from our past
into my present through
the relationships that have been continued.

Every day, as I move forward in my life,
I remain grateful for all that I have been given.

Every day, as I look to the future,
I remain grateful for my past.

Even the agony.

For it gave us time.

Every

single

one
of those last

hours,
minutes,
and seconds
spent with Rob
was worth every bit of the agony.

Friday, September 18, 2026

September 18, 2011

Our last day together while Rob was conscious.

I haven't posted this in a while.

It was written in 2012.

One year after the day itself.

Today, it has been 15 years since that day.

Sometimes, it seems like

so long ago.

Sometimes, it seems like

yesterday.

I had decided to just let the day pass like I have the last few years.

But while talking with one of our children this evening,

I decided to post it again.

I realized that our 4 children are all different

and at different stages in life.

For some (and for me),

it's like we collectively hold our breath

as we wait for these days to pass.

Some of them text me and each other about it.

Some of them talk about it.

One of them planned special songs for the choir he leads

to sing in memory of his dad.

But then there are times we just need to exhale

and breathe through it

because we

just need to remember.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

September 18, 2011

Sunday, September 18, 2011

The last day we spent with Rob while he was conscious

It is 9 a.m. as I start to type this. Last year at 9 a.m., we were all getting dressed to leave for Rob to preach Homecoming at the church where his dream of becoming a minister came true. While he was a student at Duke Divinity School, he was also the pastor of 2 churches. He was so happy to be appointed to Franklinville and Rehobeth. I will never forget the day he got the phone call. One of those sweet memories that only he and I shared.

I, of course, took pictures last September 18th. If I had known that only 16 hours after the pictures were recorded on film (or memory card) that Rob would be unconscious, there would have been SO many more photos.

But we did not know...

Someone offered to take a family photo but Rob was so busy talking with everyone that he never did make his way back to the altar and I gave up getting one and just took pictures of the kids. If I had known it would be my last chance for a family photo, I would have made sure to get one.

But we did not know...

The man (who was a middle school/ high schooler when we lived there) who kept the nursery on many Sundays. Anna adored Craig.

More photos of the kids during the meal but none of Rob. He was off talking.

Rob and I both always loved this old part of the church.

This is the choir room where Rob, Anna, and I spent many choir practices.

This is Rob's view from the pulpit.

We wanted a photo of Rob in the pulpit. We were going to compare them with the ones we took years ago when he first stood there. He had me take so many way back then - at Franklinville's pulpit and at Rehobeth's pulpit. He was thrilled to be standing in the position he had wanted for so long - at a pulpit.

I, of course, never minded taking photos of my handsome husband. If I had known these photos would be the last photos I would take of my husband while he was breathing on his own, I would have taken more.

But I did not know...

We then went outside to the river that runs behind the church. We loved walking at that river. We had picnics there when we lived there. I did not get one single picture of my Rob there that day. The preacher had walked down there with us and I didn't want to interrupt their conversation.