In Memory Of A Smile

The Story Of Barbara LaTondresse

After a long struggle with Parkinson’s, a good friend, who I shared much with, died. I was asked to speak at the memorial service. What I shared:              

                                       28 January 2023

Once upon a time, on a campus, not so far away, lived an architect student with a rather impressive French name – Andre LaTondresse.  He was involved with an organization called The Navigators.  One day he invited me to study the Bible with him.  Thus began God’s intertwining of our lives for 50 years  …and counting.

Meanwhile, in Iowa, God was working in the life of an English language arts educator with an equally impressive name - Barbara Muehlethaler.  She was also involved with The Navigators and when asked to move to Minneapolis, said yes.  It was then that Andre and Barb met, fell in love, got engaged on a freeway exit ramp, married, and had two impressive children - Chris and Claire.

 Andre’s and my giftings in architecture and design complimented each other.  After graduating we soon found ourselves collaborating on a wide range of design projects from homes to restaurants to churches, etc.   Andre eventually learned to read my writing.  With plans spread out across their dining table, Barb often found herself looking for other places to drink her coffee.

Barb and I shared what friends called “a gift for writing”.  We wrote of life, the paths we took  …and didn’t, the humorous, the not so, and of a God who is there.  We said to each other, “You should write a book.”  Barb did.

We shared a love for beauty.  Their home reflected it.  Their yard and gardens abounded in it.  Their lives personified it.  

We were sent to Siberia.  They moved there for 4 years.  I traveled back and forth for eight, sleeping on their sofa when I came through their town – a town with a name straight out of a Dr Suess book – Akademgorodok.

Together we experienced the warmth of the Russian people, the richness of their culture, the beauty of their country.   We gained many friends – not just here, but into eternity. 

Then there’s that which Barb called the elephant in the room – Parkinson’s.  This elephant walked into our lives in different ways at different times.  Barb’s elephant was faster than mine  …but that didn’t make it fast.  It is said Parkinson’s is the slow death.  It was  …and is.

In the end, Barb could no longer walk.  She could no longer speak.  The last time I visited her, she could barely move.  As I sat down beside her, she was only able to raise her head enough to see it was me.  When she did, the most improbable, most beautiful, smile ever to be seen was had.  It was all she could say or do.  It was all she needed to.  I will treasure it forever.

When Andre asked if I’d be willing to share something at today’s service, I said I’d be honored to.  But what?  There’s so much…   

Andre replied, “Just read the letter you wrote Barb following that visit.”

Barb, 

Thank you.

I started to write this as a personal message.  It still is that, but it is also more.

It was good to see you this morning.  It was also hard.  I was a bit taken aback by how much you have “progressed” in your Parkinson’s.

As I left, I asked myself, “How can this be good?”

This evening, as I worked on a design project, all I could see was your smile. It shines through the Parkinson’s.  You do not need to smile.  No one would blame you if you chose not to.  But you do.

It is a smile I have seen many times.  It is a smile I saw in Siberia both when things were going well and when things were not.

It is the smile of one who has a hope.  And peace.  And something bigger than Parkinson’s.

A smile - such a simple thing.  But so revealing.  And uplifting.  This morning that smile was all this and more.

It was good.

Thank you.

Weeks later…  I would have loved to have been there to see her smile the moment she walked free of Parkinson’s and into the presence of The One who sits on the throne in all the glory that is His. 

Someday...