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I am not sure which trusted sage came up
with the idiom,
“Time flies when you’re having fun.” For truth be told, time seemingly
flies
regardless. Indeed, how could it be already that May 19, 2010 marked the
one-year passing of my beloved husband? It had
been a challenging year on several fronts for my family and me. Outwardly, all seemed well enough — normal, even — as we went through the mundane motions of daily life. But, privately, we were fully aware that each of
us had
retreated to our respective caves to reconcile the torrent
of
emotions that engulfed us once the reality of our circumstances set in. And as the anniversary date loomed with dreaded certainty, I felt myself swirling deeper and deeper into
the
vortex of a more serious funk, ostensibly unable to halt the downward
spiral. To
be sure, my immediate household had already faithfully, lovingly, endured the
brunt
of my testiness over many months. They were witness to the days when I simply recoiled
and
pulled the covers back over my head once my eyes opened to the reality
of
another day without my Earle. My sleep pattern had changed. Nights had become a menacing challenge. Nightmarish dreams persisted, like the one in which I became aware that my husband had not really died but was living another life in New York City. My subconscious working through the denial phase of loss? Perhaps. But suffice it to say that I soon deemed sleep a luxury and began working myself to complete exhaustion. Surely, the dishes didn't need to be put away at 3:00 AM nor my stove cleaned. But I was near comatose once my head hit the pillow at
dawn. I had survived another night of hell. However, for the first time in her life, my fifteen
year-old daughter had to rely on the dependability of a private bus to
get her
to school. As I reflect now on my first year as a "widow," I can only hope my family has forgiven my many
trespasses and that they realized the true cause of my seeming schizophrenia at
times. I
ached for my husband. Passionately. Life wasn't fair, and I wanted him back...whole! If the two of us, indeed, had become "one" then something on a sheer visceral level was struggling to return to singleness.
Even after a year, there's still so much "background noise"— so much
fallout as you try to right yourself, reconnect with your center, and
recover
on several levels from such a loss. What’s more, the blithe platitudes
offered
up by well intentioned but, dare I say, clueless, well-wishers leave you painfully
aware
that, largely, you’re on your own in this regard. Moreover, your new status typically makes them uncomfortable. Outwardly, you appear functionally in sync, but they're never really sure if that's the reason you're not jumping through familiar hoops. You learn quickly that
you
have to grieve in your own way and at your own pace. You find yourself
rethinking your life — and your future — through the lens of your new reality. You reassess how you previously defined success... and failure. Even now, I would be a liar to say
that I had
my new life and my new future all mapped out, or any real zeal yet with
which
to execute.
In any event, a few months ago I had a real epiphany, which
reminded me
yet again that, even in the midst of active discouragement, as with life
in
general, we are better served when we stand ready to serve others.
Indeed,
the resounding awareness dawned on me that, perhaps, life simply calls upon
us to
endure tragedies and hardships and to persevere through to
reconciliation - and, yes, restoration -
because it trusts us to reach out to others with the kind of invaluable
insight
and wisdom necessary to comfort them when similar storms of life blow
their
way. Indeed, just days after the 1-year anniversary of my husband's passing, I received word from a friend that his
beloved wife
also lost her battle with cancer after a year-and-a-half struggle.
“This
is the first full
day after my wife's passing," he wrote to me. "I know you understand. Please pray for me;
my
heart is broken. I have many thoughts and apprehensions. I choose by
faith to
trust the Lord. I need His touch, comfort and guidance. I feel so sad
and
broken and alone.”
How ironic was it that he would be reaching out to me for comfort? Surely, I was woefully inadequate.
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To
say that I was deeply touched and saddened by the passing of his beloved
Adrianne would be an understatement. Yet, as I conveyed the news to my
immediate
family, I felt catapulted, almost, from my state of deep melancholy into
comforter mode. Adrianne had passed,
according to
our shared Christian faith, from this life to life with our Lord and I
felt a sudden urgency to reassure my friend that he had nobly fulfilled
all that had been required of him, had done all that could feasibly have
been done to prove his abiding love and commitment to his wife, but
that God had now intervened and ruled on the matter. I wanted him to
know that, as a family, we were already lifting him and his
family
in prayer, asking for God's inordinate strength and His supernatural
peace to
be upon them as they walked through the trauma of the next few weeks,
and especially at the memorial celebration of Adrianne's life... and into the
new "normal" they will have to carve out for themselves.
No doubt my friend was still in shock when he wrote to me, which is something
difficult, perhaps, for others to even understand because, to them, it
seems
that, in the protracted battle with cancer over many months - even years, as was the case with my husband
-
surely, you must have been preparing yourself for that moment. But, straight up, nothing prepares
you for that ultimate moment when hope is gone and you are left
with
nothing but the shell of the one you have loved so intimately - for 45
years, as was the case with my friend! And
undoubtedly, as I did within the first few hours, days, weeks even,
after
my husband passed, I realized he would likely catch himself thinking, "I
really
have to hurry because Adrianne is waiting for me at the hospital" Or,
he would be asking himself, "How could Adrianne be gone when everything
else
- the evidence of the life we shared together - is still very much in
place at
home?" Moreover, "Where was GOD when all we really needed was a mere
touch from His healing Hand? In fact, where is He now?" None of these
questions are out of bounds, I have come to realize, and we, who are
left behind, have to give ourselves permission to ask them without
recrimination! |
The Bible tells us that the "rain" falls upon the
just and the unjust. But this overwhelming experience my friend and I
and
countless others have been through - that of caring for, and ultimately
losing,
a beloved spouse to a terminal illness - is surely one of the great
tests we
can face, especially as Christians. In the midst of our "downpour,"
we are called, it seems, to be God's testament and light, and to
exemplify our
faith about one of the most profound aspects of life - death. Indeed, we
are
called to demonstrate that we grieve “not as the world grieves, without
hope”... and that alone can be, well, burdensome! After all, who can
really
understand God's ways and thoughts, which He has told us are higher than
ours, or
why he allows suffering? Over the past few years, especially as I walked
with
my husband through his valley, I came to the unmistakable conclusion
that we
were being called to demonstrate what and who we really believed in by
HOW we
walked our appointed walk that challenged us to the core. And I am beginning to have a real heart understanding that it is only
through honesty and truthfulness that others
will see that, while we are not immune to the real and intense emotions
associated with grieving, ultimately God gives us the grace to work through our pain and press
on to
fulfill life’s call because we have an undeniable hope that we will see
our
loved ones again in a place of eternal joy with our Lord.
A few days ago, while listening again to radio evangelist, James MacDonald,
deliver a sermon, entitled “When Life is Hard: God’s Purpose in Your
Pain,” I
seemed to receive confirmation, yet again, of this certainty.
“The Christian life is about displaying
the
superiority of the life lived in God,” MacDonald proclaimed. “That’s why Christians get cancer. That’s why Christian
businessmen and women have bankruptcies. The sons of the kingdom handle
things
differently than the sons of this world. Go to talk to a doctor and ask
him
about the difference between a heartbroken parent in the hospital
without
Christ and a heartbroken parent in the hospital with Christ. And right
there—in
that moment—that’s your chance to shine the light of the Gospel and to
display
the superiority of the life lived in God.”
That is powerful truth. Therefore, over the next few months, I will continue to assure my friend that he is NEVER alone. I will
encourage
him to reach inwardly now for God's comforting arms around his soul and
to
accept His outward embrace through the arms of loving family and
friends, as I
have received. God’s promise is real: He will never leave us or forsake
us.
And, as time distances us from the trauma, I am certain that my friend
and I
will look back and see more clearly our circumstances and God’s faithful
and
loving hands upon us, even in His divine providence to get through this
difficult time. Indeed, I am reminded now of that famous "Footprints"
poem: It is in times like these, when you think yours are the only set
of
footprints in the "sand" of your life... that it is then that it is
HE who carries YOU.
RELATED REFERENCE: When Life is
Hard: God's purpose in your pain, Walk in the Word, By James MacDonald
RELATED ARTICLE: "In sickness and in health..." It's for more than just the flu The Real Proposal magazine, By Donna Kassin, Originally Published June 24, 2009
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