5 min read

5. Understanding Grief

Written Wednesday, August 28, 2019 / Day 16 / Late Evening

What I have come to understand about grief is that there is no understanding it.

Sure there are those in the scholarly realm who have their stages, and phases and layers of grief which they will eagerly share with you. The only trouble is that actually experiencing grief in no way resembles what the pundits proclaim.

Experiencing grief is as unique as each person's individual situation. Certainly there are shared aspects - the loss, guilt, loneliness to name a few. But our grief is unique and related to our specific loss and our circumstances.

I went home the first night to stay - several people mentioned to me that it was a bad idea - but I went anyway.

What I found was a breathtaking anxiety and overwhelming feeling of loss. We had left unexpectedly on a Thursday evening when it became clear I was no longer able to handle the situation and the medical world had not really discerned that I was in such a place and had not offered any real help.

We had left. That was the last time my wife was to see our home. When I returned and felt her presence in everything it was just too much. For some reason I did not flee - but I should have. Instead I tried to sleep - with the bathroom light on - very uncomfortably until the morning when I called my son to tell him I would have to stay with him for a while until I could handle it.

The overpowering feeling of loss - emptiness and despair was just more than I could handle.

When you are with people you seem to be able to maintain a bit of composure even if you are having an extreme emotional moment. But at home - with no one else there - the despair and hurt is just too much.

It wasn't a pretty sight. Thankfully no one could see it.

I cried out for her - I cried out to God to help me.

Staying away for a week was helpful.

But on my return home - even for a short stop to pick up clothes or forgotten toiletries, the emptiness and loss was just too much.

Sobbing. Crying. Wailing really - the hurt was reaching out to be released. And there was a lot to release, so much without an end...only pausing when there could physically be no more tears.

You ask yourself questions that you already know the answer: "Why did God take you?", "How could you be gone?", "How can I live without you!".

You actually are shouting the questions to the empty room.

She's gone and that's just all there is to it. But that is not all there is to it - she is gone...and I need her back!

Her faith - our faith is strong. We know there is a God and for 19 year we studied the bible without any denomination or church culture to tell us what we believe. We actually studied together and searched the scriptures and found God there. An ever present comfort to us.

We learned biblical teachings that are sure and learned about God's plan for the world and how this broken world would see a new era when Jesus returns as he said in Acts 1:11.

My wife had that assurance that as Jesus told those around him when there was someone who died that "they are asleep..." that she would also sleep.

We know that we would sleep until that glorious day when He would return and we would be resurrected (Colossians 3:3-4) to serve with Him in His Kingdom (Revelation 5:10).

She had that and took it with her as her condition worsened - took it to the doctors and to the staff that cared for her.

She was good with that - I was also good with that. But there was only one problem.

I was still here.

And the love story I shared with her for 47 years was over. Ended. Finished.

But I was still here.

I still love her with my whole heart. I took care of her like no one else could. I set my life aside for her. And now she was gone. I was left to have a life without her. The only problem was that I did not want a life without her - thank you. I wanted a life with her.

Yet that was not to be. So the anguish would begin again. The absolute reality of the situation fighting the tremendous love I have for her - continually collided. Continually clashed. Because there was no resolution to the situation.

She was gone. I was here without her.

And so the grief would continue.

I did not blame God - because she was okay with whatever the outcome was.

We had an absolute miracle 4 years previously.

Stage 4 breast cancer - metastasized to the bone - painful, debilitatingly overwhelming cancer. The CT scan black - unnatural metabolic activity throughout her body.

Four months of oral treatment with a new type of drug - as well as 90 mg of morphine a day to knock the pain down to a tolerable but never really gone level.

And then the miracle. As the morphine dosage was systematically reduced we feared the return of pain. It never returned. And the next CT scan - showed no abnormal metabolic activity. Evidence that cancer had been there but was not actually there. Bone restored. It was truly a miracle.

We knew it was possible - just would it be possible - again?

The answer this time was no. She was good with that. Facing the situation that I only experienced from the outside - gave her a perspective I could never appreciate not being the patient.

Her belief made her ready to accept God's decision. I thought I did as well. Her suffering gratefully ended. She is asleep awaiting the call.

I on the other hand am still here. Wreckage on the ground unable to function without the other part of me that made me function.

The loss is excruciating. Relentless.

It comes in waves...you can cope for a while then there's a point where it all breaks down.

I'm praying all the time - and I know others are as well. I know that it helps because there is a peace I realize is holding me. It stays a while.

Then it leaves for a while.

And I miss her all the more.

We will continue this for the foreseeable future I'm sure - who knows how long.

Perhaps there is a maturity with grief - if I experience it I'll let you know. But it's a painful trip. A trip of heartache.

Grief is like that - and we have to accept it as the way to get to whatever is next.

Whatever that will be.

5. Understanding Grief

Written Wednesday, August 28, 2019 / Day 16 / Late Evening

What I have come to understand about grief is that there is no understanding it.

Sure there are those in the scholarly realm who have their stages, and phases and layers of grief which they will eagerly share with you. The only trouble is that actually experiencing grief in no way resembles what the pundits proclaim.

Experiencing grief is as unique as each person's individual situation. Certainly there are shared aspects - the loss, guilt, loneliness to name a few. But our grief is unique and related to our specific loss and our circumstances.

I went home the first night to stay - several people mentioned to me that it was a bad idea - but I went anyway.

What I found was a breathtaking anxiety and overwhelming feeling of loss. We had left unexpectedly on a Thursday evening when it became clear I was no longer able to handle the situation and the medical world had not really discerned that I was in such a place and had not offered any real help.

The overpowering feeling of loss - emptiness and despair was just more than I could handle.

When you are with people you seem to be able to maintain a bit of composure even if you are having an extreme emotional moment. But at home - with no one else there - the despair and hurt is just too much.

It wasn't a pretty sight. Thankfully no one could see it.

I cried out for her - I cried out to God to help me.

Staying away for a week was helpful.

But on my return home - even for a short stop to pick up clothes or forgotten toiletries, the emptiness and loss was just too much.

Sobbing. Crying. Wailing really - the hurt was reaching out to be released. And there was a lot to release, so much without an end...only pausing when there could physically be no more tears.

You ask yourself questions that you already know the answer: "Why did God take you?", "How could you be gone?", "How can I live without you!".

You actually are shouting the questions to the empty room.

She's gone and that's just all there is to it. But that is not all there is to it - she is gone...and I need her back!

Her faith - our faith is strong. We know there is a God and for 19 year we studied the bible without any denomination or church culture to tell us what we believe. We actually studied together and searched the scriptures and found God there. An ever present comfort to us.

We learned biblical teachings that are sure and learned about God's plan for the world and how this broken world would see a new era when Jesus returns as he said in Acts 1:11.

My wife had that assurance that as Jesus told those around him when there was someone who died that "they are asleep..." that she would also sleep.

We know that we would sleep until that glorious day when He would return and we would be resurrected (Colossians 3:3-4) to serve with Him in His Kingdom (Revelation 5:10).

She had that and took it with her as her condition worsened - took it to the doctors and to the staff that cared for her.

She was good with that - I was also good with that. But there was only one problem.

I was still here.

And the love story I shared with her for 47 years was over. Ended. Finished.

But I was still here.

I still love her with my whole heart. I took care of her like no one else could. I set my life aside for her. And now she was gone. I was left to have a life without her. The only problem was that I did not want a life without her - thank you. I wanted a life with her.

Yet that was not to be. So the anguish would begin again. The absolute reality of the situation fighting the tremendous love I have for her - continually collided. Continually clashed. Because there was no resolution to the situation.

She was gone. I was here without her.

And so the grief would continue.

I did not blame God - because she was okay with whatever the outcome was.

We had an absolute miracle 4 years previously.

Stage 4 breast cancer - metastasized to the bone - painful, debilitatingly overwhelming cancer. The CT scan black - unnatural metabolic activity throughout her body.

Four months of oral treatment with a new type of drug - as well as 90 mg of morphine a day to knock the pain down to a tolerable but never really gone level.

And then the miracle. As the morphine dosage was systematically reduced we feared the return of pain. It never returned. And the next CT scan - showed no abnormal metabolic activity. Evidence that cancer had been there but was not actually there. Bone restored. It was truly a miracle.

We knew it was possible - just would it be possible - again?

The answer this time was no. She was good with that. Facing the situation that I only experienced from the outside - gave her a perspective I could never appreciate not being the patient.

Her belief made her ready to accept God's decision. I thought I did as well. Her suffering gratefully ended. She is asleep awaiting the call.

I on the other hand am still here. Wreckage on the ground unable to function without the other part of me that made me function.

The loss is excruciating. Relentless.

It comes in waves...you can cope for a while then there's a point where it all breaks down.

I'm praying all the time - and I know others are as well. I know that it helps because there is a peace I realize is holding me. It stays a while.

Then it leaves for a while.

And I miss her all the more.

We will continue this for the foreseeable future I'm sure - who knows how long.

Perhaps there is a maturity with grief - if I experience it I'll let you know. But it's a painful trip. A trip of heartache.

Grief is like that - and we have to accept it as the way to get to whatever is next.

Whatever that will be.

Recent Posts

Comments