Difficult
Questions for the Second Year of Grief
Give
sorrow words: the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids
it speak.
Shakespeare
Almost one-and-a-half years ago, Caryl, my wife
of 34 years, passed from this life. My task since
then has been to slowly learn how to re-enter
life, to re-identify myself. What once was us
is now me, though her spirit permeates everything
I do and see. Multitudes of caring companions
support me, journey with me, encourage me, and
allow my emotions to be given words. I offer reflections
on three penetrating questions that frequently
come to me in conversation.
Question:
Does it get any easier?
Answer:
No, “it” doesn’t get easier. “It”
sometimes moves to the back burner of my mind,
but my loss is ever before me. I still experience
shock wave reminders of her death…I still
call her name…I still weep in the silent
times and in worship services. Easier—no.
Even so, I am not without hope. Dealing with an
empty house full of her precious handiworks, praying
for wisdom in making big decisions without her
input, having no “cuddle partner” after
so many years, enduring holidays and birthdays
and anniversaries without her—these are the
markers of a grieving spouse. For me, time alone
has not made the process easier. Supportive people
have. But the word easy never describes my grief.
Question:
How was your holiday?
Answer:
Holidays emphasize joyful group gatherings. Decorations
and food are intended to encourage warm conversations
and joyful reunions. And I do enjoy those gatherings.
But then there’s always the family photo
shoot, and I stand spouseless. There’s the
empty chair at the table, and some of her favorite
foods being served, and my heart’s ears strain
to hear her gratefully compliment the meal or
join in the friendly banter. For me, the second
round of holidays is more painful, for the brutal
reality of the permanence of this death-induced
separation is unavoidable. I mistakenly assumed
the first holiday season is the worst. Not so.
Question:
Are you moving on?
Answer:
In spite of the somber tone of the preceding paragraphs,
the answer is yes. But it’s an arduously
slow process, with lots of forward and backwards
movement. Breakthrough flashes of future thinking
and planning are followed by backward glances
that yearn for the companionship now gone. My
faith in a loving, caring God is sorely tested,
then affirmed in unexpected tangible ways. In
my darkest despair, God occasionally flashes streaking
rays of light through the clouds, assuring my
broken spirit of this: “There is light behind
the dark clouds. That light will never be taken
from you, even if you cannot always see it.”
So,
with faith in God’s promised presence, my
journey towards wholeness continues.
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Chaplain Virgil Fry has served 24 years as a denominational
chaplain representing Churches of Christ for U.T.
M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. He is
Executive Director for Lifeline Chaplaincy, a
non-profit organization providing pastoral and
benevolent support for patients in Houston, Dallas
& Austin. An Associate of APC, he is also
adjunct professor for Pepperdine University in
Malibu and Abilene Christian University in Texas.
