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 27 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, Ft. Worth, Austin, Temple &
Tyler. An Associate of APC, he is also adjunct professor
for Pepperdine University in Malibu and Abilene Christian
University in Texas.
