Forging A New Normal – A Man’s Journey Through Grief, continued, #30
In another three weeks, it will have been one year since God called Mary Helen home. How can it be that long? I’m sure I shouldn’t be counting the days and weeks, and yet the date is indelibly seared into my brain. In some ways, I seem to have made so little progress. But I have made some; I know I have.
No longer does my week feel like I’m about to tumble off edge of a precipice. Most of my weeks follow a pattern. Sunday, I look forward to gathering with the Lord’s people and possibly popping in to see family. I might even splurge at a favourite restaurant or take someone out to dinner.
Monday and Tuesday I look forward to working on writing projects. I might ask someone to go out for coffee. One of my granddaughters and her dad in Atlanta, have even given me a Monday challenge through Storyworth to write a short segment of memoir.
Early Wednesday I meet with two guys for an early coffee and discussion of a Psalm. After months of Covid-19 lockdown, it is wonderful to gather on Wednesday evening for a real prayer meeting. Thursday morning is a stimulating discussion of Mark’s Gospel with some more guys. On Friday I get back to my writing and blog posts. One Saturday a month I join the Northumberland writers’ group. Another Saturday I have a group zoom with former Pakistan missionaries and their kids. Once a month I have a book club. When the weather gets better, I’ll plan some road trips.
As a writer, I have a personality that used to be able to handle long periods alone. Quietness and solitude were my most creative times. Of course, I always had Mary Helen nearby. We might not talk much during the day, but we were there for each other. Her absence shattered life as I knew it. Half of my life just disappeared…and my heart with it. Suddenly I was adrift on life’s ocean in an aging, leaky boat without a paddle or compass.
Now I need connection with people more than before. In stores, I even try to go through lines with real cashiers not some beeping machine. It’s strange, my enjoyment of solitude battles with my need for human contact. I haven’t worked out the balance yet.
What I am missing most is Mary Helen’s companionship. Someone to talk to. To share my life with. What I am writing down now I would have discussed with her. She would have looked at my schedule and said that my life was too busy. But honey, I’d say, it’s the way I’ve been able to deal with the emptiness left by your home-going. Am I using the present tense here…or the past?
That brings up a question from a discussion with another who lost a spouse. Do I talk to Mary Helen as if she is here? In a real sense she is here. She is in my heart. I see her everywhere. Her touch is in every room, in the placement of every knickknack, the throw I use to ward off the chill when I sit to read a book, the pots and pans, even the frig magnets. I often turn to my favourite picture of her on the wall and smile or tell her that I’ll see her later. Is this weird and mystical? I don’t know. But I do know that one can’t just wield some psychological eraser to create a new life without one’s loved one.
Mention of talking brings up another change I see in my habits. I go around the condo from one task to another—talking to myself—out loud! Is there a name for this condition? Or is it that I still find the silence so unnatural. Or is it aging? Music often provides a welcome background; classical tapes or CD’s of some of the great hymns of the faith. And yet, even with the music I keep giving myself instructions—out loud. “OK, Eric, time to check the dryer.” “Did I turn off the tap?” “I should tidy up the counter.” My vocal self-talk makes no sense. Of course, who ever said that grief makes sense.
I do find myself also talking to the Lord as I walk around. I seem to be thanking him more often for the things I see around me. The common grace gifts he has given. Water in the tap. Food in the frig. A phone call from a family member. The way he helped us find this condo. The new car I lease. The friends in Bible study. The amazing fact that I am redeemed and have been kept by his grace. I wonder if I used to take a lot of this for granted.
It has become more natural to talk over my concerns with my heavenly Father. The grandkids. The neighbours. I even ask him about the simplest things. “Help me find my phone.” “Lord, what was the name of that guy I met the other day?” “Please help me to be careful as I drive…and would you have your angels watch over me?” Paul’s exhortation to “pray without ceasing” seems more possible.
If Mary Helen’s homegoing leads me to draw closer to God, which it has, that is very good. I am finding myself focusing more on my life in Christ. He is often leading me to praise him for the cross he bore that I might be forgiven, regenerated, justified, adopted and sanctified. I am seeing more clearly the hope we have in him now and forever. Sometimes I realize that my grasp of these glorious truths is more intellectual than heart-felt. But any thought of Mary Helen’s present joy in the presence of Christ does lead me to ponder the wonders to be discovered in heaven—and then the new heaven and the new earth. What a future we have in Christ!
I admit that without warning I still break out in tears. I can be doing something and a memory of her there with me suddenly surfaces. I might be driving and wish she was beside me. I might be choosing a shirt to wear and I can hear her say, “No, not that one.” The other day I had to deal with correcting my marital status with a Canadian government department and all the grief came back with a vengeance.
As I look back, I can see that much of what I have written in these posts has been sad and negative. I’ve tried to be honest about my struggles. But I ought to be more often celebrating the gift God gave us over the last six decades. What a wonderful life! What an adventure! How privileged to have served God in various capacities.
In the books I’ve read, the TV programs I’ve watched, and even in many of the people I meet there are so few happy endings. Divorce seems almost inevitable. Unhappy separations abound. Everywhere we find kids growing up in broken homes. Single mothers struggle to provide for their kids. One of those scenarios would have been ours but for the overwhelming mercy and grace of God. Looking back over our lives together, I ought to be jumping up and down in celebration. God blessed us more than we could ask or think! Isn’t God’s love and care amazing?
I’m a slow learner, but God is helping me to forge a new path.
[Let me remind anyone reading this that no situation is beyond God’s redeeming power. See 1 Peter 5:7] (Let me know your thoughts on this subject. If you appreciate this blog, please pass it on. Further articles, books, and stories at: Facebook: Eric E Wright Twitter: @EricEWright1 LinkedIn: Eric Wright ; Eric’s books are available at: https://www.amazon.com/Eric-E.-Wright/e/B00355HPKK%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share)
