Aug 02, 2020

Birth, Death, Joy, Grief (23)

“Never be afraid to trust an unknown future

To a known God”

·      Corrie ten Bloom

My wife of 59 years (June 10, 2020) and best friend Eileen had been diagnosed with terminal cancer of the esophagus, in February 2019. Eileen died on February 22, 2020, the day following the birth of our latest granddaughter, Maria, the funeral was March 4, 2020, and the burial was July 3, 2020. This blog gives my thoughts, fears, prayers, and hopes during this challenging and difficult time looking at the space in my life.

08/02/2020          I am in Ohio, with my brother who is recovering from two months in a rehab from a fall on April 1, and difficult cataract surgery on July 20. I have been here since July 18, and will be going home next Wednesday, where I will spend two weeks in self-quarantine hiding from the virus, which is fairly active where I am in Ohio. I have had little outside contact except from Tom’s son and daughter, who are careful where they go and always wear a mask when out.

I am very pleased with the recovery of my brother, who is able to pretty much fend for himself at this point. He uses a cane much of the time, but not always. He is now wearing a fall and call button, so when alone that will call for help if he falls again, and he can summon help if required. He is able to make all of his meals, as long as someone shops for him. He is able to negotiate the four steps between the living portion of the house and his new bedroom and half-bath, but cannot mount the stairs to the second floor without considerable help.

He is also able to use his new iPad fairly well, and since there is only one app on it, iBreviary, he can say his prayers. He is getting more comfortable each day, and I am sure he will be able to use it daily after I leave.

We have discussed that this may be the last time we see one another. Time has a way of moving on, and Tom is 91 and I am 86. Hopefully I will be able to come here next summer some time, but that is an unknown. The discussions of life and the conditions of the world have been stimulating for both of us, and I worry that that may stop once I leave. Only when his pastor and friend come over will he have a chance to talk. I plan on calling fairly often, and that will help both of us.

One of my high school friends will stop by for a short visit before I leave. His wife, who was also a high school classmate and a delightful person (they started going together in high school), died in May, so we three widowers will talk of life and death. The gift of life is always followed by the gift of death, and that is true of all things. Even our sun has a limited life, as do all created things, before becoming truly dead and lifeless.

I find myself fighting depression often. As I may have mentioned I have low-level clinical depressive, and I have had bouts of depression most of my life, even though it was many years before I knew what it was. I was given the formula for fighting this form of depression (immerse yourself in things that bring you joy), and it has worked throughout the years, but now with the loss of Eileen I find myself buried in dark thoughts and pain way too often, and it is difficult to find things of joy at this moment. I often struggle to dig out of these thoughts, and return to something I can call normal. All my studies of grief say that this debilitating darkness is common in normal deep losses, so I am not sure if the level I am experiencing is normal or compounded by depression. Often it appears to be normal response to the type of loss I have experienced, according to all I have read.

I have found that looking at images of Eileen helps, and I have put together an album of images of Eileen on my iPad that has seemed to help. These images range from her baby years, teenage, wedding pictures, and a few images throughout our 59 years together, mostly within the past few years. I found a short poem by St. John Chrysostom that speaks of this pain:

She whom we love

And lose

Is no longer

Where she was before.

She is now

Wherever we are.

                                    St. John Chrysostom

When I remember these words and look at the pictures of Eileen, I feel her presence and warmth deeply, and it helps relieve the darkness. God has given me the challenge to grow a lot more. I realize that I had used the calming presence of Eileen to help me when I felt depressed, and now that is gone. So now I have to lean more on the grace of God, surrender in a deeper fashion, and learn to flow within the Love of God at all times. I am physically alone, but as the poem suggests, I am never alone. Yes, I know that God is always present, but now Eileen is too; and her calming presence is available to me if I reach for it, let my heart be quiet (sad, but quiet) and relax into her arms.

My imagination is very strong, and I still feel that she is just around the corner, and I will see her smiling face once more. I had not realized the depth of loss this includes; yes, I have heard others talk like this, but until I have experienced it myself, it is only words.

Meditation

Oh Gentle One, You weep with me as I cry out in my loneliness for my beloved. The pain can seem overwhelming, but Your breath fills my being when I allow myself to surrender to You, and some relief occurs, at least for the moment. I understand this is a part of life, and that pain and sorrow, joy and happiness, are all entwined together in the journey of life. Life continues, always the cycle of the physical, birth-life-death, for all created objects. Jesus wept for the loss of a friend, and laughed with the joys of friendship. I ask to have the scales of darkness removed from my being, but in all circumstances teach me let my life flow into You for comfort.