They say that “Time heals all wounds.” That may be true. But, it doesn’t remove the scars or perhaps the sensitivity to the impact of the wounds. It’s late evening November 4th, 2019 as I write this and I’ve had a sensitivity reminding me recently of an old wound. It’s not crippling me today as it once had. I’m doing well in fact. But, I tend to analyze things or events in my life; thinking about their significance in how they’ve informed my life and may inform future decisions I will make. The twentieth anniversary of a deep wound is tomorrow and this occasion is cause for more reflection.
As I get older (I’ll soon be 56), I’m less of a believer in coincidence. There is no question that I believe there is purpose and value in life. The events, good or bad from our perception concurrent with the events, can be used to test us and form us to make decisions that will impact others as well as ourselves. The question is, “Will we use them to make a positive impact on others?”
Twenty years ago early tomorrow morning the phone rang and I knew what it was about before my wife picked up the handset. My brother was calling to inform us that my dad had finally succumbed to cancer. It wasn’t a shock. There was no immediate breakdown of grief. I’d been grieving about this day for a long time already. We’d nearly lost him earlier in the year and when I took my wife and young son to visit shortly after he’d left the hospital that summer, he was emaciated and the reality of this wicked disease and its imminent toll was unmistakable. The day we arrived remains one of the worst days of my life. On the morning he died, we needed to pack up and leave Texas for Illinois and the funeral. A week later I would be back in class at seminary trying to finish the work for the semester. We joined my mom in Arizona that winter at my sister’s home for Christmas as a change of scenery and it helped us through that first Christmas without dad. I thought I was doing pretty well. But, we returned to Texas with a few weeks remaining before the beginning of the Spring semester and without warning, depression set in. I didn’t even recognize it at first. I would just wake up from a night’s sleep and not want to do anything. I didn’t want to go to work, read, listen to music, watch television, talk, . . . nothing. I just wanted to “turn off the noise.”
Knowing that my dad’s cancer was incurable, grieving began long before he died. There were so many realizations that hit me prior to his death. For instance, the farm that had been in my dad’s family since the 1850s would need to be sold. None of us could reasonably keep and maintain the farm. I would not be able to take my sons to play in the woods or creek where I played as a boy. We would not be able to pass this heritage down to our future generations as it had been. But, why this now; after the fact that he had died? I can’t be certain. I think part of it was just how much I was loved by my parents and loved them. Now, there was a sense of feeling cheated that my children were not going to get to know their grandpa. Perhaps some of it came as a result of the other events that had been happening in my life and it was all reaching a tipping point.
Two weeks prior to my dad’s death I sat in the parking lot of a church having just attended the funeral of the young wife of a friend/fellow seminarian of mine. He and I met our first day of class and hit it off quickly. His wife was expecting their first child the following January. At the expected time she delivered a healthy baby boy. But, a short time after his birth, she was diagnosed with an acute form of Leukemia. She went through all the radical procedures such as bone marrow transplant and such. But, it came back. As she digressed, I did one of those “deals with God” kind of prayers. As a Christian, I earnestly prayed that God would heal my dad and my friend’s wife. But, I’d reached a point where I even prayed that God could take my dad if He spared my friend’s wife. My dad had lived a full life for 66 years and raised his kids. But, that little boy needed his mommy. So, I was not happy with God on that day I sat there in my car in the parking lot, unable to drive because I was sobbing uncontrollably.
Over time and as the new semester began, the responsibilities of life required my attention and effectively helped distract me from the grief. The thing is that grief doesn’t have a “shelf life.” It’s not something that one can get over in a few weeks or months. When you are through a hard time, it can come back to haunt at unexpected times and unpredictable intensity or longevity. I’ve lost a number of loved ones in my life including my mom eleven years later also to cancer. I’ve discovered that the way one experiences grief can vary upon so many factors in one’s life.
So, where am I going with this? It’s not to bum you out or to seek sympathy for myself. Hopefully, this might be a source of encouragement to someone out there. Perhaps these painful wounds of which I’m reminded can be used to help someone else going through a dark time in their life. How so?
One of the opportunities that came into my life five years ago was the invitation to pastor a church at a retirement center. It never really crossed my mind to look into doing that. But, it seemed like a natural fit right from the beginning. I knew going into it what it meant. It meant more dying, death, funerals, and grieving the loss of friends. But, I’d been there before and had time to process this experience in a different kind of way.
I hadn’t been there very long when a man stepped into our third service on a given Sunday in the “skilled nursing” section of the home. He asked my wife if I might have time to come and talk with him after the service and that his mother was dying of cancer. He’d never lost anyone so close. My wife mentioned that I’d lost both my parents to cancer. It was amazing how this reality in my own life experience seemed to minister to his needs, fears, and grief at the time. It wasn’t something I did or some training that served this man’s needs, but simply feeling that there was someone to talk to that had been where he was about to go. These painful experiences of my own became something positive for someone I’d never met before. All I needed to do was to be available, listen and show compassion. This was not something that could be gained by sitting in a seminary class. It’s only gained from life experience.
As we are going into the holiday season, many people are reminded of the wounds of losing a loved one. This will be the first Thanksgiving or Christmas without a loved one or knowing that perhaps it may be the last one you will spend with a loved one. The tears will come. Let them come. But, I would encourage you to not let the grief bury you for too long. Acknowledge it and accept it for what it is. Don’t isolate yourself. Talk with people you trust will listen. Regarding my comment about a purpose and value to life, in my Christian faith, there is a passage from the Bible that says, “We know that all things work together for good to those that love the Lord and are called according to his purpose.” (Rom 8:28) Notice that it does NOT say that all things are good; only that all things work together for good. This supposes that there is One who has a good purpose for us and that even the wounds in our lives can serve a greater good. That’s a significant encouragement to me. Perhaps it will be for some of you.
