by Jean:
My husband Ed had been in the hospital for two weeks with a total hip replacement and
was scheduled to come home that morning. As I stood there in the dark, the doctor’s voice came over the phone
with words that my mind could not comprehend. He began by telling me that he had been sitting there for an hour, trying
to think how to tell me that my husband had died at 3:00 AM that morning from an apparent blood clot to the heart.
Unexpected, unanticipated news of that magnitude is so unreal that it puts your entire
system into lock-down. I have no remembrance of my words to the doctor in response to that news. When I hung up the
phone, I do remember praying, “Lord, just don’t let me cry now”. I know there would be so many decisions
that would have to be made immediately, and if I broke down now I would never be capable of any kind of communication at the
hospital. From the moment of that phone call through the memorial service later, life was just a blur. I have little
recollection of all the people and events that took place during that time.
In the following weeks and months, I felt as though I were living inside a bubble.
Everything that was going on around me was like a dream. It had no meaning to me. Everyone else goes back to their
normal life and your heart is crying out:” How can the world just go on like nothing had happened?” In your mind,
you know that is an unrealistic feeling, and you try not to ever verbalize those emotions. But the heart is not controlled
by reality.
To Ed, life was music. He loved God, and he loved to sing. Our home was filled with
the sounds of music always. Upon his death, the sudden silence was overwhelming. In his book entitled, “A grief
Observed:, C.S. Lewis wrote:“No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation
is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.”
In a strange way, even though it brings on new tears, reading someone else’s descriptions
of the same sensations, the same raw pain of grief, is somehow comforting. To know that someone else has walked this
path and has recorded the very emotions you feel and find very difficult to express, is a solace.
During those times you are so grateful for the support of family and friends, especially
your church family; every expression of their love and care is invaluable. But one of the lessons learned out of this
experience is that ultimately, only the “God of all comfort” is able to really bring comfort to your heart and
mind. I felt such a drawing to his word, a great hunger to just bring this pain and loneliness before him, and seek his words
of comfort and help. It became a place of refuge, and I began to record some of the scriptures each day that spoke to
my need. I spent weeks in the Psalms, and eventually these studies became my own personal journey through the grief
process. In addition, I began a notebook where I recorded excerpts from some of the books which I came across and found to
be very helpful. A small booklet, entitled “GRIEF” by Haddon W. Robinson, was a great encouragement to me. I read and reread it many times. It was brief, yet covered so many areas which
were so helpful. Other books which played a part in my healing process were: When Your Rope Breaks by Stephen Brown and No Pat Answers by Eugenia Price.
Throughout it all, you are aware that even though you do not understand the “whys”
of your loss, you are also aware that the one who gave his life for you cares for you, knows your heartache, and sees every
tear. He had promised, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.
Sharon Morris writes in her book Grief and How to Live with It: “Finally, a remarkable thing begins to happen. You notice that for short periods the hurt is not so great.
This is the beginning of your healing.” And healing will come.
© 2009 by Shelley Myrick - All rights reserved
“Death is not extinguishing the light for the Christian; it is putting
out the lamp because the dawn has come.”
-Anonymous-
