From One Grieving Person to Another
Part 1: A Reluctant Griever
By Chaplain Virgil Fry
January 2008
I write these words from the raw side of fresh grief. Less than two months ago Caryl, my beloved wife of 33 years, died.* A tenacious, vibrant, faithful woman, she finally succumbed to death after two hard years of declining health, and fifty years of being a Type 1 diabetic. The battle for her has ended.
But for me, the battle is not over – it’s only beginning. Many a kindhearted person has tried to console me with the reality that she’s now better off, her suffering has ended, and she’s in a much better place.
The other side of that coin that isn’t acknowledged is this: I’m still here. My heart is broken. The security of a long and stable marriage is shattered. I’m busy trying to get through the fog of grief while finishing up legal papers and insurance forms. I feel like I’m slogging through molasses. My life is forever altered, and I miss her. No amount of joy over Caryl’s betterment removes that cold reality.
Someone I know objects when others refer to the death of her husband as a “loss,” as in “you’ve lost your husband.” She likes to say that he isn’t lost, but found by God.
But the truth is, it’s not his loss: it’s hers. And that kind of deeply significant relationship loss is excruciatingly painful.
Grieving is a process, an energy-draining task. Those of us in the faith community should particularly know this, for our God is often presented as sorrowful, upset, dismayed, grieving. So let us allow grievers to grieve, rather than trying to hurry them through their unfolding journey of sorrow. Call out the name of the one who died. Tell of special remembrances, of what you miss about that person. Or just allow the griever to tell, and often retell, stories that bring smiles and tears. A simple “I’m with you in prayer and spirit” is infinitely more refreshing to a lonely griever than, “Aren’t you glad she’s in a better place?”
For now, I grieve. In my head I know that such intense grief indicates how blessed I was to have had such a loving life partner. In time, with God’s promised faithful presence, I will rejoice in Caryl’s “graduation to heaven.”
But for now, I grieve.
Part 2: Difficult Questions for the Second Year of Grief
By Chaplain Virgil Fry
March 2009
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.
Chaplain Virgil Fry has served 23 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 and Dallas. An Associate of APC, he is also adjunct professor for Pepperdine University in Malibu and Abilene Christian University in Texas.
Originally published in PlainViews® – HealthCare Chaplaincy’s forum for professional chaplain
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