Reflections of a Grieving Spouse

In July 2009 Norm Wright's book "Reflections of a Grieving Spouse" will be released. This book includes Norm's personal journal entries that he wrote after his wife Joyce died in September 2007. The following excerpts are from this book.

What You Remember

Is recalling how a love one died necessary? Is it normal? The answer to both questions is yes. Repetitious reviewing helps you fully realize that your needs, hopes, expectations and dreams of continuing to be with this person are not going to be fulfilled. You simply can't be with your spouse the way you used to be. Each time you review the death and surrounding events, your understanding of this will increase and perhaps more meaning will be added. You may tend to resist reflection since the memories bring pain, but each time you remember you'll discover you have more control.

My Journal Reflections

Her pain was the greatest. Many have been so supportive and comforting before Joyce's death. The expressions of concern over what I was going through as a husband were many, but my attention was captured by what Joyce was experiencing.

She was the one with a stage-four brain tumor eating away at her brain.

She was the one who carried the burden for years of where this would end.

She was the one who searched for the elusive words to express her thoughts and feelings.

She was the one who thought she was saying something clearly but in reality she wasn't.

She was the one whose memory became distant and selective.

She was the one who lay in her bed with eyes closed, eyes open and staring, or with tears forming at the edges of her eyes.

This is the person of faith and courage for whom it was the most difficult.

My Journal Reflections

Not Afraid. Joyce was a woman of courage. She faced death and said, "I am not afraid." When confronted by the words, "If you have the surgery to remove this tumor, it will return again and sooner," she thought about it and asked, "If I decide not to go ahead with the surgery how long do I have?" She was told, "It could be two weeks or two months. But this is a decision you need to make for you, Joyce, not for anyone else. What do you want to do and what is best for you?" Although the surgery was scheduled, she thought and prayed about it. As was usual for her, she kept considering the needs of others. What would I want? What would our daughter, Sheryl, want?

Sheryl and I told her not to make her decision based on what we wanted, but on what she felt was best. As difficult as it was, we released her to a decision made between her and the Lord. And two days before her scheduled operation, and with a clear mind and speech, she said no to surgery and yes to heaven. The next night the pain increased, and the tumor began to bleed. Joyce went into a coma for ten days. And then death came.

Death took her from this life...but it launched her into eternal life with her Lord and Savior. Jesus.

Death took her from us - but not forever.

Death left a hole in our lives, but it made God's presence and comfort more real.

Death changed our lives. But out of the chaos I've developed a deeper faith and stronger hope for the future.

Your Reflections

1. What are your memories of the last day with your loved one?

2. Which memories do you want to remember? Which ones would you prefer to forget?

EMPTY

Empty. There is an empty place in your life - a vacuum that nothing seems to fill. Unfortunately, it's necessary to become accustomed to the absence of someone who was a very important part of your life. In addition to experiencing the pain of the loss of your spouse, you have to adjust to the void left by your partner. The feeling of emptiness you experience will be directly related to how significant your spouse was in your life. Your task now is to figure out how to function without him or her. That's easier said than done.

My Journal Reflections

Something missing. I felt different yesterday. It was difficult to put my finger on how I felt. There were enough projects and decisions to keep me busy. But I felt as though 90 percent of me was here and the rest was absent.

Many of the losses I feel are invisible. They have no form of substance or color, but they are real nevertheless. The feeling of "without" is like an amputation, except I can't point to what has been removed. I can't wrap my hands or heart around it.

In the afternoon I came inside the house, and it felt like there was a void. Something that should have been there, that rightfully belonged there, wasn't. Something was missing. Joyce was missing. Suddenly I missed Joyce with an intensity I'd never experienced before. And like lava surging to teh surface of a mountainour volcano, sobs and tears erupted and wouldn't stop. They were so intense that for the first time my dog, Shadow, came from the other room to see what was wrong. Nothing new had happened. I was just different now, and he was bothered. But hugging and holding him calmed the both of us. His quiet and loving presence was soothing. The exhaustion that comes after such an upheaval helped me sleep that night.

In losing your loved one, you've suffered a great loss. Eventually you have to learn to move on without that special relationship. Living is about coping and growing. You turn over in bed to put your arm around your spouse, and the reality hits again that he or she is no longer part of your life.

You have to adjust to function without the interaction and validation you were accustomed to receiving from him or her. The lack of your loved one's presence in your life means many things. Your needs, hopes, dreams, expectations, feelings and thoughts are forced to change. Slowly over time, the reality of separation sinks in, and you realize. "For now, I exist without my partner. I'm living without my mate." You live "without." I'm still feeling the discomfort of this condition.

Your Reflections

1. Describe what you miss the most at this time.

2. What's the most difficult step in moving on in your life?

Surprises from God

Sometimes God surprises us in the midst of our strugles. He did for me.

My Journal Reflection

I heard Joyce sing again. I was standing in the kitchen talking to Gary on the phone. We were asking one another how our Christmas went, in spite of both of us being without our wives for the first time. We shared what we did as well as the strangeness of being without the one we loved most. Gary talked about going to the places where he and Carrie used to go and mentioned he wished he could call her and have just one more conversation with her. He wanted to hear her voice one more time, just as I wanted to hear Joyce's voice again. I said, "That's why I put on videos of her - to hear and see her - but it's not the same." We both agreed it's not going to happen here, but it will happen in the future in heaven.

We talked more and he asked what time of the day was the worst for me. It made me stop and think. There is no pattern. There is no predictability. It varies, with some days more intense than others, but sometimes it is up to me, depending on where I allow my mind to go. If I envision Joyce during the last days as she was dying, the waves of grief begin to roll. It will probably take sometime before the images of her living override those of death.

Why do we dream what we dream? I'm not sure. But that same night I dreamed Joyce and I were in a large room. A woman was at a piano singing, not to the sound of the piano but to another accompaniment such as a CD. The woman stopped. Joyce began to sing in her soft, beautiful voice...just as I used to hear her sing around the house. I was hearing Joyce sing again! It was so different than other dreams because it was so vivid, so real. I realize now this dream was a gift. I woke up with silent sobs. I wanted to return to the dream, but I couldn't. I wish I could have taped my dream to retain what I'd experienced. Where so many of my dreams fade away within minutes, this one stayed with visual and auditory clarity long enough for me to write and capture it as best I could. I can still see and hear the experience. It is wonderful.

Joyce continues to sing in my mind and my memories. But she's also singing somewhere else continually as she voices praises to our King in glory. Hallelujah.

Your Reflections

1. What I miss the most...

2. What I would like to experience again is...

3. The dreams I've had of my spouse are...

4. The dreams I would like to have are...

I Believe

You feel like Humpty Dumpty. You've fallen off the wall and you know all the king's horses and all the king's men are never going to be able to put you together again. Joyce Landorf, "Mourning Song"

In the weeks and months following the death of someone we love, we often feel like Humpty Dumpty. That's the only way to describe it. We feel broken. We hurt so much that our pain seems tangible. We move cautiously and uncertainly because our nerve endings are all on alert, sensitive to the slightest stimulus. We breathe shallowly, afraid to take a deep breath for fear our lungs will press too harshly on our aching hearts. There are times when the atmosphere around us is charged with our anguish and dread. We long for the days when life was simpler and sweeter.

There is a great difference between our King and Humpty Dumpty's! Our King can put Humpty Dumpty back together again. In fact, our King sent his Son, Jesus, to be broken for us so that he could put us back together better than we were before. This doesn't mean our pain isn't real. It is very real, just as Christ's pain was real when he wept for Lazarus and hung on the ccross. What it does mean is that we can have hope in the midst of our pain. We can turn to our loving heavenly Father, knowing he will see us through this pain and knowing that Christ understands because he has felt pain himself.

We have an Advocate and a Helper who will assist us - if we ask - as we grapple with the reality of death, as we struggle to find acceptance - even joy - in the face of our very personal suffering. If we are faithful to the task at hand, if we determine to walk through this storm, continually calling upon our Father Advocate Helper, we will arrive at the other side with a renewed understanding of our lives -and of life in general. We will learn to live more joyously because we have faced death.

For today, face with courage and determination the daunting task of examining the broken pieces of your life. Give full attention to the pieces of your sorrow, your anger, your fear, your disillusionment, your faltering faith. Do this because your job in this rebuilding process is to hand each piece to your heavenly Father as he asks for them. Then watch in awe as he puts them back together again in a new and better pattern of living!

My Journal Reflections

Roses. I stopped to buy roses at Von's, as I often did. Joyce loved a mixed-color bouquet - pastels, variegated blossoms, rich red or white roses. As I stood looking at the flowers, I could feel the waves of emotion beginning. As I walked up to the multitude of bunched flowers, they seemed to rise and ambush my emotions. The sorrow, which is in a floating state inside me, rushed to the surface. This was so much harder than I thought. I wanted a bouquet to take home as I always did, but I also planned to take one for Joyce's grave. I vacillated between control and falling apart. When I reached the checkstand the woman commented on their beauty and freshness and all was okay until she asked, "Are these for your wife?" I fought to keep myself together while wondering what to do or say to her so she wouldn't feel bad about asking.

I said, "One bouquet is for home and the other is for her gravesite. It's been three weeks." Her response was very gracious. As I left I could feel my reserve crumbling. I kept the flowers in front of my face and walked quickly through the store. By the time I was in the parking lot, silent sobs came. I was hoping I wouldn't run into anyone I knew. I felt overwhelmed and sobbed driving home. My mind and professional training as a counselor told me how normal this was, but the ache of loss was so much. Will it be like this each time, I wondered. Or is it because I was facing a longtime routine without Joyce? It's the "without" that is the hardest.

In times of loss and sorrow, we, as people of faith, have to "believe against the grain." In our weakness God reveals his strength, and with him we can do more than we thought possible. Faith means clinging to God in spite of our circumstances. It means "I believe!" and they affirm their creed daily. In essence they say:

I believe God's promises are true.

I believe heaven is real.

I believe God will see me through.

I beileve nothing can separate me from God's love.

I believe God has work for me to do.

"Believing against the grain" means having a survivalist attitude. Not only can we survive, but out of this pain and suffering we can create something good. We need to cry out, "God, help me believe!"