keys

One upon a time, a long long time ago, I used to feel like an adult. Why? You might ask – because I had keys.   Keys to my apartment, keys to my car – keys made me feel like an adult – why? I don’t know, it just seemed like something adults had – and needed.

Ever since then I have always had keys – even keys to my workplace – keys to the lock box at the bank, keys to the cable that kept my bike secure – keys. I now have keys to the church where I serve – and 2 sets of keys to bikes in the garage… one is mine – and one is his. Keys. There are keys somewhere for the bike rack and locking cable, but I don’t know where they are – he hid them somewhere.

I had the key to Glenn’s heart – and he mine.

And yet there are times when I freak out because I may not have the right one – like today- I took his car in for service – and got a loaner that I wasn’t expecting. So how do I get into the garage without keys? Especially the digital kind.  Fortunately I had keys – all of them.

But I don’t feel like an adult – even with all of my keys.

Nope – not even close.

I walked to the end of the driveway to put trash in the can – for pick up tomorrow – and I look at this house that is now all mine – and I think…  this house belongs to an adult – how can I be an adult all by myself? Isn’t this a two-person kinda thing?

It’s tax time and so I have financial decisions to make – not my strong suite – this is what adults do…caretaking of the property and house – it’s what adults do… self care – it’s what adults do – staying in touch with family – it’s what adults do.  Take a risk – take a trip – it’s what adults do – but I don’t have the keys - or do I?

At my almost advance age – I should, ( there go the ‘shoulds’) I ‘should’ feel like a grownup – but I don’t.  I feel like that nerdy kid down the street that is out of touch with whatever the ‘norm’ is. I feel like I live in another universe – not the adult one that my age would suggest – but something foreign.

I can’t be the first to feel this way -  I’m not the first to have a husband/partner died unexpectedly… not the last either.

But no one talks about these things – and why not? Why is this so hard? Are others  not feeling like adults, but for maybe a myriad of other reasons?

Aren’t we ‘supposed to’ be more adult like as we grow older, wiser, compassionate, merciful, tolerant, wiser? Not just to others, but to ourselves as well? Isn’t wise synonymous with adult? Maye not.

Adulting -  I’m not sure I can do this - but then I don’t have much choice do I?

Do others have the keys that I don’t?  Keys – like those plastic jingly things that babies chew on?

Keys -  those magical mysterious things that unlock adulthood? Where are mine? And do I even want them?

Sunday Resurrection..

It’s been one of those days. The pastors’ message at worship this morning – resurrection is now - Jesus said so – and I believe -  most of the time.

But it brought tears to my eyes – a solid lump where my heart should be………..

So … I stuffed my feelings - made pleasantries with the people – and came home.

And then there was Hunter.

“Hey Human …”
“yes, Hunter?”
“I know it is supposed to be warm today……”
“how do you know that?”
“it doesn’t matter…I just know … its’ what I do…”
“ok – so?”
“well, it seems to me that a walk in the park is a really good idea… it’s been quite awhile, you know…….”
“… well, as usual, you are right…….., so – “ok,  let’s get it together and we’ll go.”

And so after many minutes – gathering together is like corralling cats, we are ready…. Water and bowl, leash, poop bags, sheet to protect the new car seats,  AND a bag of treats to make sure Hunter stays in the back – and not in my lap.

And so we are off.  And of course once we get there Hunter is all over the place – peeing on every tree and rock – zig zaging here and there  - but that’s ok – it’s his sabbath too.

And so – we walk – and eventually then it’s time to go……….

But I’m not ready to go home – too much time indoors already – and really nothing to keep me there……and so I gas up and we head off south and west – where ever the car goes is where we go. Hunter and me.

And so we, I, drive. And he is really being good this time – but of course food helps……..
“Hunter, stay back…”
“ of course I will – with  treats to reward me….”
“ok….here.”

And as I drive, I notice signs of spring……  resurrection, right?

Children riding their bikes, people walking dogs, someone is raking leaves, an eagle gliding on the currents above me, a wet field full of seagulls? Or terns? Certainly sea birds…what are they doing here? Ducks and geese floating aimlessly on the river, and of course – surprise – the pelicans gathered together in what might be mating dances? Maybe. Fields turning green, and a hint of purple where trees are starting to bud out. Convertibles on the road, and motorcycles too.  Sunshine, of course, a lot of it, and I can take off my jacket, and open the window it’s that warm.

You can see this in your minds’ eye - I’m sure - but I can’t help thinking.  This is what WE used to do - a rambling drive on a sunny Sunday traversing the Great River Road in Illinois – going nowhere in particular… and somehow I find myself on a stretch of road I’ve not traveled before - we’ve not been here before - a new experience….

Hunter is quiet – he doesn’t know the difference… but I do. And it is rather unnerving. A new experience indeed. But in retrospect, it felt right.

I’ve been thinking a lot these days about what I should do – how to live this life that is now mime alone…my brain is like a spider web full of tempting delicacies…but either I’m not hungry enough … or I’m afraid that it won’t taste good. But fear/ anxiety sets in…. and I’m not even sure what that’s about. Except that I do. Almost 40 years of being melded with another human being… and now not. Relearning how to live takes time.   F*ck this is hard.

“ But I’m ready for adventure……….” Says Hunter

“well, that’s great Dude, where do you want to go?”

“anywhere, as long as I’m with you……………” ( cue in the smiley face with hearts!)

“Hunter, what a good boy…you are so smart.”

March 15 - The Ides of March

My horoscope today said, in part, ‘…Live your life your way.”  But what if you don’t know what that means?

I don’t know yet what my way is… I’m not Frank Sinatra… and yet I think about this often. But the Holy Spirit, she is silent – or maybe I’m not listening – but I think the former.

free web image

What is ‘my way’ after 38 years of ‘our way’?  This weekend was supposed to be away – a weekend visiting family I haven’t seen and don’t know very well.  And it got cancelled for the 3rd time -  and I wonder about that – but so now what do I do?

 I don’t have to work this weekend – that’s taken care of –so  how do I fill my time with something that is meaningful? And not just busy work? …………….. How do I switch gears and ‘life life my way?’            I. Don’t. Have. A.‘Way’.

I’m still trying to figure that out.

I made a list of things I could do – I looked at the map – maybe I should go somewhere anyway – Hunter has a reservation with Aunt Sandy – but of any of the places within a weekend circumference  I’ve already been to - we’ve already been there. I’m not sure I want to refry the omelet…….I’m not sure I have the emotional stamina to do it anyway.

It’s been 9 months and 3 days. A lifetime and yet a nanosecond. Not so many tears anymore, but a heavy heart, unspeakable sadness, the elephant on my chest still makes it hard to breathe at times.

And  people ask me – ‘so how are you?’  and I’m not sure if they are being polite or really want to know – and so I am polite, ‘I’m fine, doin’ ok…’ even if I am not. Emotional vomit in public is generally not ok.      It’s ok with Hunter cuz he’s not tellin’………

And then there is this – I found a list Glenn had made of the places we would travel to from 2017 til 2023!!………is that what will be my way? Making these trips for him? Taking his ashes with me to the waterways of the world?  He would like that, I’m sure – and I would too, but I’m not sure I can.  But then I’m not sure I can’t, either.

Maybe I must – no matter what.  I certainly wouldn’t be the first.

Several years ago, on our French canal excursion, we met Father George. A Baptist minister from England on this cruise by himself.  He and his late wife had wanted to do this together but didn’t get the chance.  And so he was doing this trip in her memory – by himself - at 80 something.   I can only imagine what must have been going through his mind those 7 days as he wondered canal towns by himself.  I didn’t think of it then as I had no reference. But now I do.  And I’m sorry I wasn’t more aware of what he was going through.   Because now that’s me.

So – Father George – I’m sorry I wasn’t more compassionate…………..I’m a day late and a dollar short – and I’m sorry.  My heart aches for you.

And for me.

267

It’s another one of those days.  Dinner is over and done with and the leftovers put away -  coffee is set up for tomorrow - dishes washed. I turned off  NPR – couldn’t stand any more ‘news’… and so I have Glenn’s Pandora Jazz on the Ipad. It’s one of the few things that he did that I have left.  I’m in the sunroom – working on my needlepoint – and my mind wonders…

And I think about the photo on my dresser – Glenn’s last school picture – I know because his glass case is in his pocket -  he hated to wear them -  never got used to the idea that he needed them - and didn’t wear them for the official school picture.  I see this picture every morning and every night - and all the times in between -  and I always think – this can’t be – it still doesn’t seem possible that he is gone…and I ask him why? But of course there is no answer… at least not one that satisfies me.

I’m not out of touch with reality - I know he’s gone - but it still doesn’t seem real.

I realized awhile ago that I do have a life – not one I’d recommend – or wanted – but a life nonetheless… and it is ok.  Not great – but ok. I have my work – and some volunteer work – and, of course, Hunter Dude. Who, I know, would like more of my attention and walks and play ball and catch and…. Well, you know.

It’s one of those days where I look around me and wonder – where did it all go wrong…. But of course there is no answer for that.  It’s not so much wrong as life rearing it’s ugly head as it often does. 

God never promised me a rose garden………… but it sure would have been nice.  I do like roses.

……………There are a couple of old trees  - evergreens of some sort - cedars I think  -  in the backyard  - their trunks hollowed out from age.  Their gnarly limbs reaching up to the sky - as if to touch something unseen…but at ground level I can see thru them.  Their branches reach up -  skyward - heavenward maybe - both of them. Joyful maybe? Is there joy in being a gnarly old tree?  Or gnarly old human?

And I wonder when they will fall….maybe not in my life time – but maybe tomorrow.. .?

And that’s how I feel sometimes – hollowed out –gnarly -  ready to fall – but no idea when – or if ever…maybe  I’m stronger than I give myself credit for – I’ve made it this far, anyway. But to what end? And why?

Glenn wanted to have them cut down before the disaster of falling onto the house or into the street -  but the tree guy said no - they are not ready. Their roots are firm and secure -  they will be here long after we are gone -  Really?  Maybe.

But we all fall at some point or another……….and no one can predict…

Well, maybe God knows – but God isn’t sayin’………….

It’s been 267 days as of today – in 6 more days 9 months……………… Has it gotten easier? Yes and no……….

 The still of the night – the quiet of the early morning - one pillow on a double bed -the warmth of Hunter snuggled somewhere on the bed or against me. And I wonder – what would we be doing now.  Packing for a trip?  Talking about our respective work? Planning a day trip? Making a real breakfast?  Or going out for one? Tickets to a play? Or just a day at home – hangin’ out together.  All of the above at one time or another……….. but not now – and not. ever. again.

And then the tears. A gift, I’ve been told. When you cry unbidden it is a gift tears.  The Holy Spirit knows when that acknowledgement of emotion is necessary – and maybe it is so.  It is not always a gift I want to open – but I have no choice -  She comes without warning  -  that Wild Goose of a Holy Spirit -  honking Her way through my life without regard  for what I think I want……………..but maybe knowing what I need.

Tears …..

Silence.......

I watched the ambulance pull away about 3:00 in the morning and despite my pounding, racing heart, all I could hear was dead silence.  No sirens blaring. And even if they had been turned on a few blocks way I would have heard them.  Was it obvious, even then, that hurrying would not change the outcome?  Or did they just not want to wake the neighbors? I didn’t really think about this until weeks later.  Silence, of the kind that doesn’t register and then does.

Don McLean phrased it well in ‘American Pie’ when he said: that was “the day the music died….” I came home that evening to an empty house. Well, at least the dogs were there, but of course not aware of how much their lives would also change. And the silence was deafening, in a way that only Simon and Garfunkel could articulate,  “The sounds of silence….”

But of course, silence has no sound. Or does it? I noticed it as soon as I walked in the door. It was loud and uncomfortable and not at all what I needed or wanted. This was not the silence of “Be still and know that I am God.”  This was the silence of absence, the silence of fear, the silence of a grief not yet recognized, the silence of mourning a long way from beginning. The silence of a life changed forever. There was a silence in this place and in me that I had never experienced before. Silence, not a comfortable quiet, but the raw absence of life.

 Did Mary notice that at the empty tomb? Did Jesus notice at Lazarus’ tomb?

My nephew had driven me home from the hospital that evening and even with our casual conversation, there were moments of silence, it was too difficult yet to speak of what had just happened.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, silence descended into my life with the death of my husband of 38 years.

This was a silence that I had not anticipated, nor did I even know existed.  Other family members have died over the years, but never did I ever feel this raw, raucous, boom box kind of silence. Even on those days when he would be out and about; work, errands, whatever, the house would be quiet. But not silent – not like this. The spirit and energy of this place that was our home had been violated by death.

Silence. The silence of a different energy, the silence of a different spirit, the silence of our love for each other no longer abounding in this place. I never really thought about love or spirit or energy as having a voice – but they do.  The voice of comfort and familiarity, the voice of companionship, the voice of a long and well-worn relationship, a relationship that fit like those comfortable slippers. The voice of the one who could make me laugh even, and especially, when I didn’t want to. If it weren’t for the random and mundane voice message on my phone I would no longer remember the sound of his voice.  His recorded voice is preserved, but his real voice has been silenced forever.

It has been a few months now that this house has been silent. There are no more silly jokes, no more song lyrics for every occasion, no more monthly cards to celebrate our anniversary, no more quietly reading our separate books together, no more surprises of flowers or “let’s go do something….”  No more of his thinking out loud, whether I was listening or not. No more of that warm, cozy quiet that enveloped us when we were together.

And even with these few months separating me from that first day, the silence is still here. There are some days when it is more than I can bear.  It is still loud, sometimes deafening, although I am getting somewhat acclimated to it. And whether I can bear it or not, it is becoming part of me, this silence. I still don’t like it much, and I don’t think ever will, introvert though I am.  No, this silence is hard to take because it is so loud. 

But life is not silent, the sounds of life are still here. Birds singing in the trees, the trees clapping their hands, the wind rattling the windows, the dogs warm breathing audible a room away and their tails and nails thumping and clicking on the wood floor. The sounds of life are still here despite all the other not-sounds, in spite of the silence.

Yet I wonder, has he really been silenced? Maybe not. For his brother and nieces and nephews and their children - he will be a memory, forever in their hearts.  For his students - his legacy will live on in their success. For his friends - memories of the good times, college pranks and the silliness of young adulthood, before responsibilities.

And for me? Almost 40 years’ worth of memories, some better than others, I’ll admit, but all good, and all mine to travel through at my leisure.

So maybe not silenced, quieted, perhaps, but not silent. A different sound now, for sure. A basic law of science states that energy cannot be destroyed, only changed into a different form.  And so maybe, maybe his voice, the voice of his spirit, the voice of his love, the voice of his energy is still here, in my heart and an integral part of my soul.

So silenced? Not entirely, just a different voice.  And I have to accept that because it is all I’ve got.

The sounds of silence indeed….

Not....

There are days when the reality of life smacks you upside the head in ways that you don’t expect.

Like today.

It started out ok -  I had the Sunday off - and so I went to church .... Ok – so far.

A moment of sadness/grief – I shouldn’t have to be here alone…but of course I am….. But it passes. And the rest of the worship is ok…. Just ok…

I’m home now and need to keep busy – and so I find ‘keep busy’ stuff to do – bake a loaf of bread – well that’s a good thing – something I haven’t done in a while… and a new recipe to boot… a trip to the recycling place - it could have waited – but I also wanted to try to get Hunter Dude to SIT and not jump all over the car … yeah – good luck with that one………..

Sitting along side a canal in France..

Anyway – a new book gets delivered today - and so I say to self – ‘you WILL sit and read – and so I try – and do ok … but every so often, like every other minute or so  - I stop – look out the window -  and remember …

Sundays afternoons with Glenn, sitting together reading separately but together – the paper – a book – talking about whatever – making plans for something to do together later. Walking the dog(s)… not much of anything really – but together - a comfortable together – made of years  and history  - and companionship – and love.

And I think - but what I have now - this isn’t the life I would have chosen for myself – this life of mostly alone – (in spite of the whole introvert thing… even for me too much alone time is just that – to much...) it was foisted on me – NOT of my own doing – NOT asked for –  NOT what I  want – NOT what Glenn would have wanted for me either – a solitary life …NOT.

And yes – there are friends and acquaintances and family – blessings all -  but it’s not the same.

Not the same.

Two weeks ago marked 8 months - and the day slipped past me without notice – probably an ok thing in the big scheme of things – I guess it means I have a life – and life does march on towards who knows what… but when I realized that I had missed it.   I was heartbroken again – I forgot! How could I forget such an important day?

But today I did not forget – too much remembering actually – remembering ‘those days’ when all was well - and I didn’t realize it…

And so maybe that’s what has got me down - realizing that I didn’t appreciate what I had – not knowing that one day it would be gone …

Hunter wonders ............

Yeah – I know it’s been awhile -so says Hunter…

“So – Human, what have you been up to these past few days…”
“Well, Hunter, I’ve been thinking…”
“About What?”
“A lot of things…like…
there are advantages to living alone – that is without another human… not without another canine… (O -  heaven forbid!!)…

For instance -  I can cook with all the garlic and onions that I can tolerate – (Glenn couldn’t, at all!! (tummy issues))
I can cook (and eat)… cauliflower and broccoli and liver and onions – or whatever I like - without comment about the smell.
I can sleep in the middle of the bed – except when you are  there…
I can go the bathroom with the door open
I can go out without telling anyone where I’m going or when I’ll be back…except for you...
I can wear whatever I want –
I have no one to please…
except for you.......
And the list goes on -  however…….

This is not what I would have chosen for myself… even being the independent and self-sufficient person that I have always been….  my vows 39 years ago promised a life with another…til death do us part – and so it did.

After 40 years I have gotten used to being part of a couple -  a duo – a pair – a team – back to back facing the world and side by side  - not alone – answering to another because I care – and love.

And that has made all the difference in the world.

Until June 12, 2017, 5:08PM,  When the world as I knew it stopped.

And yet.  I.  have. not. Stopped that is.

In spite of circumstances beyond my control – like death – my life has continued on.

And – it is up to me to make the best of it.

And so I will….. because (in big part) that is what Glenn would have wanted for me.  And were things reversed – I would want for him as well.

To have a life -  a full life – and so I have ordered season tickets for the local theater – I will travel -  I will continue to cook real meals – not just carry out.  I will still buy new clothes and new shoes (of course!!)  I will still read the newspaper and do volunteer work and – called work - and yes I will have a life.

And in big part that is what we were created for  -  that is what God wants for each of us – to have a full life – however that plays  out.

And so I will – as best I can.”

“So – Hunter – what do you want to do today?...........We’ll go for a ride if you promise to stay in the back!!”

“Well, I can’t promise, but I’ll try if you give me treats!”

Fair enough……………….let's go................

Yeah – I know, it’s been awhile.  At a meeting this morning, the devotions shared focused on wilderness … as in the place where Jesus went, the place where it is wild and untamed.  The dictionary defines it as an uncultivated, uninhabited, and inhospitable region. And according to the internet, it comes from Old English wildēornes ‘land inhabited only by wild animals,’ from wild dēor ‘wild deer’ + -ness.

But I guess inhospitable works best… certainly not inhabitable – because I have been inhabiting it for the past few months – and especially the last few weeks.

I used to like the idea of untamed – a wild place where one went voluntarily -  to get away from it all – to ‘find oneself.’ Not so much right now. It is not a place that I choose.

These past few weeks, since Thanksgiving actually, have been a wilderness – an untamed place where I don’t want to be. It is not comfortable – it is not wanted – it is not what I want for myself.  But if truth be known – this wilderness started on June 12 at 2:30 on a Monday morning.

These last few weeks have been firsts – firsts without Glenn.  Granted, family (and friends) has been up front and center – but that is not the same.  The first Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years Eve, my birthday, an overseas trip – alone.

Did I manage? Of course. Did I like it?             No.

A wild place  – untamed, inhospitable. Emotions running rampant – too many to even identify – but I’ll try.  Sadness and sorrow. Loneliness.  Anger. Fear. Anxiety. But most of all – no one to share the day to day stuff with. 

I went to Guam to visit a friend.  We were paired up through Big Brother Big Sisters way back when – she was 7. And she remembered a time when we had gone out to eat – probably McDonalds – and I let her order her own meal.  For her that was huge – no one had ever let her do that before.  And I was touched.  What I assumed was normal – for her was not.  But I had no one to share that moment with – and as in tuned to my moods as Hunter can be – he was 7000 miles away.  And Glenn was even further…………..

No one to share the daily stuff with.   I miss that in a way that I never thought possible.

‘Miss Independent’, ‘I can do it myself, thank you very much’….that girl is no longer.

But I am no longer a girl.

So, yes, I have entered a wilderness time in my life…there are no instructions – no how to book… no self-help book… just my own flalings and mis-starts and mis-steps. That wild place where one goes to ‘ find oneself’.  Well, I certainly need finding – I’m as lost as can be.

And I don’t like it one bit.  I suppose I never will.  But I really have no choice but to suck it up, buttercup, and get on with it.  And so I do. With the loyal Hunter by my side or in my lap.

Yet even now – 7 months into this wilderness journey – the tears come unbidden – falling on the desk as I write, or wherever I happen to be.  Grief overwhelms me and there is not a damned thing I can do about it.

Wilderness -  that wild untamed place – uninhabitable – inhospitable. A place that I don’t want to be.  But I imagine, Jesus didn’t either. At least I’m not tempted to throw myself off a cliff… so I guess if He can do it, I can to.  Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Christmas Day 2017

There are at least a ½ dozen squirrels playing leap frog and chasing each other all over the backyard, leaving trails in the snow. The cardinals, in pairs, are feeding at the bird feeder as if it were their last meal. Steam is rising from the heated water bowl. 

It's Christmas morning – and the world outside my window is as it should be – quiet, sunny, snow covered as if  powdered sugar exploded all over everything.

By this time of the morning there should be open boxes with gifts spilling out of them, piles of torn wrapping paper everywhere – ribbons and bows a jumble on the floor – a merry mess – coffee cake crumbs littering the table next to the half drunk cups of coffee, the egg bake already in the oven.  And the pups sprawled out on top of this glorious disarray.

But not today -  it is not as it should be. Six plus months and I still have a hard time believing that he is gone forever… 

The tears have a mind of their own - they come and go as they will – there is no stopping them.  The sorrow is so deep – sadness is a permanent part of me – and I suspect will remain deep in my soul til I breathe my last.

In all fairness, though, I have been comforted by the most unlikely people – friends of friends, my new church family, friends old and new.  And I am grateful. It helps, but doesn’t erase the grief. Nothing can. Not today. Probably not ever.

Somehow I thought that I would be able to sail through Christmas without a second thought, or at least with minimal angst.  Wrong.

Glenn loved Christmas. He was the one that always put up the outside lights and decorations -  Santa snuggling the angel.  He was the one that always put the lights on the tree that we would cut down together.  He would always help with the gift buying and even the wrapping. He was the one that got the Christmas cards addressed and signed.

He was the one who would always wrap 2 lumps of coal for me to exchange for a thoughtful gift.  He was good at picking out gifts that he knew I would like ( well, most of the time!) He was the one who would put an orange and nuts in my stocking because that’s what my mother used to do.

Its not fair – not fair that the stockings hanging on the mantle will not be filled – well, except for Hunter’s… there is no one to fill mine with coal, oranges and nuts.  No need to fill his and Vespa and Rocky won’t need any more chew toys either.

It’s not fair that the cards I receive now are addressed only to me. The ones I give, signed with one name….

It’s not fair that it’s so quiet I can almost hear the ghostly footsteps of dogs and spouse no longer here……

But grief and sadness do not know of fairness – I know that, but still…………I know I’m not alone in this – but still…………it’s not fair.

In fact, it’s got wrong written all over it………..

But I will spend time with family today – sharing laughter and maybe tears - a meal together. A communion of sorts…and we will remember those who are no longer with us ....and they are legion…..

Is this how Mary felt on the 1st anniversary of her son’s birth after his death?

I imagine she did.

Dignity................

Today we would have been married 471 months – but we will not celebrate this achievement.  Glenn died on June 12, 2017 – 6 months and 4 days ago. Less than a  month after his 66th birthday.

Glenn died – I did not ‘lose’ him.

I’ve ranted about this before, but it seems that the further I travel on this journey of mourning, the more intolerant I am of not speaking the truth or hearing it.

Every time I hear, or read posts, or commentaries on grief, regardless of where they are, or who wrote them, stating that the loved one is ‘lost’, I get flippin’ mad. It’s like nails on a chalkboard.

‘Why?’ you might ask.  So let me explain. Before I begin, the disclaimer is this – if this offends you, don’t read any further.

 To talk about the death of a loved one as something we have ‘lost’ does death a disservice. That’s one. Second, our deceased loved one is not an object that one can ‘lose’, like as library book, or a set of keys.

And third, we are not being honest with our language, nor are we respecting the dignity of death.

Allow me to explain.

When we (that’s all of us) claim that a loved one is lost it implies two things – first, that somehow, we are responsible for the loss.  If we lose our keys, it is through our own carelessness.  We set them down and didn’t pay attention to where we put them – That’s on us… My bad as we used to say.

So to say that ‘I have lost my husband…’ somehow implies that I was responsible for the loss.  And that is absurd.  I am not responsible for his death.  I did not cause it, it is not my fault. Bad things happen to good people – shit happens.

And second, this terminology objectifies our deceased loved one.  He or She becomes an object, a thing.  And you and I know that our loved ones are not things, they were people with whom we shared our lives.  Our loved ones are not objects. They were living, breathing human beings. And as such deserve our respect.

And third. I feel strongly, that as a society, and even as a church, we do not honor dying and death with the dignity that it deserves. We do not do a good job of talking about it before it happens. We do not, as a whole, plan well. We do not prepare others or ourselves for the inevitability of death. We don’t have the ‘what if’ conversations. ( we did have these conversations, and often). We don’t allow ourselves to recognize our own mortality. We keep a stiff upper lip and pretend that we are strong when we are not. And so when it happens, we use all of the euphemisms that we can conjure up to avoid the pain of talking about it and dealing with it head on.  We blindly assume that we are immortal – or 'I’ll get to it later'….'or I don’t want to upset ……………….(fill in the blank) by talking about dying…

We are not honest with our language – we are not honest about expressing our feelings… “ I’m fine , thank you very much…’, even when we are not. Not only is this unhealthy from a psychological perspective, it is also unhealthy from a spiritual perspective.

Have we suffered a loss? Yes – the loss of a relationship that was meaningful and important – but we have not  ‘lost’ our loved one. At least in the Christian faith, we should know where they are anyway – with God eternal, however you want to define that.

If we, as Christians, believe that God is with us no matter what our journey, if this God is a comfort and a strength, full of mercy and grace, why are we afraid to talk about dying and death?  It is inevitable – no one gets out of this life alive.

And so, to treat our loved ones as inanimate objects, to presume responsibility for their death, to not honor the dignity of death, to not be truthful with our language, is on a fundamental level, disrespecting life as well.

This journey of grief and mourning is the hardest thing I have ever done. But I will not demean or disrespect my husband’s life, or anyone else’s, by disrespecting their death.

And so I will call out (with love, of course!) anyone who uses language that I feel is dishonest. I will do what I can.  And yet having said all of this, I know that most people are trying to be a comfort - they are not trying to be disrespectful  - they just don't know what else to say. All the more reason to have these conversations.

Glenn’s life – and the lives of your loved ones - deserves no less.