A while ago, I received a call from an older brother who wanted to share something with me. He told me about the death of his dear wife, to whom he had been married for over 70 years. I just listened. What could I say? Words seemed inadequate. He spoke of a “big hole” in his heart. I would have liked to hug him, but unfortunately I couldn’t over the phone.
In life, one of the hardest things to cope with is the loss of a husband or wife. Just try to put yourself in the shoes of a grieving spouse. You walked together over a long stretch of years, sharing joy and sorrow. The words of your wedding vows “for better, for worse” came true. The vows concluded with “until death do us part.” That seemed in the far distant future. Life was ahead of you, and you had won the “lottery of love.” How happy you were! “Marriage is salvation from loneliness,” was how someone described his bliss. But now reality sets in. Death caused separation. You are alone again!
It all seems like a dream. Your beloved partner is no longer there. His or her place is empty. Emotions toss you to and fro. Feelings of despair overwhelm you. The loneliness, the unbearable silence, it seems to almost kill you. Why, oh, why did this have to happen to me? Why did God allow it to happen at all? The illness, or the unforeseen accident, the heart attack – whatever resulted in death – no one is really prepared for it. And how does one cope with it?
Being married for 30, 40, or more years is more than just a casual friendship. With each passing year, the bond has grown closer – you’re melded together. You are practically joined at the hip. Some even claim that after years of married life together, a certain similarity in appearance can be observed. The spouses resemble each other. What has taken years to build, that art of togetherness, the oneness, is gone. It’s all over. Of course, if you have children, they invite you or visit, friends call, someone else delights us with a bouquet of flowers or a slice of cake. So kind of them; it’s nice and great and also appreciated and commendable. But when the evening ends, they leave, and we once more face the dreaded loneliness. Dead silence in the house. No one speaks, and no one listens. Is talking to yourself the solution? Hardly. A box of tissues is always within reach. Every little gesture, every word that comes to mind moves us to tears. It is almost unbearable. A friend wrote to me about his feelings after the loss of his dear wife: “The loss is constantly palpable, making the loneliness weigh all the more heavily. And when you are the only one left and have no relatives, daily activities become meaningless or lack purpose. You feel like a child who lost a mother. You become isolated.”
Years ago, I read the following in the advice column of a daily newspaper: “My husband snores, and I’m having trouble dealing with this. What should I do?” – I can’t remember what the recommendation was, but I have not forgotten one comment. A woman who had recently lost her husband wrote: “What I would give if I could hear my husband snore just one more time!” I think we get it. The statement clearly expresses the pain of the one left behind.
Question after question arises. But they all seem to culminate into one: What will happen next? What will become of me? The togetherness of marriage is dissolved. You are alone. The road ahead must be traveled alone. Well-meant words and advice from relatives and friends miss the mark. Yes, we know that God is there. We are familiar with the many promises in the Bible. We are also aware that God loves us. That’s true and it’s all well and good, but right now I feel alone. All alone. I have a “hole in my heart.” Even God seems to be hidden in the fog.
My wife, Doreen, and I sometimes talk about death and dying. We think about people who have lost their spouse, but we also talk about our own mortality. The fact is, dying is part of life. And in a marriage, it is rare for both partners to die at the same time. In most cases, one person dies first and leaves their partner behind. That’s how it is. A funeral is planned. Decisions have to be made. Things that were done as a couple and discussed together are now done alone. Literally everything reminds you of being alone.
Are there recommendations to make this process easier? There are books or courses offered to give us advice on better ways to deal with our grief. One thing is clear, grieving is a process. It is like a dark valley that must be passed through.
David, in his Shepherd’s Psalm (Psalm 23:4), also spoke of a “dark valley” on his journey. However, he adds a few words that give the whole situation a decisive twist: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” In the presence of the Good Shepherd, his God, he feels safe and secure. In the same psalm, he describes his Shepherd Who cares for him and ensures that he will not lack anything. In verse 3, he refers to restoration of the soul. That is so reassuring and is exactly what we long for. We find this refreshment in the presence of the Good Shepherd. The entire psalm describes the Shepherd’s care. He does not abandon us during this time, even when we feel abandoned by everyone.
Julie Hausmann (1826-1901), who planned to marry an African missionary and join him on the mission field, learned he had passed away before she arrived. Devastated by this blow of fate, she wrote the song “Now Take My Hand, O Father.” In the third verse, she expresses her feelings as follows: “E’en when I am not feeling Thy love or might, still Thou are safely leading, though dark the night….” Anyone who has lost a loved one understands how she must have felt. And yet we can sense from her words that she is counting on God and wants to be guided by this “You.”
We can walk alongside one another as brothers and sisters of faith during times of mourning and simply be there for each other. “Weep with those who weep”, we find in Romans 12:15. It is a request to carry one another’s burdens. But what do you say and do in such situations when talking with a grieving person? It is often best to say little. People say “I understand you” as their spouse stands beside them. Or “She’s in a better place.” Well-intended advice includes: “God doesn’t give us more than we can carry.” This may all be true but unlikely of benefit to a grieving person. Simply being there and listening is often the best thing we can do. Even if we are hearing the story for the third time, we listen with empathy. The person who is now alone finds healing and help in retelling the story. Slowly life will get better. With time, there is renewed courage to carry on, hope is restored, and God’s path for the future becomes clear. Life will never be the same, but God’s hand holds us firmly with grace for each new day.
Harry Semenjuk
Wetaskiwin, Alberta
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