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The Walk – Part Two

Thursday, April 29th, 2010 | Building Self-Confidence, Death of a loved one, Family, Goals, Grieving, Healing after Loss, Healing from grief, Help for Widows, Losing a Spouse, Moving On, Overcoming Disappointment, Personal Care while Grieving, Sudden loss, The Power of a Positive Outlook | No Comments

“I don’t know what lies ahead of me..”

So says Alan Christofferson, the main character in Richard Paul Evans’ new book, The Walk.

Does any one of us know what the future holds? I can think of so many times in my life when I had a plan all laid out for the next weeks, months, and even years – and then, in the blink of an eye, everything changes. A phone call; a chance meeting; a turn of events, and life is altered forever.

After Alan lost his wife, his business, and his home, he decided to walk across the country to the place furthest from where his dreams all died. As he stops each night, he writes in his journal. His entries are brief, but telling. One night he wrote, “We can be victims of circumstance or masters of our own fate…” and I thought, “How can you write that when you have just lost everything, through no fault of your own? How can you say you are the master of your fate?”

Then it hit me. Alan had learned what Viktor Frankl taught: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances – to choose one’s own way.”

The night his wife died, Alan’s journal entry read simply, “All is lost.”

Shortly thereafter, he sat in despair at the kitchen table with two bottles of pills, contemplating taking his own life. He could find no reason to live, and was ready to end it all quickly, when he heard, from somewhere, the words,

“Life is not yours to take.”

Then, he thought he heard the voice of his late wife, McKale, whisper, “Live.”

I believe that is what each of our loved ones would say were they able to communicate with us. Not to simply exist, but to live with purpose; to choose our own way.

Again from Frankl: “Man does not simply exist, but always decides what his existence will be, what he will become in the next moment.”

I believe we too can make that choice, and determine who we will be and what we will do with whatever circumstances we are presented.

There will be times we too will say, “I do not know what lies ahead of me,..” but in those times, we will also be able to say, “…but I do know what I want to become.”

That decision will change everything.

Tags: Death of a loved one, Family, Healing from grief, Help for Widows, hope, losing a loved one, Losing a Spouse, loss of a loved one, Sudden loss

The Walk – Part One

Tuesday, April 27th, 2010 | Building Self-Confidence, Death of a loved one, Goals, Grieving, Healing after Loss, Help for Widows, Losing a Spouse, Moving On, Overcoming Disappointment, Sudden loss, The Power of a Positive Outlook, The healing power of Faith in Christ | No Comments

I just finished reading Richard Paul Evan’s latest book, The Walk. I needed a release from pressures and obligations that have been weighing on me, and it was the perfect escape.

The book is about Alan Christofferson, a man who has everything, and how, through a series of tragic losses, he ends up homeless and begins a journey, walking across the country. At first, he walks to get away from everything in his past – but as he continues, he learns lessons that change his life, and realizes he is really walking to face his future. In his words, “This is what I’ve learned. We can spend our days bemoaning our losses, or we can grow from them. Ultimately the choice is ours. We can be victims of circumstance or masters of our own fate, but make no mistake, we cannot be both.”

“We are all on a walk. Perhaps not as literal as mine, but a walk all the same . . .”

It hit me in the early hours of the morning as I finished the epilogue that he is right. I too am on a walk, and I’ve been shuffling my feet. Some days I have even refused to take one step. I had once again slipped into that seductive passivity of victim mode.

Yet I have opportunities before me, all around me, that, if I embraced them, could burn more of the dross out of my soul, and help me to become a better tool in God’s hands. On the other hand, if I continue to resist them, that dross will grow darker and thicker, becoming even more permanently adhered to the chambers of my heart.

I want to grow. I want to be able to look back on this time of my life with no regrets, knowing I truly did the best I could. But I will need God’s help. The compassion and charity I need are not within me, but are gifts only He can give. I pray He can soften my hardened, selfish heart and as promised in Ezekiel 36:26, replace it with a new one.

There are more lessons to be learned from this powerful book. I will share them as I continue on my walk, and encourage you on yours.

Stepping out, once more,

Roslyn

In God’s Hands

Monday, April 19th, 2010 | Death of a loved one, Family, Grieving, Help for Widows, Service, The healing power of Faith in Christ, Unshaken Faith in Trials | 3 Comments

During the first days after my husband drowned, I felt like I was plodding through life; surrounded by a cloud of confusion and grief, relying on God’s hands to carry me through each day. Only the knowledge that He was there, supporting me, helped me find hope in the future.

Three days ago my step-father called me.

“Ros, there’s something wrong with your mother.”

I stopped what I was doing and drove immediately over to their home, twenty minutes away.

I found Mom, age 88, in her recliner, head bowed, slowly rocking. I took her hand.

“Mom, it’s Ros…”

No response.

Dad told me she’d been like that for over six hours – not answering when he talked to her, not responding to anything he said or did.

My brother-in-law Brian arrived and we rushed her to the hospital, where they quickly took her back and began the assessment and testing process.

As the evening wore on, family members began to arrive at the hospital. The doctors took Mom away for a brain scan, and after diagnosing the results, the doctors called us together for a family meeting.

“Your mother has had a subdural hemorrhage, and the pressure it is putting on the brain is causing loss of function. We could do surgery to drain it, but due to her age and physical condition, she most likely wouldn’t survive the surgery. Without the surgery, because she can’t swallow and has lost so many other functions, she may live for ten days – maybe less. Your family needs to make some decisions.”

Dad began weeping, and the rest of us all looked at each other as the doctor left the room to give us time to discuss the options. We referred to Mom’s living will, and realized that if we were to honor her wishes, we would not put her through the surgery. We decided to do all we could to make her last days comfortable. Financially, a care center wasn’t really an option – so we chose to have her transferred to my home so I could help care for her while caring for my children who are still living at home.

We met with the Hospice team; those compassionate people who help make the end-of-life process as bearable as possible. Arrangements were made; the hospital bed was delivered, and soon the medical transport team arrived and brought Mom in on a gurney.

As I watched her being carried in, I wondered what the next days would hold. Would I be able to provide the care she needs? The aides will only be here for a few minutes each day, and other than that, Mom’s care is up to me. How will I handle it? What will it be like to care for her as she approaches the final curtain of death, and enters the next stage life?

I find I am apprehensive and unsure. Can I deal with death this closely? I have to trust that God will give me the strength to do what needs to be done.

Once again, my life journey is heading uphill. I pray for strength and courage as the ascent steepens, and as, once again, I take one plodding step after another into the darkness.

Once again in God’s hands,

Roslyn

Tags: approaching death, Death of a loved one, faith in Christ, Family, Healing from grief, Help for Widows, hope, losing a loved one, Losing a Spouse

Early Spring Snowstorms

Thursday, April 1st, 2010 | Building Self-Confidence, Death of a loved one, Grieving, Healing after Loss, Healing from grief, Help for Widows, Losing a Spouse, Personal Care while Grieving, Sudden loss | No Comments

As I walked past the flowerbed at my church Sunday, I noticed delicate shoots of crocuses pushing their way up through the loose soil. I smiled. Spring flowers are to me signs of new life, renewal, and are another of God’s miracles sent to lift our hearts. It has been a long Winter, and I am so ready for the awakening that comes with this next season.

Just two days ago my daughter and I noticed that the birds were gathering in our neighborhood and chirping cheerily, and we rejoiced at one more harbinger of the long-awaited release from the cold.

But this morning I awoke to grey skies, and soon snowflakes began falling steadily.

I went out to feed the cat, and heard the birds scolding the snow as they burrowed into the tall hedges surrounding the yard. By evening, our world was once more smothered in white, and we had donned sweaters and wool socks to ward off the extra chill in the house.

Grief seems to have seasons. There is the Autumn of grief, when we are numb from the shock and where colors fade and all things that bring beauty to life begin to wither and die. We sense that what is ahead will be long and cold.

Then comes Winter. The first flakes of snow herald a long season of grey, lifeless days with a constant chill in the air and in our souls. Since my husband died, at the approach of Winter I often feel dread at facing another string of months without warmth or color or life.

Mid-Winter follows; the darkest, coldest part of our grief, with no visible sign of release. The chill we feel is bone-deep, and darkness comes early and stays late. We have no control over when the storms will come, when they will rage with so much fury that we cannot travel out, when we have to build our own private “snow cave” and crawl in, curled up in the fetal position until it feels safe to come out again.

I heard from a dear friend the other day, mourning the tragic death of her husband. She mentioned her reluctance to go out in public because of the probability that she will end up weeping uncontrollably at any time. Those storms are so unpredictable! Not wanting to expose ourselves, nor to subject others to the awkward onslaught, we often choose to stay sequestered at home where we face them – or sometimes, just submit to them – in private.

This is the season when it is hardest to believe that Spring will come. Can there be healing, when one’s heart aches so profoundly that it is hard to breathe? What is there to look forward to when every glance out the window is greeted by bare branches and a dull, colorless landscape, matching the landscape of our soul?

I have found that I have to remind myself that Spring will come, however. Humans naturally crave warmth, and light, and color, and the first thaw in late Winter awakens a hope that maybe, even for us, there might be life again.

Grief does have its Spring. The ache in the heart gradually lessens, and though we never forget the pain of losing our loved one, one day we wake up and realize we didn’t weep in the night. We see a bird, or a flower, or a sunset, and smile. Something has changed so that beauty and warmth are entering our heart again, and our soul begins to take courage.

If you are in mid-Winter in your grief, hold on. Grieve, fully, and allow those storms to rage. Believe that they are cleansing and healing, and that once the tears are dried, you are that much closer to Spring. Each torrent allows the body and soul to purge another layer of the trauma and deep disappointment we have felt, and leaves room in our heart for light, and beauty, and hope.

The snow will melt. The sun will shine, and flowers will bloom. Hold on, and believe!