“I took for granted, all the
times
That I thought would last
somehow
I hear the laughter, I taste
the tears
But I can't get near you now.”
This verse transported me
back to our first off-campus apartment in Nashville. I remember his gentle
embrace waking me when he came to bed each night. As I silently lay in his
arms, I prayed for our love, this incredible closeness, to last forever. Obviously, that prayer went unanswered.
Sometimes, because of all the
pain we later caused one another, I forget how deeply and intimately we once
loved each other.
I thought of the final season
of the series, Desperate Housewives. Mike, looking as rugged and handsome in
death as he did in life, the only difference is the white t-shirt, looked upon
his family as they drove away. So many emotions wrapped up in this final scene.
Mike – free from all his
earthly worries and cares. At peace – Brad. Not fair.
Susan and MJ – still mourning the loss of the love of her life and his father. When her daughter asked her if she could see herself loving again, she said something to the effect that a person realizes they are getting older when they no longer dream of a future, but can be perfectly content with the memories. Mike and Susan were a once-in-a-lifetime love.
My relationship with Brad was tumultuous at best, but I once believed he was the love of my life and that we only get one of those in our lifetime.
Then again, Cassie (Good Witch) once reflected on her wonderful marriage to her first husband (who died) and said she thought it was selfish to think anyone could be so fortunate as to experience two great loves in one lifetime. (Spoiler alert – she did.)
For me, I hope for the future, but I do not dwell on it. For now, I cannot even think about it. The thing about grief is that, at least in this season of it, I am stuck in the past with my memories. I suppose that is why I cannot even watch new shows. I am re-watching, once again, old favorites. I have said it again, they are comforting and predictable.
What shows am I re-watching? Definitely NOT Desperate Housewives. Once is enough. Too much drama and chaos. I watch Good Witch and Grace and Frankie – one heartwarming and sweet, the other laugh out loud funny.
In one episode of the Good Witch, Dr. Sam Radford says he thrives on chaos. He is an ER surgeon. I thought about this while at work yesterday. It was an unusually busy but rewarding day.
I was asked to give communion and last rites to a COVID patient before they transitioned her to hospice care. The rules of the Catholic Church will allow a non-Catholic to perform this in emergency situations such as this. After talking with the family and giving them options, this is what was decided.
Toward the end of my shift, while making one last round through the emergency department, I was stopped by a nurse who informed me of a woman brought in by ambulance who died. I stayed late in order to be with the family.
During both cases, I lost my voice as I attempted to pray and had to pause in order to collect myself. I have learned that tears are okay as long as the moment remains about the family/patient and not about me.
Three things occurred to me after the day:
1) I, too, thrive on chaos. It's days such as this that fill me with energy, purpose, meaning, and hope. I was made for this and, although it is weird to say, I enjoy these moments far greater than the routine visits.
2) Before Brad’s death, I used to compartmentalize everything – the facts from the emotions – the head from my heart. Try as I may, I could never bring these two together. Now, it is all one big soupy mess – well, not mess exactly. It is more like the potato soup from O-Charley’s I loved so much and ordered all the time when I lived in Nashville. When made right, there is no picking out the potatoes from all the other yummy ingredients. It is the delicious blending of the ingredients which make it so wonderful.
3) My gift – what makes me so good at my job, especially the chaotic days – is my compassion.
I used to think writing was
my greatest gift. Then, I realized that it is compassion which makes my writing
so heartfelt. I know I am a good chaplain – and it is not because of my
education or skill, but because of my compassionate nature.
But what to do with this
gift? How to use it?
I know some have questioned why I keep such an intimately personal blog. I have written about this once before, but it bears repeating. Years ago, while trying to publish my first manuscript, I hired a professional editor. She told me that although my book was the best she had read in a very long time, I would never find anyone who would risk publishing it as is. She suggested I either tone down the story-line and publish in the Christian market or replace Jesus with a generic god and publish mainstream. I refused to do either. The truth is, Christians suffer – and for the Christian, our hope and salvation from human suffering comes from Jesus Christ alone. I disliked Christian fiction because it seemed to largely ignore that bad things still happen to believers and the story always seemed to be wrapped up all nice and neat. That is not reality, though. Sometimes, there are no happily-ever-afters.
By ignoring this reality, we are portraying a potentially damaging spirituality. If we, as Christians, are not willing to speak truth, then what is the point of us?
Years later, when I got cancer, my sister set up a blog for us to be able to keep friends and family informed. This blog became my way of dealing with my life. Instead of writing about Christian truth from a fictional perspective, my life became my way of sharing real-life struggles and the hope I found in Jesus. I have said it over and over again – I have no idea how anyone gets through tough times without Him. Life is hard enough as it is. I cannot imagine going through it without Jesus.
Writing is my passion, my
therapy, my gift. However, in the end, it is my compassion which fuels my
writing.
Another thing many people know about me is that I dreamed of being in the Air Force. Now, there is a possibility that I can still serve in the military as a chaplain. I have been praying and contemplating this option. I think back to a dream I wrote about recently - the football team and band - wanting to belong and wear the uniform, but not belonging. This portion of the dream is still with me - and I wonder if it is about my military dream. I have always said the best people to serve in certain situations are those who have lived it. Hence, why addicts make the best addiction counselors. So, does this mean I will never/can never/should never serve in the military in any capacity? I have no idea what a soldier's life is like, but I do know grief. Could it relate? Should it? I don't know. Either way, whether I ever get to serve in this way or not, what would make me successful is not so much any past military experience as it is my compassion. After all, I was never in many of the positions my characters found themselves in, but, because of compassion, I could still feel what they felt.
Maybe I should stick with my plan to one day work in a cancer hospital.
So, how I end up making a living is not as important as how I use my gifts. In any of these settings, compassion is what motivates and drives me.
For now, when thoughts become too
intense to contain, too painful to ignore, I write until those thoughts are
free.
I struggle with how I can mourn someone who hurt me so deeply and so profoundly. I feel guilty for caring less about Brad’s current wife’s pain than my own. Still, I know I am not the only one who has ever dealt with grief and I know others who haven’t experienced it yet will one day. That is part of being human. I also know that the only way I got through divorce and cancer is the only way I am going to get through this – and that is the story I long to share – through my own life and my own words – because of compassion.
I hurt. I hurt deeply. Still, I know I am never alone. Jesus is with me. I feel Him. He holds me and carries me. He can do the same for anyone. As Reverend Tony Evans reminded me this morning, Jesus can and wants to, but He will never force Himself upon us. He must be invited in. This relationship is two-sided. It requires effort and action – but when we do we will find shelter under His wing. He will open His wing for us, but we have to make the choice to seek shelter there – the power of faith vs. the power of unbelief.
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