This past Sunday, my paternal grandfather died. He was 98 and in the hospital. Although not a surprise, his passing still saddened me – the last of my grandparents – an entire generation gone. I was struck by the finality of it all.
One of my readings for a class in evangelism discusses how
we cannot expect our nonChristian friends to go to our events if we are not
willing to go to theirs. Evangelism is not the fire and brimstone, scare people
into making an instantaneous decision for Christ in order to avoid hell as many
of us grew up believing. Rather, effective evangelism takes time and happens in
relationship. That struck me for two reasons. One, I rarely socialize. I am a
lone turtle who spends most of my time happily tucked away in my shell. On the
rare occasions that I do venture out, it is with like-minded people. Strike one
and strike two.
This is LGBTQ pride month. Pre-pandemic, I wanted to immerse
myself more in the LGBTQ community. Perhaps that is why I find myself drawn to LGBTQ-themed shows and movies. Maybe this is like athletes watching the pre-game tapes.
I wasn’t always this much of a recluse. When I was married
to Brad, I would go out by myself all the time while he was on the road. It
never bothered me to go to a movie or to dinner alone. Why does it now?
Anyway, this past weekend, after completing the AJ and
the Queen Netflix series, I watched Love, Simon on television. That
led to Love, Victor which led to another Netflix show, Tales of the
City. There are countless ways I can go with this conversation – the appropriateness
of a pastor watching such shows: is it right or wrong, etc. However, for my
purpose here, I want to focus on a scene from Love, Simon.
After Simon’s secret is broadcast unceremoniously on his school’s
social media page, he tells his parents. Simon and his mom talk. She tells him
that she knew he had a secret. She could tell that something had changed. For
the past few years, it was as if he had been holding is breath. She assured him
that she still loved him, that he is still the same kid, and that he can now exhale.
It was as if he had been holding his breath.
I realize that is how I have been feeling since Brad died. Before
his death, as I have mentioned many times, three other family members died.
There’s that rule of three, right? I have no idea where that “rule” came from,
but I was banking on it.
“Okay, three have died. It’s over. Done. I can breathe easy
for a while now.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled with relief.
Then Brad died.
A sucker punch to the gut, a finger poke to the throat. I
held my breath and have yet to exhale.
It is as if I am afraid to exhale. If I do, what – or who –
will be next? Grandpa is 98. I love him, but 98 – that is expected. What if it had
been dad? Or my mom? Or my sister? Or, God forbid, one of my nephews? It could
happen. It happens to people every single day. I witness it often.
I cannot exhale because the fragility of life is real now.
What is it all for?
I did not include myself in the list of what-ifs. I dealt
with my own mortality back when I had cancer. That, I can handle. I know where
I am going. No fear of my own death.
What I cannot now grasp is why I am still here?
Life – it was always temporary, but it used to be theoretical.
Now, it is real. So, what is the purpose?
I know the good, Christian answer, but the question of why
still remains.
What is the point?
No. I am not suicidal. That is not what I mean by this
question.
My question is existential, the age-old meaning of life. I
mean, really. Why?
Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Fleetwood Mac. Those first two lines swim through my head.
Then, I hear Heidi Newfield instead of Stevie Nicks and I am transported to
that dive near Houston watching Brad on stage with them (Trick Pony) just after
they started touring, playing this song, my family and I in the audience; me, so full of self-confidence and pride, not a care in the world, feeling on top of the world - it was us against the world and we were unstoppable.
Well, I've been afraid of changin'
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too.
My therapist says I took my vows seriously – ‘til death do us part. I really did build my life, even after divorce, around Brad. What do I do now? Does it even matter? Does anything matter?
I know it does. It must. But how?
Simon’s mom tells him he can exhale.
I do not consider myself to be depressed. I knew depression as a kid and this is not the same. There is so much
of my life that I absolutely love – my job, school, the few friends I do have.
But I am still holding my breath. I wonder if I will ever smile
again and mean it. Laugh again and feel it.
I know I will – someday – even without an answer to my why –
I know I can never fully know – and I know not knowing is okay because of my
relationship with Christ. It is – I am – and will be okay. I am on a solid
foundation no matter how fragile the earth beneath me momentarily feels.
Still, I cannot help but I wonder when I will exhale and
breathe again.
One week from today is the one-year anniversary of Brad’s
death. I have plans to mark this occasion. Maybe, if the psychological-grief
rule of three works for me in this situation, I will be one step closer to
breathing again.
Maybe then I will get to exhale. Maybe I will get to be more
me than I have been in a very long time.
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