Love, Life and Loss

Photo by Aung Soe Min on Unsplash

I finished the novel on Sunday afternoon.

It was good. 

It is over 48 hours later and I am still thinking about it. 

I didn’t see the plot twist coming until it hit me as I wiped the tears from my cheeks. The author did his job. I am an “all in” reader and I was invested in these characters. I am sure my husband would’ve read between the lines, realized what the true conflict was, and predicted the ending - but I did not. 

Relating to the author’s description of the couple’s romance and love, I was rooting for their separation to result in reconciliation and the book to end in that “happily ever after.” However, that author, that really good author, had other ideas . . .  

What novel is this you ask? I don’t want to spoil it for anyone who may pick it up - or for whomever might find it on Netflix or at the local Redbox when they watch the movie version. So, I will not share the title, but it has really made me think and feel and pray . . . 

As a result, I need to write to process these thoughts and feelings and prayers.

The main character spends a great deal of the book “flashing back” in correspondence to his wife. Their relationship from the start was rare and epic, a kind of fantasy, fairy-tale, what every girl grows up longing for. Through his messages to her, I liked her and found myself rooting for her, for him and for them - the identity of the two of them together. 

In the last two chapters, the main character reveals that his wife had died nearly four years before the action of the book even began. For four years he was still just as in love and as dedicated to her has he had ever been. For these four years he had existed by simply putting one foot in front of the other and doing whatever the day in front of him required. As he did so, he continued to buy her flowers, spend time by her side and share his life with her as much as he could. 

There were things left unsaid when she had died. He had regret and carried shame. He felt responsible and longed for forgiveness he felt he didn’t deserve. 

In the middle of this inner turmoil the reader doesn't realize he is in, he meets someone new. Actually, they are thrown together in an impossible, life-and-death situation. They face insurmountable odds and bond through their hardships. He tells her of his wife and when he does, he speaks of her in the present tense - as if she is waiting at home for his return. This new woman in his life trusts that he is married and is envious of this amazing love he shares with his wife. In all ways he stays true to his wife and still sees himself very much married to her. 

In the end, he shares with this new woman the truth about the circumstances that made him a widower. In the end, he is able to love both of them . . . his love for his first love never faded but made him able to love this new lady, but in a different, equally amazing way. In the end, the new woman doesn’t take the place of the dead wife but in respect to her, is able to help him heal. 

As I think about these fictional people, I am well aware that they are very much just that - fictional. There was a lot about the story that could be considered contrived or too coincidental to be true - However, these three individuals were incredibly relatable to me, but I didn’t realize why until this morning. 

My sister-in-law and I have been messaging over Facebook - you know on the “private” Messenger part. I had seen a video posted and thought of her. Not wanting to publicly “tag” her in it, I sent it through Messenger. She responded with a couple of links to articles that reverberated the same ideas. As I read them, I realized that the novel I have just finished is in many ways her life. 

She was not involved in a life-and-death battle for her physical ability to breath, but she has been through the trauma of trying to will her heart to keep beating after the sudden death of my brother-in-law, her daughter’s daddy, the love of her life, her husband - James. 

In complete honesty, she has communicated to me that she has not and will never “move on.” James is still very much a part of her everyday and, because of the love he had for her and she still has for him - this will always be her reality. She will always be his widow. 

This is true but not in spite of her new husband. It isn’t at his expense. He knows he will never replace James and has not tried to do so. Actually, he is pretty remarkable. Somehow he knows that she is able to love him the way she does because of her continued devotion to James. He has lost a wife too and together they can keep their memories of their spouses very much still alive. 

Some people may not get that. They may criticize her or him or them, but if that is the case, then I wonder what exactly those judges actually understand about love and loss and life. 

Through James’ life, the life of my grandmother, the life of my mother-in-law and others, I have received and given love. My understanding of love has grown even in and through their deaths. They have not, nor will they ever be replaced. However,  in their absence I am able to give and receive love from others and from God, Himself. 

He understands my hurt and my pain. He loves me in and through it all. 

His grace has allowed me to put one foot in front of the other and has exponentially grown my my faith through my losses. His resurrection is my hope and His Word promises that what is yet to be is better than what has been. I may not understand that, but I know it’s true. 

This morning my devotion was about how the pain of this life pales in comparison to the eternal glory that is to come. Paul, when he wrote these words, was not belittling the pain of this life, but rather encouraging  the believer with the truth that what comes next is richer, is far better and for them to strive to have an eternal perspective on today’s hurt. 

The love that follows loss of life is so multifaceted and rich. Honestly, I believe it is God-sized and God-given. It shows us more of Him and His character and His love for us. It enables us to love others deeper and live with greater appreciation for His good gifts. 

The novel I finished Sunday was not a “Christian” fiction book. I thought I was reading a suspenseful  survival story. Yet, God spoke to me loud and clear about how He defines love - It is bigger than the love of a spouse. It is greater than the limits that we put on it. It is honestly deeper than our comprehension. 

And this is how He feels toward us . . . 

Life and Death and Christmas

Three days after Christmas I sat in a sanctuary still beautifully decorated for the Christmas season. Greenery and candles with white lights were intermingled along the stage in an elegant way. To the left hand side, surrounded by the decorations was a simple feeding trough, manger with a doll wrapped in swaddling cloths, Baby Jesus.

Just a few feet from this joyous, beautiful scene sat my grandmother's open casket.

Life and Death and Christmas.

Yes, Jesus was the baby born to die and, by doing so, give life.

Yes, because Jesus lived and died and lived again, my grandmother had been dead in her sin, but by the gift of faith God gave her, she now, physically dead, lives eternally.

Yes, because Jesus lived and died and lived again, I have hope. Hope that my sins and old nature have been put to death. Hope that I will one day be reunited with my Grandmother in an eternal life after my physical death. Hope that I can live this day the way God created me live it - alive in Christ.

I would not have chosen this week to have been the week when my grandmother died and her earthly life remembered. There will not be a Christmas that passes that I will not stop and reflect on her passing. It could be an incredibly sad thing to lose such a close loved one to death during this season the is supposed to be so festive.

But instead of just commemorating these days associated with her death with sadness, and loss - I will forever remember the Baby Jesus beside my grandmother's coffin. I celebrate the reality of Christ's incarnation and advent with a greater, deeper joy than I could not have otherwise celebrated.

Just take a few minutes to reflect on this Christmas carol below. The tune and words are basic enough to teach preschoolers, but the words will forever be so much deeper and more meaningful to me. . .

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.

The stars in the sky looked down where he lay,
The little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay.

The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.


I love Thee, Lord Jesus, look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle 'til morning is nigh.

Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask Thee to stay
Close by me forever, and love me, I pray.

Bless all the dear children in thy tender care,
And take us to heaven, to live with Thee there.

Tangled Raw

The tangle of conflicting intertwined emotions weighs heavy on my sternum. Some angles are sharp and literally, physically hurt when they rub against my inside. Mostly the mass just seems to ache until I can find some sort of distraction to numb the damaged spot.

Christmas is usually filled with mostly happy thoughts and memories. Yes, there's been hard years especially the first holiday season after my dad left and the one after my brother-in-law passed, but this one is different.

I know God's timing is perfect and I can think back over the last couple of weeks and clearly see His hand preparing my heart and the circumstances for the day He would take my grandmother home to be with Him. He didn't leave any detail untaken care of.

My heart was already where it needed to be in adoration of the Savior's birth. My shopping done, my preparations completed, my groceries brought home and all put away - when I got the phone call I had been expecting.

Mom was understandably emotional as she described the last moments Grandma spent on this side of eternity and how she slipped into the other.

In the roughly 48 hours since then, the tangle of emotions has swelled. Like a tide, it has come in waves and gone in waves too.

The thought of my grandmother's reunion with my grandfather literally brought tears of joy to my eyes. The sound of exhaustion and pain in my mother's voice brought feelings of helplessness. What could I do to lesson her burden? The ending of the candlelight service on Christmas Eve led to hugs from good friends that brought me to sobs on Wally's shoulder right there in the front of the sanctuary. Perhaps I would have stayed there longer, if it weren't for one my daughters asking loudly, "What's wrong with Mom?!"

This morning, we gathered around the advent wreath and, as a family, discussed the Light of Life that has come into the world and worshipped by singing "Angels We Have Heard on High." Then the girls unwrapped gifts and toys we had bought and I had wrapped. I did delight in the joy on their faces and was thankful for the happy moments we could share.

This afternoon, Wally found me back in bed. My feelings were more than the physical exhaustion caused by the late-night-Santa-visit playing and the early-morning-Santa-visit discovering. I told him I was just sad. He encouraged me to embrace it and not try to fight it, so I allowed myself to cry

My own words from my Sunday school lesson the morning of her passing are still ringing in my ear - how Jesus' birth was God's guarantee to keep all His other promises to His people. Because He kept His word to send Jesus, I can trust that He has kept His word to my grandmother and she is in His presence even now.

I can sleep tonight knowing He will keep His word to me too. That tangle of emotions weighing on my chest includes this hope. Not only that she is truly in a better place, but that one day I will be too. In the meantime, I am not carrying this emotional mess on my own. He knows what I am feeling. I am not alone. He is with me.

I get why people drink to forget, to numb the pain, to escape. I like just having the television on for the background noise it provides. The distraction from the heaviness of these emotions is welcome. I cannot judge anyone for succumbing to the temptations of anything that will dull the distress or ease the burden for just a little while.

Pain, hope, peace, longing, helplessness, gratefulness, sadness, loneliness, joy, happiness, frustration, anger, comfort, appreciation, fear, anticipation . . .

I would describe my feelings as an emotional rollercoaster, but today, Christmas Day, that just doesn't seem accurate. Yes, there have been high highs - good things have happened today and there have been low lows - like when I debated skipping the family gathering with my husband's side of the family. But all through the highs I was still feeling lows and even at my lowest today, the highs seemed to be mingled in as well.

If emotions are defined as colors, tonight, mine would be a muddy, brown, mess.

My bags are pretty much packed and so are the rest of my crew's. We will leave first thing in the morning to be with family and prepare for the services to lay my sweet grandma to rest. We are also taking more Christmas presents with the promise of continued celebrations of the season.  

As a result, the tangled weight of emotions will continue. I didn't have to pack them for the ache  remains inside me. The sting of unexpected tears will overflow onto my hot cheeks without warning as they remain ready just beneath the thin surface of my failing attempt to hold it all together all the time.

It is all pretty raw . . .

Yet, in my head and heart I know that because of Christmas, Jesus relates to my suffering and heartache for He experienced them too. In fact, His whole life must have been one where He carried a similar burden as well. Hope with hurt, pain coupled with peace, frustration tempered with love.

This is what I will chose to focus on as I pray for sleep to come tonight.

 The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup;
    you hold my lot.
The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
    indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.

I bless the Lord who gives me counsel;

    in the night also my heart instructs me.

I have set the Lord always before me;

    because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.

Therefore my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices;

  my flesh also dwells secure.

For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol,

    or let your holy one see corruption. 

You make known to me the path of life;

in your presence there is fullness of joy;

at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

Psalm 16:5-11

"Keeps Me Singing As I Go"

I read somewhere recently that when you lose a grandparent to death, part of your childhood dies with them.

I lost part of my childhood this afternoon. 

My last living grandparent, my mother's mother, died this afternoon. 

Her breathing labored, her heart tired and her mind weary, with her eyes closed as if already in sleep she breathed her last holding my mother's hand on one side and my aunt's on the other. 

Those hands were special hands. Here she is holding my cousin hand just last week - 

From a young age she used them to work, to play and to love. 

Whether in a shirt factory during the war in East Tennessee or on her family's farm caring for her 11 younger siblings, she knew the definition of hard work from a young age. She held various jobs over the years, but even during those times when she wasn't paid for her effort, her hands were never idle. 

Small palms and nimble, thin fingers with neatly filed nails could thread a needle, bait a hook and snap endless bushels of green beans. Only in her later years would the knots of arthritis and the effects of age leave their mark on her graceful hands. 

When articulating a point, she would point her narrow index finger, slightly bent at the knuckle with a cock of her wrist, to let her listeners know that she meant what she was saying. This was dubbed "The Mother Finger" and all of her daughters, granddaughters and even great-granddaughters have been known to use it on occasion. 

My grandmother loved games. Some of my earliest memories of visiting her house involved countless hours of playing Uno and Aggravation. Even through this fall, her hands could be found holding cards, game pieces and Scrabble tiles. 

Her pension for math was always keen. Her vocabulary was always growing. Her willingness to learn new things never wavered. She may have never earned a high school diploma and always resented having to drop out of school after the 8th grade, but no one playing her in any game of strategy or skill would have ever known her lack of formal education. 

As far as I was concerned, my grandmother was the best, most accomplished  seamstress ever. There was no thing that she could not sew or mend. When expecting my first daughter, I could not find any crib bedding that I liked. I described to her what I wanted and she produced the most beautiful set of red and white gingham with chenille accented bumpers, quilt and slip-cover ever done. Her handiwork even at 80 was amazing. 

Her quilts will be family heirlooms for generations to come. Many hand-pieced and hand-quilted, but all labors of love with meticulously picked out fabrics and designs are priceless treasures to any of us who have been blessed to be given these works of art. This hand-worked hobby was so much more than a way for my grandmother to pass the time. It was a tangible way she could pass her love from her own hands into the hands of the quilt's recipients. 

Even before I received my first quilt from her at 16 I knew it was special. I received another when Wally and I married. I keep each of the quilts she gifted to my daughters, her great-granddaughters, until the time they set up homes of their own. 

She did many more things with her hands demonstrating her love for me and those she loved. 

This time of year, she chose to show her love by busying her hands making candy. Peanut brittle, peanut fudge, chocolate fudge (with and without walnuts). Her confections were always a true sign of the Christmas season. Her go-to sweet to make for any gathering or occasion in my daughters' memories will forever be her lemon cake. 

Her great-granddaughters have been left a legacy from their Gee-gee that extends much further and much deeper than beautiful quilts and delicious cakes. 

For instance, they may not have memories of her caring for my grandfather in his last years or fishing by his side on the red pontoon at Lake Lockengren, but I do. I remember them building their dream house there at the lake together. Mingling their sweat, tears and sometimes blood to see their dream home become a reality. They worked their garden together and she canned endless jars of the best green beans ever. They would clean the smallest of blue gill and perch to allow my brother and I to eat the fruit of our couple of hours of fishing off the docks. I don't know how they removed all of those little, translucent bones! But with the meticulous detail, her nimble fingers would find the smallest of bones, then patiently fry up the little fish for us to eat. 

My childhood is filled with memories of playing at her house, eating her sweets, listening to her stories of growing up, and growing myself under her guidance. Staying up late, watching more television and being doted on were all perks of being her granddaughter. I liked teasing her, telling her because I was the first grandchild, I was the most favored, but she loved all of us the same yet uniquely. SO proud of each of us . . . We are her legacy, and in-turn, so are our kids. 

Yes, my childhood chapters are closed. Here at 42, some would say they've been over a long time now, years before her death this afternoon. However, who my grandmother was will live on through the generations for a long time after the works of her physical hands have faded. 

I will pass down the quilts and continue to make her cornbread to pair with my soups. But even if the quilts become lost and the recipes forgotten - who my grandmother was -her loyalty, pride and work ethic is ingrained in all of us she considered family - by blood, by name or by friendship. 

Who she was, she will always be in all of us. 

Tonight, she is finally reunited with my grandfather. Today, she is uttering the "sweetest name she knows" to her Jesus. He has "filled her every longing and keeps her singing as she goes."

In my pain missing her, I will sing with her and He will keep me singing as I go too.