It was a Tuesday morning. Coffee was making its usual errands through my system. My laptop was lighting the room from the couch that I was sitting on. It was a normal morning in my living room. How many times have I sat drinking coffee and typing on my laptop in the last few years? It was really very typical.
The sound of Robyn’s crutches echoed down the hall. They had a very distinct click-clunk-creak as she would crutch down the hall in the mornings after her surgery. Again, very typical. Except for one thing. This happened a couple weeks before my wedding to Melissa. Robyn is in heaven and I haven’t heard the sound of crutches for almost a year. Except on that Tuesday morning, a few weeks before my wedding.
My DeLorean Moment with Sorrow – Ambushed by Grief
So what happened in my house, early that morning, as the coffee was flowing and the laptop keys were clicking? Well, two things. First, something in my house creaked in such a way that the sound was just like the sound Robyn’s crutches would make coming down the hall. It has been close to a year since I heard her use crutches for the last time, just before paralysis set in. I have never heard anything in that time since that sounded like her crutches. And in the weeks since that morning, I have never heard the familiar click-clunk-creak again. So this was unusual, to say the least.
But there was a second event that happened. There was no flux capacitor though. My living room did not attain a speed of 88 mph. And I didn’t see any burning tire marks on the floor to alert me to the event of time travel. But for a moment, I was taken back in time. I felt as though it was a normal morning in 2023. I was drinking coffee and typing away. Robyn had just woken up. She was crutching down the hall to get a drink or come out to see me before the kids began their day. There is a way that moment feels in my mind. It’s a little surreal, but not as much as you might expect. But there is a foggy-realism to it. As though, everything is really accurate, but I’m looking through a fog.
We have to get going for the day. I wonder if she has enough pain meds. Should I get up to get her something? Or does she want to get a little movement in. Should we plan a movie night tonight? Would she be up to playing games? Is she too worn out? Do I need to put in a load of laundry? Will she survive? Did the surgery get all the cancer? Am I gonna lose my wife? Should we tell the kids yet? How long will the treatment help her to live? I can’t believe the cancer is terminal. Is this really happening?
Those thoughts all raced through my mind. It was in a moment, and not really in words or clear ideas. But the heaviness came. Full and weighty. The feeling of the burden and concern landed as I *thought* I heard the sound of crutches in the hall.
When Sorrow Loiters in the Back of the Mind
The rest of the morning was filled with that weight in the back of my mind. Sort of like a program running in the background of your computer, using up the RAM. I went and podcasted with the guys. I taught a class. I came home and ate dinner with Melissa and the kids. We worked on wedding planning stuff.
And in a moment, because of the sound of something that reminded me of Robyn’s crutches, all these thoughts come flooding back into my mind. Like a garden hose that was kinked and is now straight, they poured out quickly and then ended up all over my thoughts. For that day, everything that happened was “wet” from this experience.
Water dries and these thoughts receded soon enough. But that day was heavier than expected. Manageable by trusting the Lord? Yes. Easy or normal? Absolutely not. It seemed like one memory was magnetically drawing out the others. Or like the messengers in the book of Job, where each, just after delivering the bad news, was immediately followed by the next. Those who have walked this path will likely know what I mean.
A Time for Sorrow
My new wife Melissa and I were talking about this. She walked with four people who experienced deep valleys of hardship. Three would fight cancer as my late wife Robyn did, and they too would arrive at hospice. Melissa also knows the halls of the hospice home, and has also sat in sorrow, holding hands and singing hymns. But she also walked with a very close friend whose spouse suddenly went to heaven. The months following were some of the hardest she has ever lived. Those days when you just don’t know what to say or think or feel. When sorrow comes in like the waves at high tide, wrecking every beautiful sandcastle on the beach and pummeling ships docked in harbor.
She was very close friends with all three. She felt the sting of death in each case. She tasted its bitterness. As the weeks and months progressed, she learned to live life normally again. But she too experienced grief at the most unexpected moments. She is the one who first called it “ambush grief”, such a perfect summation of the way it feels in the moment.
I think there are times you are prepared for the sorrow. When I visited the grave of Robyn for the first time with the kids. Mother’s Day. The first family night we planned after the funeral. Watching the Michigan Wolverine’s play in the bowl game (Robyn’s favorite team, even though the rest of us cheer for the Hawkeyes). These are all times you would expect to feel the sting of loss. Melissa would say the same. For her it is the anniversary of any of those deaths. Father’s Day and Mother’s Day. And the usually holidays as well.
But there are times when sorrow comes unexpectedly and unannounced. A book lying on the shelf brings a memory of reading with the whole family. A magnet on the fridge that is from a trip taken together before kids came along. A meme that is so funny in just a specific way that you would have immediately sent it to the deceased person. All these bring attention to the empty place that has been left by their death. A place in your life that was once filled with love and joy, but is now void and cold.
Trust and Tears
Early on I was not sure what to do in these situations. Tears would come of course. If the kids were around, I tried to keep composure. I didn’t want to be a stoic in front of them but did want to lead them to trust in the Lord. Tears are good, but wailing and gnashing the teeth are too much. In the end, I learned that the most helpful path is simply to cry. It’s no sin to hold back tears. Self-control is always good. But I believe there is something about crying that is God-designed. So, sometimes, the best thing to do is to cry them out and pray.
And maybe that’s not the best advice. You can take it for what it’s worth. But is there a better picture of trusting God than crying through the horrid sorrow and then praying after? Better yet, getting back up and living the life God has called you to live, all while you wipe up your tears?
Extras:
If you are interested, here is a link to our wedding. We tell the story of God’s goodness to us as we read through Psalm 34, starting here. You might find it a blessing.
Here is a post written on the way to our honeymoon. A reflection on God’s omniscience.
Thoughts Worth Thinking 