If I Could Be Where You Are
But for now…eternity can wait
When a catastrophic loss occurs, and in particular when that loss is the death of a child, it is natural to want to be where they are. That is one of the reasons many of us make frequent visits to the cemetery. Because that is the place where their physical remains can be found. Their souls and spirits made an immediate exit to the great beyond, where they continue to evolve and give us signs of their eternal presence, as long as we are open to it.
It is also a common feeling for parents to want eternity to start with their children immediately after they “walk on” to their new existence. Don’t confuse this yearning for eternity to start with a desire for parents to die by suicide. Many parents that I have talked with are not suicidal. The yearnings to be with their children is due to the immense emotional pain that occurs because of their physical absence. There are also constant reminders of their physical absence such as holidays, birthdays and angelversaries.
It is not uncommon for parents to wish for eternity to begin almost immediately because the human experience has become so painful and empty in the early aftermath of their children’s death. Much of what I have described was my experience during the early phase of grief after my 18-year-old daughter Jeannine’s death in March of 2003.
Turning Points and “Aha” Moments
After the death of a child (or any other catastrophic loss), there comes a moment in time which represents a turning point in the path that we walk. That turning point represents a decision or an affirmation to commit to living a life of meaning and purpose in honor of and with our deceased loved ones. We make this decision even though it is not a life of our choosing. Perhaps we became inspired or buoyed by inspirational stories of others who have worked through life-changing loss. Perhaps we just come to a point in our lives where we tire of being consumed by the pain of loss, and simply empower ourselves to rise above it. Whatever the reason, committing to living a purposeful life enables us to embrace, among other things, compassion for ourselves and others who have experienced life changing loss.
I did commit to a life of purpose during the beginning of my middle phase of grief after my daughter’s death. For me that commitment to service eventually led to another “aha” moment under the most unlikely of circumstances:
Eternity with my daughter could wait.
A Health Scare
Several years ago I underwent a prostate gland biopsy procedure due to some abnormal prostate serum antigen (PSA) laboratory values. My doctor scheduled the biopsy for approximately 6 weeks after my office visit. During that time, he also did a thorough examination and didn’t express any grave concerns. The biopsy was indicated because my PSA scores had doubled since the last year.
Though my doctor was not overly concerned and I trusted him explicitly, I was still worried about being diagnosed with prostate cancer. Including my daughter, I witnessed the physical deterioration of several family members and friends due to cancer. I was fearful that the same fate would befall me. Besides, the last thing that I wanted was for my friends and family to bear witness to yet another cancer journey.
Prior to the doctor’s visit that would reveal my biopsy results, I took a solitary walk in my neighborhood. I figured that some fresh air would do me good and that nature would provide me with some much-needed peace of mind. About midway through my walk, I had a conversation with God. It went something like this:
God I will accept whatever more that you have in store for me. But I need to tell you that I am having so much fun sharing the teachings about life and death that have been revealed to me and to others, that I do not want to see this end just yet. I feel that I have more to learn and to give. I know that Jeannine is safe and that I will see her again someday. But I also know that thy will be done.
I had prayed for what I once thought would never be possible….to delay the start of eternity with my daughter so that I could continue to live a life of purpose on earth. Wanting to delay that start didn’t mean that I no longer missed her earthly presence. It meant that I wanted to continue to work with others who had experienced life-altering loss on earth for a while longer…however long that may be. I also never thought that the word “fun” would ever be a word I’d use in a prayer related to both the fear of being diagnosed with cancer and the death of my daughter. But that is the word that occurred to me at the moment. I also later discovered that one of the many synonyms of fun is joy.
It turns out that the result of my biopsy was negative for prostate cancer. I did undergo another biopsy procedure approximately six months later, and that too was negative. I still do regular prostate health visits yearly and each year my PSA score has decreased. I have undergone no further biopsies.
I no longer possess the fear that I felt several years ago when my prostate health was in question. I take comfort knowing what awaits me in the afterlife.
What I have also learned is that acknowledging our fear allows it not to control us. Embracing our fear for what it can teach us can also allow for authentic expression of where we are at any moment in the paths that we all walk after loss.
