From Grief to Assurance
The certainty of knowing the future
Long ago and faraway my husband left me and our four children. Soon afterward I came to know Jesus. In the knowing it was Joy unspeakable and full of glory. I believed that God would send my wayward husband back home.
It never happened.
Years went by and my grown children left the nest
It was then that the Lord brought Allan into my life. Here was more joy. He was a believer. How good it was to be a wife again, to share, encourage, and pray together.
Several years later Allan felt unwell. Tests showed stomach cancer. Surgery halted it for a while, but eventually the inevitable happened and the cancer returned.
Our visit to the cancer clinic
The doctor explained chemotherapy with its many pros and cons proved not to be an option. The doctor told Allan, that if he were his dad, he would advise him not to go ahead with it, because of the location of the cancer and his age and that chemo would ravish his body even further.
With clarity, I recall many incidents about those last days. I remember us standing in the passageway of our apartment and both of us crying as we clung to each other. I remember him saying he was ready to go home but sad to be leaving me.
He told me it would be fine with him if I married again
“You’re too young to be alone,” he said. “I pray God will send someone to look after you and be a good husband.”
I recall my own reaction. No, no! However, I smiled at him through my tears. How loving and generous to think that way. Dear Allan.
As his strength failed and his body mass lessened, he needed the aid of a walker. I watched his tall frame bent now, as with slow and careful steps he moved from bedroom to bathroom to living room and I alongside him. I gave him strict instructions not to get up and move from A to B without me.
He continued to read his Bible every morning, and then spend a little time on his computer, reading the news, answering emails and playing FreeCell. Once he was settled at his desk, I reminded him to ring my little bone china bell with the painted bluebirds on it if he needed me. On one occasion I had taken two steps toward the door when he rang it with vigor. We laughed as I turned back, hugged him, and planted a kiss on his cheek.
I loved the way his sense of humor remained
There was no grumbling or complaining. No — Why God? He asked Paul, his doctor and a friend, how long he thought he had. Paul told him he could not know for sure, but said, maybe up to Christmas.
“Are you worried or concerned?” Paul had asked.
“No, I’m ready to go home. I am at peace.” Then he looked over to where I sat and tears stood in both our eyes, the inevitable parting was so hard to bear. I tried to visualize life without Allan, without his quiet presence, without drives out to the countryside, without trips away where we stopped along highways to take pictures of beautiful landscapes or sit in the park in our matching blue canvas chairs.
Under the shade of the trees, we read our books then periodically stopped to peer at birds through our binoculars. We listened to their songs and tried to see how many species we could identify before checking our bird books, that we always carried with us. We puzzled one summer over a cowbird with its well-defined brown head. It chased a small nondescript bird. Allan turned the pages of the bird book — mystery solved that little bird was the female.
Sometimes we walked the winding pathways in Springbank Park. We delighted in hearing bird songs in the canopy above us.
We chose for Allan to stay at home until the end, but he insisted that if his care became a burden for me that he should go into the hospital. Community services became part of our daily routine, mainly to check up on how we were doing. My nurse's training helped me to maintain order and structure in each day.
Eventually the inevitable happened. He was admitted to the hospital and died three days later.
“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.” (Psalm 116:15, KJV)
Praying, trying to pray, and losing concentration
Thoughts going in many directions; thoughts of my dead husband cold and still in his grave. Thoughts of my dear husband, alive and warm making me laugh. Thoughts of him as soon as our heads hit the pillow, holding my hand, and thanking God for another day. Praying blessings on our family members, and, on occasions specifically for a troubling situation concerning any one of them; then asking God to grant us a good night’s rest.
Recently I woke up, sad to realize I had been dreaming again. I wanted to go back into my dream. It was a warm summer evening, dusk had fallen, and Allan and I were at our house on Viscount Road. We were holding hands as we walked slowly along the veranda. There was conversation, but all I remember was Allan holding me close then kissing me on my lips. I saw his silver-gray hair as his face bent to mine and I nestled against him and wanted to stay there.
“Blessed are they that mourn for they shall be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4, KJV)
Eight years have gone by. God chose not to give me another husband, but I am content. I have lived with my daughter and family for the last five and a half years and have enjoyed my grandsons full of life and vigor but they too will pass away one day, and I pray go to heaven, where all tears are wiped away, and, where, we who believe enter into everlasting joy.
“I will lift up my eyes to the hills-where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.” (Psalm 121: 1,2, NIV)
This story is published in Koinonia — stories by Christians to encourage, entertain, and empower you in your faith, food, fitness, family, and fun.
We are a Smedian Publication. Find out about us and how to write for us.
