How My Wife’s Transition Challenged My Faith

When My Wife Made Her Transition, It Shattered Me. I Am Rebuilding.

Suddenly, in an instant, my world shattered.

I am fortunate enough to have grown up in New Thought. I’m a lifer. So was my beloved wife, Suzanne. We grew up in Science of Mind on opposite sides of the country — she in Monterey, California and I in New York. We met at a church service and helped to found the Center I currently attend. I miss her profoundly.

Suzanne and I were like twin stars, rotating around each other. We spent 37 wonderful years together. And then, suddenly, she made her transition, leaving me here to shine for us both. She was seemingly fine just hours before, and then she was gone. If you want to have your faith challenged, be there for the passing of your beloved.

One of the foundations of Science of Mind, indeed, of all New Thought, is the idea that by speaking our word, we distribute (to use Thomas Troward’s term) the power of Spirit to change conditions. Ernest Holmes, in his statement of belief, states it thus: “We are surrounded by this Creative Mind which receives the direct impress of our thought and acts upon it.” What does a New Thoughter do when confronted with a condition that cannot be changed, no matter how hard we treat, no matter how much we move our feet? Especially when that condition strikes so close to the heart? Especially when the impossible outcome is the one your heart really wants?

Well, first, you cry. For days, I was bereft. I will admit that I didn’t want to go on. The Monday after Suzanne made transition, I was standing in my kitchen weeping, saying “I’m ready to go; take me.” Apparently, I’m not ready to go because I’m here. So then what?

I still don’t have the answers to that; I might never fully answer it. I just take it one step at a time. I move forward because I have no choice.

Suzanne and I giving a talk at the Celebration Center

If Suzanne were here, she would remind me that nobody actually dies. To put it as Richard Bach did in Jonathan Livingston Seagull (the book that brought Suzanne and me together), we “raise our level of consciousness rather abruptly.” And in Suzanne’s case, it was very abrupt.

There is a reading in the old Religious Science Hymnal on immortality, which Suzanne was very fond of. She and I have read it together at memorials and I had it read at hers. It says, “It is not our contention that dead men live again, but that living man never dies.”

But as true as that is, it’s not much consolation. I still miss her, deeply and profoundly. They say that a person’s passing leaves a hole in your heart. This is not a hole. It’s a canyon.

I handle it as best I can. Suzanne’s night table is exactly as it was. The coffee table in front of the couch where she would sit is as it was. Her side of the closet is as it was. I can’t disturb it. But the most important item is missing — Suzanne. I’m keeping as much of her presence here as I can, but I strongly feel her absence.

So I work on moving through this new reality, one I didn’t want. I still don’t. But here it is. I’m becoming a different person. I’m learning to do things for myself that I never had to. I’m learning to manage my new financial realities. There is so much that changed in that one moment.

The thing that carries me through is faith. Suzanne’s transition has challenged my faith at its foundation, but has also in some ways deepened it. It’s the best tool I have to walk though this new reality. Suzanne’s transition shattered me, but the pieces are coming back together in a new way.

It should be interesting from here forward.