Fruit Basket Upset

Today is the third Sunday since Nate died, and each one has been the most difficult day of the week. He believed in a six day work week but was always with his family on Sundays, no matter what. Maybe that’s the reason its miserable to sit in church without him next to me and painful to eat Sunday brunch when he’s not at the head of the table. It’s distressing to see the empty chair where he used to read his Sunday papers and sad to order our traditional Sunday evening pizza without him managing the event.pizza

The last three Sundays have been full of tearful moments and heavy grief. First choice would be to stay in bed curled up under the down comforter, cozy and warm in a familiar place. Even without Nate next to me, I would be alone rather than in public. The truth is, Nate’s death was only a blip on the screen for most people while it was an atomic bomb for me.

But that’s the way it goes. Logic flies out the window for the person who’s in the grieving process. I call it a process, because it takes a while to get through it. The other day I looked up the stages of grief, wanting to know where I was and where I’m headed. The seven stages are: 1) denial, 2) pain, 3) anger, 4) depression, 5) turning upward, 6) reconstructing life and 7) acceptance.

After studying the list and detailed descriptions of each stage, I concluded I’m in all of them simultaneously. Stage one, denial, is occurring when I expect Nate to walk in the front door with his empty coffee mug and say, “Hel-lo-oh” in the mini-song he used to sing each day. Stage two’s pain came in church this morning as I watched the couple in front of me hold hands and look at each other. Stage three, anger, is the one stage I haven’t yet experienced, but I’m on the alert for it.

Stage four, depression, is why I wanted to stay in bed this morning, and stage five, turning upward, is the peace I feel walking on the beach. Reconstructing life, the sixth stage, is what’s occurring when I project to filling out forms and wonder which box I’ll check: Mrs, Miss, or Ms. And the seventh stage, acceptance, is happening as we look through Nate’s personal financial records to find the data we need.

As for anger, who would be the recipient? Over the years, I’ve prayed many times asking God to keep me from ever being angry at him, no matter what circumstances would come. Sure, he could have healed Nate’s cancer on this earth rather than in heaven. Yes, he could have prevented Nate’s body from becoming sick in the first place. But as I’ve watched the Lord pour abundant blessings on our family in ways that would not have happened without the cancer, I can’t complain. Besides, Nate was able, by going to heaven, to take a pass on some of life’s toughest battles: increasing pressure in his law business, stenosis of his spine that would have caused a life long decline inch by inch, financial stress and the myriad difficulties of old age. How could I quibble with God over sparing him all of that?

So I suppose experiencing simultaneous grief stages is the way life will go for a while. It reminds me of a childhood game called “Fruit Basket Upset.” Everyone sat in chairs forming a circle around one person in the middle. If that person shouted, “Fruit Basket Upset!” everyone in the chairs jumped up and ran to a new chair. While they were all colliding in the middle, pandemonium reigned. And that part, the pandemonium, is what grieving a loved one is like.

The good news is that eventually everyone in the game finds a new chair, and order is restored. Life will, in due course, be like that for me. The fruit-basket-upset of grieving will change from a pandemonium of emotions to a new place in life’s circle. Even Sundays will once again become a day of joy and satisfaction. Friends who have already experienced widowhood tell me so, and I believe them.

“You [Lord] have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever!” (Psalm 30:11-12)

The Funeral Guest Book

No one really likes to attend wakes and funerals. It’s difficult to know what to say to the family, and its awkward walking up to a casket to look at a once living, vibrant person whose soul is now long gone. Often guests will say, “Oh, she looks wonderful,” or “He looks just like he’s sleeping.” Attempting to negate the presence of death is futile, but we all hate it enough to try.

As I’ve approached a funeral parlor in the past, I’ve dreaded stepping into the room where the dead body is present. I feel better once I see the lighted podium with a guest book and pen on it. Somehow signing the book is a moment of normalcy in an otherwise tense event, and I’ve taken my time there.

guest book (1 of 1)

At Nate’s funeral two weeks ago today, I watched as people approached the guest book with its pretty pen and white floral arrangement nearby. I knew how everyone felt as they entered and gratefully bent over the book before moving further into the room, and I looked forward to reading each signature.

This week I finally got my chance. Every night as I crawled into bed, I sat with the book on my lap reading a few pages before turning out the light. What pleasure it brought to see the names of people who came to pay their respects to Nate. He would have been astounded at the crowd, filling the largest room the funeral home had to offer, both on the wake day and again during the funeral the day after that. As I studied page after page, I couldn’t get over it. My heart was bursting with thankfulness for so many people willing to put forth so much effort on our behalf.

Because those two days were a whirlwind of activity with many consecutive hours of conversational overload, I knew I wouldn’t remember everyone who attended. The guest book was a valuable tool that reminded me. Looking at someone’s signature revived the memory of chatting with that person at the funeral home. His or her words of love came back to me, as well as sweet memories of smiles and hugs.

Although I had several teary moments during those two days spent greeting people and hearing stories about Nate, both days evolved from early morning sadness into joy and blessing. Beforehand, I would never have imagined describing my own husband’s wake, funeral and burial in such positive terms, but the support and uplift of each guest was what made them so.

During the three days between Nate’s death and the wake/funeral, I spent quite a bit of time praying for those who would attend, asking God to open each of their hearts to receive whatever message he had for them. I prayed the same for my family and myself.

As I read through the list of names and addresses in the guest book, it dawned on me that some people had come from distant suburbs to be at the Chicago funeral home. Others had driven much farther to come from out of state. Quite a few had bought plane tickets and rented hotel rooms to be on hand to honor Nate. I was stunned. And I was very grateful I had the guest book, with  addresses as well as names, to remind me of the sacrifices people had made.

I’m ashamed to say that in my past I’ve often come up with reasons why I couldn’t attend funerals. The time commitment, the distance and the uncomfortable situation kept me away. But on the days of Nate’s wake and funeral, God answered the prayer I’d prayed asking him to open my heart to whatever message he had for me. His message, delivered through the guest book, was “I want you to show up at funerals.” And so from now on, I will.

“The day you die is better than the day you are born. Better to spend your time at funerals than at parties. After all, everyone dies—so the living should take this to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, for sadness has a refining influence on us. A wise person thinks a lot about death, while a fool thinks only about having a good time.” (Ecclesiastes 7:1b-4)

Questions without Answers

Katy's sunsetMy sister and I took our dogs to the beach this afternoon to walk the wave line and enjoy the 5:20 sunset. While the dogs romped in the dunes, we watched the sky turn colors from the comfy perch of two abandoned chairs nestled in the beach grasses.

“Do you think Nate can see this sunset from the other side?” Mary asked.

Her question precipitated a lively discussion about where Nate is now and what he’s experiencing. We wondered if he had any remaining interest in earthly things. As the sun moved closer to the watery horizon and the temperature began to drop, we zipped up our coats, scrunched down in our chairs and talked about galaxies.

“Heaven must be waaay out there,” Mary said.

“But there aren’t clocks in heaven, and it’s outside of time and space,” I said. “Maybe heaven isn’t beyond the very last of millions of galaxies. It could be anywhere.”

Then Mary added more questions. “What about the new heaven and the new earth? Where will those be? So is Nate in the old heaven? Or is he in the place Jesus referred to as ‘paradise’ when he was on the cross? Maybe the first heaven isn’t even being used yet.”

As we talked, we ended up with more questions than answers, concluding that we’ll only have the answers when our time comes to join Nate.

People talk about being reunited with loved ones who’ve gone ahead of them to heaven. Is Nate having coffee with his folks and others who have gone before? More than likely heaven is nothing like we’re thinking. After all, Scripture says humans can’t even imagine the wonders God has prepared for those who love him. (1 Corinthians 2:9)

Why would Nate participate in an earth-style coffee break when he could be enjoying an unimaginable wonder? For that matter, if he can walk and talk with Jesus and see the throne of God, why would he waste time gazing at an earthly sunset?

As the dogs darted in and out of the waves for mouthfuls of water, Mary and I talked about our own journeys to heaven. “I’m not ready yet,” I said, “because once we die, we have no more chances to pass any of God’s earthly tests. There’ll be no more opportunities to win out over temptation or tell someone else what God’s done for us or pray for people. It’ll just be ‘time’s up’.”

“I know,” she added. “And I feel like it’s taken most of our lives to finally catch on to all that.”

Twilight settled over the wide expanse of empty beach, and we talked about not knowing how long it would be before time would end for both of us. Nate’s death certificate says he lived 64 years, 2 months and 16 days. What will ours say? It was one more question without an answer.

Then Mary said, “I think Nate has the answers to the questions we’re still asking. The minute he got to wherever he is, he knew it all.” What a stunning realization. With that, we whistled for our dogs and headed home.

I think often of Nate and his life in paradise, wondering about the details by asking more questions. Although we spent the better part of our lives in a partnership, that relationship has now been split. “Til death do us part” was what we promised each other when we married, and death has done its evil work by parting us. We now live in separate worlds.

But one day God will banish death completely, and all those who love him will be together for all eternity. Nate and I will be in that crowd. And when that day comes, all our questions will have answers.

“Now we see things imperfectly as in a cloudy mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.” (1 Corinthians 13:12)