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Grief Journals
Resigning Your Commission
© Dr. Richard Mabry
All materials copyrighted
After the death of his first wife in 1999, Dr. Richard Mabry used journaling as a coping tool. He combined excerpts from that writing
with practical information and words of encouragement for his book, The Tender Scar: Life After The Death Of A Spouse .
Here is a chapter from that book:
Marriage involves looking out for each other. It's hard to give this up, even after the death of one of the couple.
(From my journal):
I'm weary, and sort of punch-drunk, after a 600-mile drive from South Padre Island. Brian [our son] helped me arrange for Coast Guard
assistance in scattering Cynthia's ashes there, a place that meant so much for us. While I stewed for three days in a motel room,
waiting for weather to clear, I tried so hard to plan things perfectly. When our launch finally was able to put out to sea, the station
Executive Officer told me that there's no standard burial at sea service in the Blue Jackets Manual, and asked if I wanted him to turn
back and get a chaplain. Instead, I did the service myself, quoting from memory the passage from Romans which I had chosen for
Cynthia's memorial service, ending with the assurance that nothing, not even death, can separate us from the love of God. After
committing her ashes to the sea, I sat and cried all the way back to the shore. But I think Cynthia would have been pleased, and for
me, it just seemed right for me to step in and do one last thing for her--I've had over forty years' practice, and it's going to be hard
to stop.
(From my journal):
I've made a profound discovery. For forty-three years, three as a couple and forty as husband and wife, I have felt the self-imposed
pressure to do what was best for Cynthia, to do what would please her, to take care of her. After her death, in my daily prayers I
have continued to pray for assurance that she is safe, happy, and in God's care. And it hit me yesterday that if I truly believe what
I've been saying all these years, I have assurance that it's a given that she is indeed all that. And what I need to do is resign my
job of protector/caregiver/husband and let it go. I have to assume that God will keep His end of the bargain. I know that she more
than kept hers.
Habits are easy to form and hard to break. Over decades of marriage, it becomes easy to fall into routines of action, even habitual
thought patterns. One of these is the habit of taking care of your spouse, something that becomes an unconscious mindset over the
years. When you make even the simplest decision, you automatically factor in what he/she would think of the action. Without conscious
thought you approach situations with the unstated goal of not creating hardship for your partner. And always in the forefront of your
mind, even unconsciously, is the reflex to be protective.
When you are no longer two but one, even though your actions and their consequences no longer affect your spouse, it's hard to break the
habit of a lifetime. In the days and weeks that follow the death of your partner, there are so many opportunities to protect them.
This begins with the obituary. Here there is a real temptation to take on a commission as press agent. You want everyone to know all
the merits and accomplishments of this person, to realize the world will be a duller, less complete place without them. You want to be
certain nothing is left out that might attest to their deeds and their worth. It's as though you were introducing to the world this
person with whom you shared your life, and wanted to be certain the world is duly impressed.
At some point, I hope you'll be able to look back and realize your spouse wrote their own obituary in the hearts of family, friends, and
the community. What is written in the newspaper, what is said in the form of eulogy at the memorial service, won't last in the memory
of those who read or hear it. What is enduring are the examples that were set, the acts of kindness and love that were committed, the
way in which a life was lived. This testament was written long before the obituary was set down on tear-stained pages, and will be much
more long lasting. Rather than giving yourself an ulcer over whether you left out anything important in the composition of a memorial
piece, recognize the impermanence of those words. Consider the more permanent memorials that were constructed years ago: happy memories
made with a grandchild, trips to the store for a neighbor who was ill, and a joyful voice in the choir.
A similar job that you may need to resign is that of chief architect of monuments. Let me give you an example. There is nothing wrong
with looking at a well-kept garden or beautiful flowers and saying, "She/he did that." But if your mate had a green thumb, and yours is
permanently brown, your efforts to make that garden an everlasting monument to your departed spouse are doomed to produce frustration
for you and to end in failure. Cynthia was an avid gardener, deriving a great deal of joy from it, and able to make almost any plant
grow and flourish. As you might expect, when I was left to handle all those flower beds, those bushes and shrubs, and the garden, my
first reaction was to delve into all her gardening books in a frantic effort to keep everything alive and looking wonderful. When
plants would die, it was as though I was experiencing her death all over again. This went on for months, until her brother, a farmer,
reacted to my expression of anguish by saying, "Well, they're just plants." They may have been planted and nurtured by my late wife,
but if they had died while under her care, she would just have pulled them up and gone about her business. In the end, with help, I've
managed to make our flowerbeds attractive but low-maintenance. This doesn't detract from my memories of Cynthia's magic with flowers.
I've just chosen to resign my self-appointed commission to carry forward that particular torch.
The monument you are trying to maintain might not be flowers, but whatever else your husband or wife left behind. Don't feel you've
dishonored them by not carrying on their work. Another good piece of advice I received came from my oldest son, when I told him I had
decided to eventually sell the farmland that Cynthia had loved (and I had tolerated). He simply said, "Dad, the worst thing you could
ever do would be to try to keep living Mom's life for her." I commend that advice to each of you, whatever your circumstances.
Finally, like me, you may be led to pray repeatedly for God to take care of your departed loved one. I derived comfort in doing this
(as well as feeling proud of my obvious spirituality) until it dawned on me that I was asking God to do what He'd already promised to
carry out. My time and efforts would be better spent praying for strength, guidance, comfort and grace for myself and for all the
loved ones left behind. So, after an embarrassingly long time, I'm afraid, I resigned that last commission. Now my prayers contain
thanks for the assurance that Cynthia has gone on to be with the Lord, and the promise that the same reward awaits me, as it does all
those who call on the name of our Savior.
Luke 23:43 Jesus answered him, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise." (NIV)
Isaiah 66:22 For just as the new heavens and new earth that I am making will stand firm before me, so will your children and your
reputation stand firm. (The Message)
Loving Father, it's so hard to let go. It's hard for us not to try to keep our loved one alive in the hearts of others, since they are
still so much in ours. Help us see that they have gone on to something so much better than anything we can imagine, and may we be
thankful for the reward they have now claimed, and that someday awaits us. Until that day, heal our hurting hearts and guide our
faltering steps. In our Savior's name, Amen.
About The Author:
© 2006 by Richard L. Mabry. Published by Kregel Publications, Grand Rapids, MI.
Taken from The Tender Scar: Life After The Death Of A Spouse
Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.
* This was a book excerpt and cannot be reprinted without permission from the publisher.
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