Category Archives: Grieving

When Healing Comes

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After the death of a husband, how long does it take to heal? When is grieving finished?

Getting Through ThisFourteen months after Nate died, as I looked back over that year’s blog posts, I was surprised to realize not every one of them had been about him. At first I was appalled but later realized it was a sign of a broken heart being mended.

C. S. Lewis published a small book of journal entries penned during deep sorrow over losing his wife to cancer. A Grief Observed was so personal, he wouldn’t allow his name on the cover but instead ghost-published as N. W. Clerk. After Lewis died several years later, his stepson republished it revealing his true identity.

A Grief ObservedLewis went through raw grief, doubting God’s love and availability to him, wondering whether there was an afterlife at all. But by the end of the book, his relationship with the Lord had been restored, and his grief was beginning to heal. He wrote:

“There was no sudden, striking emotion. Like the warming of a room or the coming of daylight when you first notice them, they have already been going on for a long time.”

That year after Nate died I was encouraged to realize my healing had already been going on for a long time. It wasn’t that I was “finished,” but just as Lewis learned, raw emotion  slowly mellows. Instead of labeling Nate as “missing”, as having left a big, empty hole in our family, I began to think of him as our larger-than-life husband and father, the lively, loyal head of our family who was full of personality and loved each of us wholeheartedly.

As one of our kids said somewhere during that first year, “Papa was a legend.” He wasn’t the kind of legend that made the cover of TIME, but a Nyman-legend to be sure. Grief has a way of wrapping what’s good with a negative shroud, but as time passes and we heal, the layers peel away, and the positives come shining through.

God has helped me see more and more of these positives as the years have passed, and I credit him with every bit of my healing. He’s been my constant companion, my shield from despair and, as the biblical David put it, “the lifter of my head.”

Nyman familyHad we known Nate would die at 64, leaving us after only 42 days of warning, we’d have still chosen him for our husband and father. He will always be our main man, the one we wanted then, the one we still love now, and the one for whom we thank God.

“You, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the One who lifts my head. I was crying to the Lord with my voice, and he answered me.” (Psalm 3:3-4)

Happy Birthday, Nate.

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Dear Nate…

IMG_1744Today was the 5th year in a row you weren’t here to celebrate your birthday with us, and the 5th year I’ve written you a letter on your special day. All of your children checked in with your wife during the day, and we reminisced about the years we had with you. Your family loves you.

Even as I write that, though, I realize you have a new extended family where you are now, each one a heavenly relative, most you hadn’t even met till you got to heaven. You probably don’t miss us like we miss you, but that’s ok. Someday we’ll all understand, when we’re there, too.

In the mean time, here’s a sampling of comments from a few of your children today. Birgitta said, “When I think of Papa, I feel overwhelmed with thankfulness for the man he was! He will always be missed.”

Linnea said, “Being on vacation right now reminds me of all the fun vacations Papa took us on as kids.”

Nelson commented about the 5 years that have passed since you died. He concluded with this: “Time on earth really is short. It’s challenging to think about how we spend our time and what’s important.”

???????????????????????????????Today I’ve been thinking about the 25 Augusts we spent in the North Woods of Wisconsin, always celebrating our birthdays together there with the family. It struck me that when we started going to Afterglow Lake Resort, we were both 32. When we ended that tradition, we were 57 – having gone from “kids” to middle-age adults as we birthday-partied through those years. Yes, indeed, time is short.

I often wonder if you’re aware of our lives on earth. Do you know your sister-in-law Mary has the same cancer you had? We’re grateful it was caught early and that she did well through radical surgery to remove the tumor.

Now she’s enduring the miseries of chemotherapy, without complaint. Maybe you already knew that. Today, as she was making her way to her 12th infusion, she took time to write a tribute to you. And I thought you’d appreciate it as much as I did. She wrote:

???????????????????????????????I’m thinking of Nate today and all the happy memories we have. Your blog also reminded me of how magnificently he did as he soldiered on through all that God called him to endure, all the way to the end.

He is a good example for me and continues to inspire, even though he’s no longer with us. I often wondered why the Lord facilitated or allowed my being present for much of Nate’s last weeks, and now I know. I needed to see firsthand how a person dies well. Nate did that, and I pray I might do as well when my time comes. He was a good, trustworthy, and faithful man who ran the race marked out for him with grace and perseverance. We miss him.

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Amen to that.

I love you, Nate.

I thank my God every time I remember you. (Philippians 1:3)

Blindsided by Bad News

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Five years ago at about this time, Nate and I were shocked when his cell phone delivered some very disturbing news. It had to do with an invisible enemy that was shortly to become visible: pancreatic cancer throughout his body.

With hindsight being 20/20, we now see how the cancer was present and active throughout the summer, but it wasn’t until the test results from a pre-op physical (for back surgery) that alarm bells began clanging. His liver numbers “were off,” prompting the doctor to order a scan of the liver and pancreas, located next to each other.

Doctor's OfficeJournal words tell the tale: “While we were in the office of a new orthopedic doctor getting a third opinion on Nate’s spine, one of our other doctors called Nate’s cell. ‘The results of your scan indicate a mass on the liver,’ he said, matter-of-factly. ‘But don’t jump to any conclusions. Tissue is tissue, and we won’t know anything conclusive until we do a biopsy.’ The doctor told Nate he’d made an appointment for him and then said, ‘Be sure you keep it.’

A few minutes later as we stood in the hall awaiting the elevator, Nate was trembling from head to toe, his cheeks, his shoulders, his hands, but no wonder. He’d just been hard-hit with the words “mass” and “biopsy,” two words no one wants to hear.

“How’re you feeling?” I asked, enfolding him in a hug.

“It’s OK. We’ll get through it,” he said.

These simple words were meant to prevent jumping to a wrong conclusion, but when our eyes locked, we saw we already had. In the car we listened to an earlier phone message left by the same doctor Nate had just heard from:

“I need to talk to you right away. Here’s my direct number. And if I don’t answer, here’s my pager. And if for some reason that doesn’t work, here’s the number for the girl at the desk, who will come and find me.” We knew we were in a serious mess.

As we drove from Chicago back to Michigan I said, “If they need to do surgery on your liver, I want to give you a chunk of mine. People can do that, you know. And I really mean it.”

Nate’s response was off-subject. “I think I’ve already used up today’s pain meds for my back. It’s going to be a bad night.”

Storm comingA storm was about to hit, and both of us knew we’d need a place to run and hide. We also needed God to show us how to spot his blessings in the rubble, because at that moment, we couldn’t see a single one.

 

“My people will live in… undisturbed places of rest. Though hail flattens the forest and the city is leveled completely, how blessed you will be.” (Isaiah 32:18-20)

Praising and Praying with Mary

  1. Big praise about the new, stronger antibiotics: the feeding tube infection is beginning to heal and feels much better!
  2. Please pray for tomorrow’s infusion #12, that they’ll be able to find a good vein. Without a port, my veins are suffering. Hoping I won’t have to have a port put in.