New Widow Friends

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Although Nate and I were fans of public TV when we lived in the Chicago area, here in Michigan I’ve become a devotee of public radio instead. That’s a result of not being able to receive a television broadcast signal, along with being stubborn enough not to get cable. Whatever the reason, I’m thankful for NPR.

Today I listened to an interview of two widows who had both written about their experiences, one having been alone four years, the other 18 months. The show was entitled “The Daily Challenges Of Learning To Be A Widow.”

I knew the program was coming and had structured my day to listen, readying a pile of ironing beforehand. The minute these two ladies came on the air, although both were strangers to me, I felt an immediate kinship. Other widows called in with questions and comments, and my heart bonded with each one.

For example, one asked about wedding rings, how to know when it was time to take them off. The two writers gave opposite answers. One said she hadn’t taken them off yet and had actually begun wearing her husband’s ring, too. The other said she’d taken her rings off only one month after her husband’s death, because she wanted to look at her hand and be reminded of what had happened, rather than forget even for one instant.

These widows also discussed the question, “What is my new place in life?” The answers vary and only come with a great deal of introspective work and the painful passing of time. Unlike in a divorce, marriage had been most widows’ happy place to be.

They also tackled the question, “How much do I rearrange my life and how soon?” One call-in widow had to move out of her home immediately, because she kept thinking her husband might walk through the door he’d walked through so many times before. Of course she knew he wouldn’t, but the pain of forgetting then remembering was a roller coaster she chose not to ride.

Many widows have email addresses with their husband’s name in them. They have to ask, “Is it more helpful to delete his name or leave it as a comforting reminder of him?”

A younger widow talked of the stress of raising children alone. While that was being discussed, an older widow pointed out that having children, though taxing, forces a widow to stay in the mainstream, eating regular meals, structuring sleep and wake times, and attending happy childhood functions. An older widow often loses interest in cooking just to eat alone, and she might start keeping crazy hours.

At the conclusion of the program I felt better than I had at the start. It was encouraging to know women all over the world (245 million of them) are trying to build new lives without their mates, just like I am. And because the first Baby Boomers are moving through their sixties, there will be many more.

Although none of us widows have identical fact-sheets, our responses to widowhood are often shared. I’m sure there were sympathetic head-nods at the end of every radio wave today. And without even meeting each other, we became friends.

“The Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome… He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow.” (Deuteronomy 10:17,18)

I think I can. I think I can.

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Most of us remember an inspiring childrens book entitled “The Little Engine that Could.” It championed the attribute of stick-to-itiveness, even when the odds were formidable, such as having to climb over a mountain while pulling a heavy load.

Although the first published version of this story was part of a Sunday school paper in 1906, at least four authors are on record as having written it. But way back in the first part of the Old Testament, God had already authored the tale, and not just authored it but also offered to fortify our can-do effort with the strength to get a difficult job done.

In a Deuteronomy passage, Moses, the revered leader of several million people over 40 year’s time, had died just short of entering their new homeland. In these verses the people were recounting specific blessings he’d spoken to each of the 12 tribes before he passed away. He knew battles were coming and had done his best to encourage and prepare them, confident that  God’s abilities exceeded those of every enemy.

Last fall, as Nate’s health made its rapid plunge toward complete incapacitation and finally death, I was fearful I wouldn’t be able to handle the unknown “mountains” ahead in caring for him. I’d heard stories of uncontrollable pain, abusive words coming from patients, horrible bathroom messes and frightening death scenes. Would I make it?

Then I opened a letter from our friend Caroline in England. Although her words of love and kindness meant a great deal, the real power was in the few words of Scripture she’d written next to her signature. They reminded me of the little blue engine who eagerly wanted to succeed, even after others had failed, others who were better suited for the job than he was.

I felt ill-suited for my job, too, but I wanted to succeed, to be everything Nate needed me to be, no matter how distasteful, agonizing or sad it became. And most of all I wanted to remain single-minded to the very end, putting Nate ahead of everything else. But I had no idea how I would have the know-how or strength to conquer whatever might come.

But amazingly, as each day passed, the Lord supplied whatever was needed, enabling me to say, “I think I can. I think I can.” God astounded us again and again with his creative provisions, never running out of new ways to come to our aid. And there isn’t any set of crisis-circumstances God can’t handle. He is the enabler; we are the I-think-I-cans.

At the end of the story of “The Little Engine that Could,” the blue train slides with ease and joy along the track on the down-side of the mountain, having done what the other engines thought was impossible. Smiling at his accomplishment, he says, “I thought I could. I thought I could.”

And that’s where our storyline breaks from that of the blue engine. Although we, too, look back with amazement, we’re looking at God’s accomplishments, not our own. It’s “We knew God could. We knew God would.”

“As your days, so shall your strength be. The eternal God drives out the enemy before you.” (Deuteronomy 33:25b,27b)

Father Figures

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When the preacher told us this morning his sermon would be about fatherhood, he explained why it would be relevant to everyone. Young fathers would get a description of how to father well. Mothers would be glad to hear their husbands challenged. The rest of us were to think of our own fathers, especially if issues from difficult childhoods still tormented. The pastor hoped to help in each scenario.

My thoughts wandered to the father of my seven children, though he wasn’t on hand to hear the sermon. During Nate’s last weeks of earthly life, he often talked about his kids, proud of each one. He also had regrets over some of the fathering mistakes he’d made. Early zeal in parenting caused both of us to do and say things we wish we hadn’t.

Beneath Nate’s regrets, however, lay a foundation of undying love for his children that grew with the years. He used to puzzle over fathers who abandoned their families, unable to understand how any dad could behave that badly. He’d shake his head and say, “If a man takes part in bringing children into the world, why wouldn’t he want to stick by them?”

In his mind, children were the most precious treasure a man could have, proven by his deep satisfaction in having each of them under his roof when his health crisis escalated. For a father to walk away from them would be to experience a loss beyond description. Even when a couple of his own kids “churned the pot” pretty well during their teen years, Nate was always in their corner, and he often told them, “I love you.”

During church this morning, I also thought of my own father, a serious Swede born in 1899, who waited until age 42 to marry. He was careful, thoughtful, conservative and a Christian. As an older dad, he never rough-housed on the floor with his kids, but he did live out a faithful example of uprightness in front of us.

He was impeccably honest, so much so that he even refused to reuse a postage stamp if it came through the mail unmarked. “It did what it was paid to do. To reuse it would be to rob the post office.”

Dad was calm in a crisis, worked hard at the church, took us to Sunday school and was 100% dependable. He quietly gave time to charity, lived beneath his means and never tooted his own horn. After he died, as we read his will, we found Scriptures there to counsel us even as we mourned.

The pastor said it right this morning when he reminded us there are no perfect people and thus no perfect parents. But the two important fathers in my life were, at a bare minimum, really good ones.

“A righteous man will be remembered forever.” (Psalm 112:6b)