It’s been six months since Nate died, but it seems like yesterday. Nate’s Hospice office called today, checking on my welfare and that of our family. It isn’t the first time DJ has called, and he’s been instrumental in helping us on multiple occasions. He was the one in charge of the Hospice memorial service we participated in a month ago, and he has connected us with people to talk to, as needed. The Hospice bereavement specialists know what they’re talking about, and several of us have taken advantage of their offers to listen and encourage.

In conversation with DJ this afternoon, I shared about my upcoming trip to England to meet the newborn twins and spend time with our son Hans and his entire family. As we talked about new life coming after the end of Nate’s life, DJ used the expression “secondary grief.”

“This is what you’ll feel when you first look at the new babies and Nate isn’t with you. It’s what you’ll feel when he’s unavailable to ‘hold the babies for a photo,’ and it will surface again when the changes in your son and family represent life moving on without your husband.” Although my eyes filled with tears as he talked, I knew he was right.

Every married couple has a litany of private jokes, little tidbits only the two of them understand, tiny pieces of family history that by themselves are nothing significant but strung together are like the beads of an attractive necklace. In our past visits to England, Nate and I would end the day chatting about what had been seen, heard, experienced, a way to cement the details in our minds. This trip I’ll be ending the day without that chat. Our couple-history has ended, and all the necklace beads have been strung. There aren’t any more. When DJ said, “Prepare yourself for some bittersweet moments along with the happy ones,” I knew he was telling the truth.

Nate’s absence will be palpable and painful. The sense of “never again” will be ever-present, and Nate’s love of travel and particularly of England will make me think, “What a terrible shame.”

I’ve been praying about all this for a while, seeking God’s specific preparation for the trip abroad and this new type of sadness. The primary grieving, me missing Nate, will continue, but the secondary grieving will increase.

DJ prompted me to think about another example of secondary grief, the sadness I experience while watching my own children grieve. Every mother has felt anguish over this, beginning in the pediatrician’s office during those first inoculations. Watching them go through physical pain is difficult, but knowing they’re undergoing emotional pain is torture. Little children, little problems; big kids, big problems.

I struggle in wondering if my children are suffering in silence. I hope not, although because our kids have become adults, I’m not with them daily anymore and may not know. Hospice’s willingness to be available (not just in the town where Nate died, but anywhere) is priceless, and I appreciated talking again to DJ.

Although today had been overcast and wet when Jack and I had made our trip to the beach, as I talked with DJ, the sun broke through. It reminded me that God is watching over us tenderly, sending refreshment exactly when needed, whether it’s sunshine streaming through the window or a phone call coming in from a caring Hospice helper.

“He will feed his flock like a shepherd. He will carry the lambs in his arms, holding them close to his heart. He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young.” (Isaiah 40:11)

In the days following the 2001 terrorist attacks on New York’s twin towers, everything that had been secure in our country suddenly became shaky. Peter Jennings came on TV at the end of his newscast about the collapsed buildings and said, “Talk to your children tonight, and assure them they’ll be safe.”

Nate and I had been watching the program together, and I said, “Children shouldn’t be told that, because it’s not true.”

We talked for a few minutes about the safety we do or don’t have in our country or on this earth and concluded it would be a lie to assure our children of something that isn’t a sure thing. The only guaranteed safety anywhere is in Christ, and that doesn’t include earthly safety. It’s only after death and leaving this world to live with the Lord that we can be sure no harm will come to us.

After 9/11, security measures in America were drastically heightened. Waiting in long airport lines became standard for flyers. Anyone who seemed suspect in any way was pulled aside (as Nate was here) and “wanded” or searched, but none of us minded. If it meant we’d be safer on an airplane, we were willing.

Despite added rules and more personnel watching over us, safety still wasn’t guaranteed, not for any individual and not for the citizens of New York. Just this weekend an SUV loaded with home made bombs was found parked in Times Square, the engine running and explosives set to go off momentarily. Although the bombs didn’t detonate and no lives were lost, what would keep the next angry bomb-maker from trying the same thing or worse?

A widow friend of mine told me recently of her battle with fear immediately after her husband died. She’d never spent a night alone and had difficulty sleeping for fear of a break-in. Every strange noise sent a chill up her spine. Sadly, no one can assure her that a break-in will never occur.

My own daughters, living in Chicago, walk home from work with pepper spray in hand, at-the-ready. Two blocks north of their neighborhood a pair of friends were clubbed with a baseball bat a week ago. One was critically injured and both were hospitalized after the attack by someone who did it just to steal their purses. Anything can happen.

So what are we to do about life as we know it, since we’re all forced to live in a world fraught with dangers? The only answer is to trust God for our ultimate security, which may not come until after we die. Nate, having left this world, is now 100% secure. No more airport security searches, no more dangers even possible. He’s untouchable.

In the mean time, the rest of us can install alarm systems or even hire armed guards to protect us, but who are we fooling? Bad things will continue to happen to good people. Although our bodies and our earthly lives will always be at risk in this shaky world, our souls can be secure in God’s unshakable care. Once we believe this, we can rest easy.

”In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe.” (Psalm 4:8)