Thankful for what was lost

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We’ve all heard the old adage, “We don’t appreciate what we have until we’ve lost it.” In losing Nate, it wasn’t quite like that for me.

Back in 1991, Nate and I were “under the gun.” His real estate investment firm which had been doing exceptionally well had gone under, thanks to a governmental law change lawmakers promised they wouldn’t make but did. We had seven children under our roof then. Among them was an extremely strong-willed pre-schooler and a teen in full rebellion with police issues and court room drama.

The other children all needed attention, too, and our dinner table included ages 18, 16, 14, 10, 9, 3 and 1. Money was extremely tight (think stranglehold) and tensions ran high. I wasn’t understanding Nate’s pressures, and he wasn’t understanding mine. It wasn’t that we were fighting. We just tried to avoid each other, a recipe for marriage disaster.

I grew nervous about what might happen in our relationship but not enough to humble myself and reach out. I did wonder if we might be going over the brink, which terrified me. Being a stay-at-home mom with seven dependent children, I knew I had to do something. I decided I’d try to look on the bright side, and since everything around me looked dark, I’d have to look back to a time when things had been better.00000052

I thought about when I’d followed Nate around like a puppy dog and loved every minute with him. I had old journals to prove it, in which I’d written at length about my endless infatuation. So, one middle-of-the-night when I was up feeding the baby, I decided to make a list of every positive quality Nate had. I wrote an upbeat title on top: “Nate My Mate, a Great Date.” I didn’t feel happy as I approached the task, but in my heart I knew I didn’t want my marriage to fall apart, as difficult as it was.

I started with some bare-minimums and thought I’d only be able to think of five or six good things. Once I got started, though, an amazing thing happened. The list grew.

Here it is, now 18 years old:

  • nice teeth
  • blond hair
  • good looking
  • intelligent
  • a good list-maker
  • confident at work
  • remembers to do what he said he would do
  • organized
  • good physical stamina
  • physically coordinated
  • willing to lead
  • willing to study the Bible
  • willing to discuss any topic with me
  • flawless honesty
  • studies each child
  • interested in each child as an individual
  • willing to help with homework
  • knows everything about academic subjects
  • great memory of facts, history and family history, remembers names
  • good decision-making ability
  • not put off by hard office work
  • doesn’t need much sleep
  • desires to be a good husband and father
  • is sensitive to my requests of him, does them first
  • great sex partner
  • doesn’t give up when discouraged
  • sets high goals
  • puts me on a pedestal
  • generous with money, doesn’t spend on self
  • courteous, with good manners
  • interesting conversationalist
  • makes friends easily
  • wants to provide for our family

After I made the list, I felt terrible about my selfish attitude. On paper, Nate was a great catch, and I wanted to get back to those brighter times. It was two more edgy years before we decided to start counseling and an additional eight months before we felt our marriage had been healed of the wounds we’d caused each other.

As we approach our first Thanksgiving without Nate, I could never be thankful for the wretched cancer that took him away, but I can definitely be thankful for the 40 years we had together without the cancer. He and I came to appreciate each other anew 18 years ago, and it started with a middle-of-the-night list. As a result, I’m grateful this Thanksgiving that I’m not saying, “I didn’t appreciate who I had until I lost him.”

“Don’t let anyone capture you with empty philosophies and high-sounding nonsense that come from human thinking and from the spiritual powers of this world, rather than from Christ. Let your roots grow down into him, and let your lives be built on him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness.” (Colossians 2:8,7)

The Perks of Prayer

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Back in the early sixties, I remember seeing a giant billboard on the side of the road that said, “Prayer Changes Things!”

Most of the country was attending church in those days and had a general belief in the value of prayer. Today things are different, but the power of prayer still stands. I believe it with my whole heart.

Looking back on the last two months, I can tell God has been listening to the cries of his people by the list of umpteen answered prayers we’ve seen. Unable to close myself away to pray privately for my regular prayer time because of wanting to be at Nate’s side, I agonized over how everything that needed to be covered in prayer would get covered. But one day, stressing about this, I sensed the Lord letting me know, “I’ve got other people standing in the gap for you during these weeks. They’re doing all the praying for you. Your place is with Nate.”

I can’t explain my relief. And my gratitude to all of those praying people abounds. I can’t count the number who said, “We are praying for your family daily.” To pray for something every single day is a commitment of massive proportions, and we felt the power of it.

Here are just a few items prayed for by others that were answered with God’s enthusiastic “OK!”

  • Our old house in Illinois sold after four and a half years of trying, just in time to move and get settled into the Michigan cottage before Nate’s cancer hit us. We unpacked the last box a few days before his diagnosis.
  • All seven of our children, two in-law kids and two grandkids ended up under our Michigan roof within a few days of Nate’s cancer diagnosis on Sept. 22. (See Oct. 4 blog.)
  • Nate’s cancer was excruciatingly fast, but had it been many months, certainly our children could not have remained at home, together, with us. Would they have been on hand during the critical days leading up to Nate’s passing? Most likely not.
  • Our family had not expected to be all together even once during 2009 because of being located from England to Florida to California to Tennessee to Illinois, yet we were in the same place at the same time for over five weeks.
  • All 13 of us were together to say our goodbyes to Nate, listening to each other’s messages of loving farewell and praying together over him. After a busy day of running and doing, when the moment came, we were all right there.
  • All of us were in good health throughout Nate’s illness, even the babies. Had someone been down with a cold or the flu, that one would have been excluded, as a safeguard to Nate.
  • The two pregnancies of our daughter and daughter-in-law were timed by God to be early enough for them to remain with us for over five weeks. Had either of them been a little farther along, the couples might not have been able to travel from England and Florida to stay with us.
  • At the moment of Nate’s death, I was able to hold his hand and talk to him, just as I’d hoped.
  • Nate died at home. After three falls and many near-misses, he could easily have broken a hip or his weakened pelvis and landed in the hospital. Had that happened, we would not have been with him nearly as much, and probably never once in the hospital room all together.
  • On the days of the wake and funeral, the weather was spectacular, exceptional for early November in Chicago, two gorgeous days of sunshine and 72 degrees. Participating in a graveside service would have been much sadder in a cold rain.
  • Both sets of in-law parents were able to join us, traveling from Florida and England to do so.
  • Responses after the funeral have shown us that God did bring exactly those he wanted to be there.
  • God sustained me to the end, including the last three nights in a chair at Nate’s bedside, despite short sleep virtually every night. Although I looked bad, I felt as though I’d had a good night, even on only 4-5 hours of sleep every night for weeks.

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Each one of these things was a specific prayer request other people had prayed for us, and each was answered far past our expectations. I am thankful beyond measure for praying friends, and a remarkable phenomenon was the kindness of total strangers praying for our family. Many emailed me or left blog comments telling how their small group, Bible study or prayer meetings were praying for us, people I’d never met but who were willing to approach God’s throne on our behalf. I marvel at such willingness to serve the Lord and us in this way. One day when we’ve all gone to heaven, I hope to meet and chat with each one. We’ll smile at each other and nod saying, “Prayer changed things!”

“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand.” (Philippians 4:6-7)

Fruit Basket Upset

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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)