A Different Kind of Fatigue-- Carolyn R. Wilker

 

 

I read an article this week about fatigue. Not the physical sort where one works too long and gets exhausted, or the kind where people struggle with chronic illness. This kind of fatigue deals with the kind of watchfulness and care we’ve been carrying around since early March. 

Think of a life guard charged with the careful watching of a pool full of gleeful people splashing around—children and their parents—and the eagle eyes the life guards must have. And the break they need once people are out of the pool. This kind of watchfulness, albeit, is a different kind than we have been practising, with little relief in sight. Add to that the many reports of where the virus pops up and where the curve is flattening and the potential of a vaccine being developed.

I see all this and have to dial down the news but not dismiss it completely.

Situational awareness, as described this week by Globe and Mail writer Jillian Horton, refers to this kind of watchfulness since the pandemic was first declared. Not just in one country, but in countries all over the globe, including us. People are getting tired of doing it, but that doesn’t mean it’s time to stop.

The CERB benefit has helped many people, including some members in our family. Some companies offered delays in payment of certain bills, others offered free resources to help anyone in those positions, and that was good when we all needed to stay safe and limit our coming and going to only those things that were entirely necessary.

For people with continuing jobs, working from home, we had the reassurance of knowing we could pay our bills. We could buy groceries and necessary prescriptions. 

Jesus fed people, he healed them and brought comfort to many in distressing situations.  What can we do when so many are hurting?

For companies aching to get back on their feet at a critical time, it has to be hard financially, and for those companies that closed, an even harsher reality. Supporting local business, including restaurants with take-out food, is one thing we can do, where we have the means. 

In our extended family, we had two deaths in early July within 24 hours of each other (not by Covid, but still painful). One family decided on a donation to the Food Bank of their community; that was a place we could make a contribution. 

 

Our resources may be limited, financially, or our physical energy limited. We can exercise good judgement, do our best to keep up the practice of physical distancing, wash our hands, and wear our masks out in public, where distancing is not possible. And maybe that’s all you can do.

All this is essentially the commandment to love others as we love ourselves. Be well, stay safe, and help where you are able. And maybe for some, it's a 'listening ear' or something fresh from our

garden.

Away, On or Through? Ruth Smith Meyer

“Why do we have so many ways to talk about the ending of life?” a writer asked a while ago. “A person croaked, kicked the bucket, bought the farm, bit the dust, departed, expired, passed away, passed on or passed through—why not say it like it is?  They died!”  The many expressions, she thought, stem from people not willing to face the bald fact that death has taken place.

Death is a subject many are uncomfortable talking about and many would rather not think about this inevitable part of life. Even those who have confronted the idea and dealt with their apprehension may still have some qualms. My first husband when told he was terminal said “I’m not afraid of death; it’s the unknown process of dying that makes me anxious.” 

            Talking about it, though, is one of the best preparations for the time when we are confronted with death, whether it happens suddenly or we are told we or our loved ones are terminal.  More than a year before my first husband’s death, as part of a Marriage Encounter team, we wrote a presentation about our feelings as we think on the death of our spouse.  It was a difficult time of writing, but we trudged ahead until it was written.  That encouraged us to go ahead and make some tentative funeral plans.  We had no idea how soon we would be glad we had done the talking and planning before the reality stared us in the face.

            In the time after his death, I was glad for those whose comfort level was such that they could listen to my grief and weren’t afraid to mention Norman and talk about him.  I was also confronted many times with those who didn’t know how or were afraid of talking about death.  The tension was tangible every time I mentioned my husband’s name, and many times, the subject was abruptly changed.  I became acutely aware of the need of education about death.

            When my second love, Paul and I got married ten years ago, we knew that one of us would probably have to face the loss of a partner the second time. When he was diagnosed with a very aggressive cancer just two weeks after our marriage, we thought this may happen much sooner than we had hoped.  However, God gave me incredible peace, assuring me that I was exactly where he wanted me to be.  In spite of the hours and hours spent in waiting rooms and hospitals, those ten years brought joy and blessings far above what we could have anticipated. Even when at the beginning of January this year we were told there was nothing left to fight the cancer and that Paul would now be placed under the care of the Palliative Care Team, that incredible peace and joy remained.  We had ten years!

Having gone through the experience of ushering a second husband into the next life, I’ve been thinking a lot about that woman’s statement. Yes, both Norman and Paul died, and I’m not afraid or shy to say so. Somehow, to say they died, is not enough.  I was right there and sang both of them into eternity although this time I had the help of family around me. “Home!” Norman whispered with joy, in his final moment.  Paul relaxed as we sang “I can only imagine” and other hymns. He breathed his last with a smile on his face.  It did not seem like death so much as stepping through the gossamer curtain dividing this earthly life and eternity. Both of those occasions were not so much death scenes as times replete and abounding with life—life abundant.

“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his faithful ones.”  Psalm 116:15

 

Out of the Ordinary, the story of her life,  is Ruth Smith Meyer's latest book.  You can read more of her journey there.  She would also welcome conversation with you, or is available to speak to groups.  You can visit her at www.ruthsmithmeyer.com

Our hellos and good-byes--Carolyn R. Wilker

 

Tuesday evening, as I wrote, a good-bye lay raw and heavy in my heart. Another good-bye in a string of weeks, and this one for a friend who has died. As family and friends come to terms with this new loss is an underlying knowledge of where she goes from this life.

Kathy will no longer wear the mantle of illness, nor endure more treatments that gave her extra time, or even to make do with what little energy remained. But she will wear a new covering of light and be reunited with her young grandson Leif who predeceased her months before.

My friend was a welcoming kind of person, the kind who found you new to a place and invited you in, that no one be left standing out in the cold of indifference. I know, for I have been the recipient of that caring on more than one occasion. I was grateful and always remember those times. I hope that I have reciprocated as generously as what she offered to me, and spread that kind of caring around to others. She was the rock-solid kind of friend that everyone needs—a forever friend—one who didn’t want to stand out in the crowd or desire to be the centre of others’ attention.

Kathy knew that I had been writing and that my work was being published. One day when I arrived at her home for Bible Study some years ago, she had carefully ripped out the submission page from her devotional booklet and encouraged me to write for the Upper Room. I kept that piece of paper awhile and I wrote and submitted—my first international credit. Guess who gets the credit for the initial inspiration? Both God and Kathy, but she would deny her part in it, except for the suggestion.

Jesus promised he’d be with us to the end of the age, that he understood our tears, our physical anxiety, and that through all the valley of troubles, he’d be with us and save a place for us when we’re too tired and empty, in a place where there is no more pain. He offered consoling words to his disciples, before they even realized the kind of death he’d face. Was his heart heavy too at leaving them behind?

This morning upon early awakening, I thought of how it might have been for my friend in the last months and perhaps longer, about facing her goodbyes. Like someone who was going on a journey and knew she wasn’t coming back to this place. She would know that she would see them later in another place, but would that ease the pain of saying her goodbyes? Might she have felt wistful at leaving them behind? And hope that her adult children would guide those small children well. Hesitant, too, to leave her loving husband?  Perhaps for those reasons, might she have hesitated to take that step, even knowing that it was God’s hand leading her, when the moment came?

Jesus’ words bring comfort even in the pain of loss: “My Father’s house has many rooms; if it were not so would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you (John 14:2).” And then he promises to come back for us. He’s come for Kathy.

 I may not be ready to receive those words, but I am grateful to have had Kathy in my life. She celebrated when there was goodness in life and she prayed for others, knowing that God was the right one to look to for help.

Rest in peace, my friend. You have earned it. We will miss you, but we know that our loving God is keeping you. Until we meet again.

Carolyn R. Wilker, writer, editor, storyteller from Ontario. See Carolyn at Write Canada in June 2015, member of faculty and co-leader of Creative Nonfiction Intensive.
www.carolynwilker.ca

Anchors in Grief—Carolyn R. Wilker

Recently I marked the date of my friend’s birthday, September 2^nd, though she died eight months ago. I posted one of my favourite photos of her on my Facebook page. 

Her own facebook page is still up and there was a reminder of her birthday— which I could never forget. And her voice is still on their home answering machine. It wrings at the heart. It’s hard when a friend dies. This was a friend I've known since early childhood.

On my Facebook page that day, I received many virtual hugs from others who have known grief too, and those were much appreciated. Yet not all reactions to grief are similar.

Some say, “Keep busy.” Others say, “Move on,” as if the loss were trivial. And while I know that one must keep putting one foot in front of another, I recognize that grief is something that one has to deal with. Grief is hard work. I’ve seen friends struggle with the death of a baby and another who is grieving the death of her husband who was just as much a friend. I will offer a hug and a listening ear, knowing this is a difficult time and a grief I do not know.

 Years ago, Belinda, a fellow writer, understanding how it felt to lose a friend, told me about a little book titled, When a Friend Dies, and suddenly I need it again. On one page of that book, Harold Ivan Smith writes, “Give yourself permission to grieve for your friend.”

In the book the writer recognizes that a friend is the one who bakes cookies for the bereaved family. She may also be the one to listen and support them during the friend’s illness, death and afterwards, but she is rarely the one consoled at losing a friend. Although at visitation just over a year ago, on the death of another friend, Annie, her husband kept saying to me, “You were a good friend.” I was honoured at his words— warm, appreciative and kind. And I recognized his different grief at losing his wife.

An Anchor

A sailor puts down an anchor to keep the boat from drifting away when it is necessary to stay in one place. An anchor might also be the person we love who has helped us in those places where we must stay awhile, and they help when the boat moves on too. Providing stability, praying perhaps when there are rough waters ahead. These friends—Gayleen, Annie and Barbara—have held that place for me.

Yet, as long as the process goes on— and it can be a long time—there is another anchor. Perhaps one of the most comforting verses from the Bible is James 14:2-3, “In my father’s house are many mansions… I go to prepare a place for you.” Jesus knew grief; he wept for his friend Lazarus, and so he understands and cares how we feel.

          Grief comes and goes. Some days are harder than others. I am sad because I am separated from one I care about, and so I do what I can to alleviate that sadness that goes with loss. I write about my grief, I think about her, and I recognize the pain. As I pray for my friend’s family, I can also pray that God would comfort me in my grieving.

And now, months later, perhaps my friend is looking down and wondering how we’re doing. God will tell her, “Worry no more. Be at peace.”

Resources for Grief:

When Your Friend Dies, Harold Ivan Smith, Augsburg, 2002.

Winter Grief, Summer Grace: Returning to Life after a Loved One Dies, James E. Miller, 1995.

Carolyn R. Wilker, editor, storyteller and author of Once Upon a Sandbox

 www.carolynwilker.ca