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Finding Unexpected Gifts in Grief
With Christmas and the traditional gift giving a few days away, my thoughts this morning went to unexpected gifts. I have received several over the last month, a month that also brought an equal share of unexpected happenings that would not be classified as gifts.
My sister, Sandy, passed away just before midnight on Wednesday, November 27, 2024, the night before Thanksgiving leaving me sans parents and siblings. Though she had struggled with diabetic complications for years, her death was unexpected. She chose palliative care and given her end stage kidney failure the doctors indicated patients with her condition usually passed away within seven to 14 days.
We moved her to the local hospice facility Wednesday afternoon with that expectation. Thus, my shock and grief when Sandy died within ten hours. Her death was one of life’s both/and occurrences – feeling both the grief of her loss, and thankful she was no longer in pain. That’s a hard one to wrap your head and heart around. I suppose I could claim an unexpected gift in that she did not linger in the throes of renal failure symptoms. Perhaps that is a bit trite, but that is often what we do to stem the tide of grief, at least momentarily.
A truly unexpected gift was the portrait that a friend drew and sent to me. Opening the large envelope that arrived in the mail, I was overwhelmed with awe, gratitude, and grief. The portrait of Sandy was beautiful. The likeness stunning. My friend’s kindness and thoughtfulness heartwarming. I framed it and displayed it at Sandy’s Celebration of Life. An unexpected gift, most definitely, and a treasure – both friend and portrait — to be cherished.
Dare I mention the car accident I had two days before Sandy’s memorial. Certainly, an unexpected event as no one intends or expects a car wreak. Lou Anne, my wife, relates a family story in which the police officer told her daughter, “That’s why they are called accidents.” On the upside, neither I nor the other party were seriously injured nor was anyone issued a traffic citation.
However, my car sustained major damage with the cost of repairs surpassing its value – a 17-year old model with 180,000 + miles on it. The unexpected gift being that I managed to sell it rather quickly for salvage, and I now have a newer car with needed safety features. Perhaps the greatest unexpected gift in this situation was a good dose of reality regarding my peripheral vision limitations. Safety features notwithstanding, I must be more cautious.
I sat in the church pew holding the memorial bulletin and still feeling the emotional and physical impact of the accident. Opening the bulletin, my heart clutched in wonder and tears filled my eyes as I read and heard the opening notes of “The Anchor Holds,” one of my favorites. I now know that it was one of Sandy’s as well. Though not familiar with the closing song, “Scars in Heaven,” it was very moving and comforting given Sandy’s multiple scars from surgeries/amputations as well as ample emotional hurts. The large crowd, kind words, and several funny “Sandy Stories” were expected. These songs were unexpected gifts.
Yesterday, finally getting around to a bit of Christmas shopping, I stood in a long checkout line. I was stunned, overwhelmed by the likeness. From the back, the woman in front of me looked just like my sister. The similarity – her hair, her stout build, her stance – was uncanny. Tears filled my eyes as they often have during the last weeks with any thought or mention of Sandy.
I asked Lou Anne if she saw the resemblance. Yes, she had already noticed it. I watched the woman, trying to keep my emotions in check, as we moved forward in the line. She walked out of the store in front of us, again, her walk was so like my sister’s. Hesitant at first, but yielding to the longing, I caught up with her and told her how much she reminded me of my sister who passed away a couple of weeks ago.
Tears were welling in my eyes. She was kind, gracious, and said, “You need a hug.” I responded, “Yes, I do.” She gave me a warm, long hug. With my arms around her, I was hugging my dear sister, Sandy. How often after the death of a loved one do we long for one more hug or one more day? Well, I got the hug — an unexpected gift! I am thankful to Patty of Mineola for my one more hug from Sandy.
In this season of gift giving — and throughout the New Year — as we observe and celebrate the gift of Jesus, may we pay more attention to and celebrate the large and small, unexpected gifts in our daily lives.
When Nothing (Else) Seems to Matter!
I had projects waiting to be completed, letters to write, and activities to plan. I was eager to get started or get back at them. Today, I don’t seem to care. They are trivial and seemingly unimportant. What has changed?
I got the call a week ago on Thursday evening. I had waited for it all day. After nearly two weeks of symptoms—headache, vomiting, and general fatigue and feel bad—numerous doctor’s appointments, and countless medical tests, we were waiting to hear the results from the MRI. The ENT doctor had discovered the nystagmus, uncontrolled eye movements, Tuesday afternoon and immediately set up an appointment with the pediatric neurologist for Wednesday afternoon. The neurologist saying, “Let’s not wait until tomorrow,” scheduled the MRI for 9:30 that night. Prayer mode kicked into higher gear!
After learning of the nystagmus, I did some googling—not necessarily a good thing to do. While praying for the best outcome, an old “what if,” worst-case scenario habit, kept haunting me. She, my ten-year-od great niece, was exhibiting five of the six symptoms of a brain tumor! The call came. “It’s a brain tumor.” Okay, I was somewhat prepared for that. What came next had never entered my mind. “It is inoperable, on the brain stem and too large and entangled with other tissue. They will do some radiation to hopefully shrink and stop the tumors growth.” The projected prognosis is the worst imaginable. The emotions came quick and hard even while I said my goodbyes, “We are praying. Keep in touch. I love you,” and clicked off the phone.
I fell into the sofa crying. I wailed, “Oh, God, no!” I cried more. My wife held me. We held each other. We cried. My chest hurts, I can’t get my breath. Am I having a heart attack? The sobs and pain lessened momentarily only to come roaring back again and again. It felt like a vise was tightening around my chest. Just breathe. Just breathe! Is this what a broken heart feels like? My heart breaks for my sweet little niece and her family—her mama, daddy, big brother and big sister. My heart breaks for her grandmother, my sister. I am heartbroken.
In the week since the call, I am not crying as much, but there are still times that I feel myself “going down” and tears welling up. I have asked “Why, God!” No answers other than we live in a fallen imperfect world in flesh and bone imperfect bodies. Don’t know if that is God’s answer or mine. I haven’t been able to focus on much other than staying in touch with the family, keeping others posted on what is happening, joining the wonderful “tribe” of folks who have come together to support my niece and her family, and reaching out to friends asking their prayers. I have learned a lot—more than I would want to know–about Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma (DIPG), a rare and the most devastating pediatric brain tumor. I have researched numerous clinical trials. We are hopeful and thankful that she has seen the doctors at MD Anderson, St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital has called, and there seem to be some options for clinical trial participation. Outside physical labor has provided some respite and distraction. I have weeded and spread 60+ bags of mulch in various beds this week. Good sleep seems to only come with total exhaustion. I could retreat into total aloneness. I know that would not be a healthy choice for me so I try to balance alone time and being with friends that I care about and I know care for me. I continue to pray even as I have no words. I am reminded of James Montgomery’s hymn “Prayer is the Soul’s Sincere Desire.”
Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire
Uttered or unexpressed
The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast
Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear;
The upward glancing of an eye
When none but God is near.
Yet, every time I turn to other interest that I have been passionate about—social justice issues, civic organizations, ministry and advocacy work—they just don’t seem to be important or matter anymore. My head tells me they are important and maybe the passion will return in time, or maybe not.
In my heart right now, nothing else matters!
Pilgrim Seeker Heretic 