Grief
I debated posting this for a bit. It’s a little lengthy. but some thoughts to share for anyone in spousal grief. I talk to someone who’s not in the room a lot and ask what they want to eat, but this post is about how I miss my bride. And anyone who has gone, or is going through this kind of loss can probably relate. This is raw and real material. My medicine these days. Writing.
The Loss
Losing my wife, even though we got to say good bye over months at a time, and talked about our life together with the good, bad, what we would do different, our success, our failures, our children and grands, my and Katie’s future and the concerns for her; Even though during all this time of about a year and a half, while prayerfully wanting it all to turn around, we stayed in prayer for the doctors, for the chemo, the future, keeping our devotionals and nightly bible reading. My faith did not stop the devastating impact this had on my heart, on my soul, and on my emotions. I was not prepared for the aftermath of my wife’s death. You just can’t be. I was prepared for her future in Paradise, but not her death and goodbye that day. But how do you prepare for something like that without any knowledge? Oh, you can read, recieve counsel, be encouraged from friends who have done this, but not until it happens to you do you truly understand the depth of the sorrow it causes and how it effects you. I remember my friend George telling me, “you’re in for a really hard time my friend.” He was right. From everything I’ve read, there is no “cure” for grief. You simply work through it as you heal. I’m broken, no doubt, but I I’m very slowly healing.
I am not depressed, curled up in a corner, seeking sympathy or singing woe is me. I am far from being angry with God. If there is anyone who has shown concern during my mourning and grieving, it is my God, who I am still processing his comfort. I am simply a grieving husband who has lost his wife and am now a widower sharing my thoughts. If all this in some way helps you, or you just simply find it interesting, I am more than glad to pray for you and/or encourage you if you are in grief.
Missing Her
I miss everything about you Mary King. All those wonderful things we’ve done together over all these years just simply can’t be totaled in this writing. The ways I miss you can’t even fit here. Let me try to count some of the ways. I miss the old days in Texas we had sharing a glass of wine in the evening on the porch swing, and talking about our dreams. I miss how we reminisced about the days past of living in Nashville, Tn., Dyersburg, Tn., Tupelo, Ms., Cleveland, Tn., and there in Longview, Tx., where we considered traveling by RV lifestyle and almost did. Eventually we moved here to Darlington, South Carolina. We were retiring here, settling in. No regrets and we wouldn’t change a thing. Oh how we loved each other deeply. The way you just let your hair dry naturally and used that old pink comb you’ve had for most of our married life. That one works just fine, you’d say. I miss how sometimes you would wear certain t-shirts and you’d wear it till it was almost rags, and didn’t even care, and neither did I. I loved you the way you were and you knew I loved you regardless. I miss the way you didn’t wear make up-not even lip stick. I miss the way you loved your blue jeans, t-shirts, and blue jean shirts and would wear one of your hats on bad hair days, or just because you wanted to. I miss having those awesome intimate evenings together. I miss my lover. I miss hearing you sing. I miss the fact that you were not fancy and didn’t have to impress anybody. You could wear off brand or white Walmart sneakers and be just fine. I miss how dedicated you were to Katie, and how you loved her and our children, and loved it when they called you. You put others before yourself. God, you were so unselfish. I miss how you would be working at the desk, stand and walk to do something, and I would stop you in your tracks just to get a hug and kiss; you would remind me that you had to get your work done, but I didn’t care. I miss you singing with the music as you were sewing on your machine. I loved hearing it. I miss how you loved bubble gum rock and I didn’t. I miss seeing you listen to Priscilla Shirer when working at the desk, and I would stop to listen. I miss coming in from the shop at 2:00 when General Hospital was on and I would give my two cents worth just to aggravate you. I miss holding your hand and telling you I love you. I miss kissing you in public. I miss seeing you sit in the chair talking to one of our kids on the phone and with a smile saying “well, I’ve got to talk to all three of my children today”. I miss how we called the kids and sang happy birthday together. I miss cooking you a steak and getting in your way in the kitchen when you cooked. I miss how you worked with kids at church. I miss seeing you prep a Sunday lesson, and I miss helping you. I miss cutting and highlighting your hair. I miss being the only one who ever did. I miss standing at the sink in the kitchen, and seeing your back as you sat in the office chair, and hearing that quick books jingle when entries were made. I miss you walking out to the shop telling me you and Katie are going to run errands. I miss you putting your bag over your shoulder with keys in hand, but mostly seeing you and Katie return. I miss our walks around the yard, trips to the grocery store, kissing your hand and arm and cheeks, your eyes, your smile, that little laugh of yours, our text, walk on the beach, etc….but mostly I just miss your spirit here that I loved so much.
The Ugly Thief
What I didn’t like was cancer. I didn’t like this thief. I didn’t like that you got sick in the beginning month of 2022. Covid was over and we had new plans, spiritually and with our home. Then one trip to the doctor changed it all. For the next year and a half it was infusion trips every three weeks, then pills from a box mailed in that we prayed over, CT scans, labs, trips to doctor just hoping for good/best news that never really came. That pelvic mass and the one growing off the liver proved to be too much. They didn’t shrink, they grew. They continued to grow as you grew weaker, every day, and I noticed it. I watched, but stayed positive all the way. We knew it wouldn’t end well, even in hope, we just knew. But you were not going to let it steal your joy-and you didn’t. Most didn’t realize how weak she really was and she hid it, and went on. But she fought like all cancer patients until the end. The tumors grew and choked off her gall bladder/bile duct system causing jaundice which began positioning her body. About the second week of June, she was placed on Hospice given only weeks to live. Then having to help her do things she would normally do for herself, the ugly side, the unmentionable’s, the helpless and totally dependent side comes into play. Then her mind began to fight her toward the end of that month and she became extremely fatigued as well. We kept her comfortable till the end. She did not suffer and I am so thankful for God blessing me with an answered prayer for such a pleasant transition with no suffering. She opened her eyes moments before she died. I looked into her eyes and we both grieved together. Mary was a beautiful person, and we were in love. She loved her family and wanted to stay, but God called her home. July 11, 2023.
Broadcasting Hope 