No One Else Has Ever Been Through This

I am not the first man who held his wife’s hand as she died.

I’m not the first widower. But when it happened that’s what I thought. I decided I was the only one who had ever been through something like that. No one understood. No one could fathom the emptiness and despair.

We seldom hear about the death of a young wife. Tragic loss is more likely to leave behind a grieving mother and her children. “Widower” doesn’t even sound like a real word. Or a real person.

The Bible tells many stories about widows. Jesus encountered a widow in the city of Nain, and He raised her son from the dead. Elijah brought back to life the son of the widow of Zarephath. There was the widow whose offering was two small copper coins. Moses gave laws in Deuteronomy to provide for widows during harvest time. Zechariah tells the people not to oppress the widow and fatherless. Paul writes instructions for taking care of widows.

Yes, others have suffered loss, others have grieved death. I knew that. I understood that. But I thought, No one has ever experienced the loss I am going through.

After my wife died, I was surrounded by wonderful, supportive friends. Many of them—most told me they had no idea what I was going through. Hearing that amplified my feeling of isolation. Those who said they knew how I felt—and there were some who made that claim—triggered anger and animosity, alienating me, pushing me deeper within myself.

I even found a way to convince myself that Jesus didn’t understand. Jesus wept at the tomb of his friend Lazarus (John 11:33-35). He had lost His friend and He was no doubt feeling the heavy burden of Lazarus’ sisters. But then Jesus promptly brought His friend back to life.

So my conclusion seemed certain, absolute, irrefutable: No one has ever experienced the loss I am going through.

I was mourning the sudden, unexpected death of my wife, plummeting further down the mine shaft of despair. It was real. It was selfish.

God Lifts Us Up in Unexpected Ways

God used two unlikely sources to lift me up from brokenness and hopelessness. The first started with a friend who was using the website ancestry.com to trace his family history. He told me fascinating stories about generations of his grandfathers and grandmothers, lands they had settled, children they had raised, battles they had fought in the Revolutionary War. I was intrigued and began investigating my own genealogy.

Going back just two generations, I discovered one of my great-grandfathers was a widower at forty years old. He was suddenly a single dad with five children under the age of seventeen. I had another great-grandfather who lost his wife when he was fifty-four. She left behind eleven children, six of them were less than nineteen years old.

The discoveries continued into the next generation where I found a great-great-grandfather who was widowed at thirty years old with children ages four, seven, and ten. Then he was widowed twice more, burying another wife when he was thirty-two and again at forty-eight.

As I continued to trace each generation, reading articles, verifying birth certificates, studying census records, I kept finding more surprises. Another great-great-grandfather lost two young wives, both leaving behind children less than six years old.

But when I came to the generation of third-great-grandfathers, the biggest shock yet was revealed. On my father’s side of the family, my great-great-great-grandfather lost three wives before his forty-eighth birthday. He had outlived three different wives, leaving him with thirty-three children! Not all of the children were his by birth, but many of them were under nineteen years old.

No one has ever experienced the loss I am going through? God had shattered that misconception. My own ancestry, my own heritage was widowed, single dads. These men had forged the path before me, leaving a lifeline of hope and a legacy of faith.

Another Surprise Source of Strength

God’s second way of lifting me up was even more unlikely and unexpected. I have been married twice. My first marriage unfortunately ended in divorce, but we were blessed with a beautiful daughter, Alysa. Less than a month after my wife died, Alysa’s grandfather, my father-in-law, passed away. I wanted to go to the funeral but I was hesitant. I had not seen most of the family for many years, and I wasn’t sure my presence would be accepted. Sometimes we convince ourselves to fear when there’s no reason. This was one of those irrational situations, but at the time my apprehension meter was turned up high and flashing red.

When I got to the funeral home, I timidly entered and lingered near the back so I could survey the situation. The line of mourners was long but moving quickly. I decided to bypass the line and go to an open alcove near where the family was standing. Alysa noticed me and came over to say hello. We talked about some of the belongings and tools she had chosen to display as reminders of her grandfather’s life as a father, farmer, and friend. We had created some of these memorial collections for my wife’s funeral too.

After a few moments, Alysa’s grandmother, my mother-in-law, saw me so I moved toward where she was standing. She immediately came to me, hugged me, and through her tears she said, “I’m so glad to see you. I’ve been waiting for you to get here. You’re the only one here who truly knows how I feel.”

We talked for several minutes but words were not necessary to seal the connection created in our hearts by the loss of a spouse. I spoke with the rest of the family, then took a seat, by myself, to wait for the service.

No one has ever experienced the loss I am going through rang in my head one more time. I watched as friends continued to offer thoughts, prayers, and memories. I steepled my fingers and rested my chin on my thumbs. My eyes blurred and became windows looking out to somewhere far away …

I saw my great-grandfather standing beside an open grave, holding tiny hands, trying to be a statue of strength. I saw Jesus standing with him, weeping. I looked and saw my other great-grandfather surrounded by children, raising his chin toward me with a slight smile and a twinkle in his eyes. My great-great-great-grandfather was playing with his children; he waved at me and nodded his head …

My eyes focused on my mother-in-law looking straight at me. She held her chin firm as her lip trembled. And then I knew.

I am not going through this alone.

____________

Please subscribe to my blog below.

Top photo by Aravind Vijayan on Unsplash