Getting "over it"

Perhaps someone has given you this advice. . .

. . .like we are going to forget.

You've been married to your high school sweetheart for 67 years; shared joys and sorrows; seen him go off to war; come home and the two of you have been blessed with four children, 11 grands, and a passel of great grands.  You have worked and played and served.  You have cared for him as his life ebbed away...

You have been married over 70 years; or 65 or 53 -- or less than a year.

And that person is gone.

"You have to get over it", you hear - again and again.

Yeah right.

Or you are a 16-year-old boy with a younger sister and brother and suddenly you learn that your mother has a tumor on her brain = and only a few months later your dad awakens you to tell you that she died during the night and as you slept he had called the funeral home to take your mother's body away.

Or the four-year-old grandchild that you have enjoyed and loved and watched and laughed with is suddenly snatched from your family

Or even you are almost 75 and your mother is on the way to her 100th birthday and you know her life has been one of service and love for the Lord and you listen as her granddaughter prays her into Heaven.

And in all of these cases you wonder - what do people mean when they say "get over it" or a more common phrase today - find closure.

Do you find another mate?  Do you get a hobby?  Do you sit by the river and watch as it ebbs and flows??? You certainly can't get a new mother.

When Ray Parker and I divorced almost 40 years ago, people asked "do you think you will remarry?", and I often shook my head -- probably not.  When Rich Suhey died and I was asked the same question my answer was usually yes.  In the less than a year that we were married we had lots of fun.  I hoped that would happen again.  

But for me, it did not.  Does that mean I never got over losing Rich?

I can tell you it was a difficult experience - for me - I lost the dreams Rich and I had for the future we planned to share.

Have I found closure at the loss of my mother last summer?

Does the fact that there is one outfit that my mother loved is still hanging in my guestroom closet mean I haven't found closure. 

Well here's what I really think.  I hope I never totally get over losing Rich.  I hope the memories we shared will always be precious.  And I hope that somewhere there's a lady who will wear that outfit and look just as pretty in it as my mother did.

I spend a lot of time with people who suffered great loss.  I make an effort to walk alongside them and feel their pain.

I will never ask my sister to "not remember her sweet Blakely", nor my aunts to not remember their mates or children who have died.  And my many friends who have lost their life-long partners - they have to walk through each day - with the memories.

The 16-year-old boy was my high school boyfriend.  Every now and then we chat and remember the sadness of his mother's death.  He loved my mother and she loved him.  In truth, I don't think either one of them ever got over losing the other.  But she could not take his mother's place.

Nor can anyone take hers in my life -

But I do have some advice.  Don't push it.  Keep remembering.  Let your friends share your grief.  And most of all -- let your friends love you.

                                                May your life have enough sunshine,                                                                                                     To make you appreciate the shadows

I heard what he was saying

The fog was beginning to lift.

The year - 1984.  My children and I were getting accustomed to the life of a single family.  This was not the way that my life was supposed to be.  I was born to be a "preacher's wife".  That was gone.  I was a divorced mother of three who lived in what we called the Huffingham family compound.

Most of the time it was like the Waltons.  We all loved and lifted each other up.

However, there were still those days when I felt defeated. 

And then I heard a preacher named Tony Campolo.  He actually was quoting S. M. Lockridge

"It's Friday, but Sunday's coming"

   “It’s Friday - Jesus is praying - Peter’s sleeping - Judas is betraying - But Sunday’s comin'. It’s Friday - Pilate’s struggling - The council is conspiring - The crowd is vilifying - They don’t even know - That Sunday’s comin.   It’s Friday - The disciples are running like sheep without a shepherd - Mary’s crying - Peter is denying - but they don’t know - That Sunday’s a comin.

Later I read Campolo's book by that same title.  It was written for everyone who has lost a love, been let down by life, feels like their universe is unraveling. I heard what he was saying. 

That was almost 40 years ago.  There have been many more "Fridays but Sundays's comin" in my life.  But not so many that I don't still appreciate the fact that even though the day seems bleak, I'm glad I know  ' this too will pass'  and sometimes in the most unexpected and wonderful way.

And I look forward to a pre-dawn celebration of remembering that Sunday more than 2,000 years ago when "early in the morning as it began to dawn. . . "  which I will do in the Mandarin Cemetery - made more special to me because that is the place where my parents so appreciated Sunrise service.

Which brings me back to how I really got to where I am today

It is because of the faith that was instilled in me as a child - and the fact that it was my parents who taught me that what is important is that although it's Friday - Sunday's Comin.  I can still hear my daddy's words

He is risen indeed!