EDWARD KEEBLER

Introduction

   

My motivation for writing this book is pretty simple. I want to help people cope with a very difficult time in their life. I’ve had a baby die in my arms and I know what that feels like. I had a toddler son die while in the care of another individual. I know what that feels like too. I’ve held my unconscious wife while attempting to keep her alive until the paramedics arrived. After she suffered for decades with an incurable disease and subsequently became addicted to pain medications, she died. I saved her life five times during our marriage but her sixth suicide attempt was successful. As a former pastor and military chaplain I have officiated approximately two hundred funerals, the bulk of which have been for military veterans. I’ve delivered face-to-face death notifications to the families of soldiers, consoled the bereaved and listened to their personal histories. This book is my effort to offer comfort to those who have experienced the loss of a loved one and guide them through the journey of grief.

 

Not everyone interprets data, learns or applies information in the same way. While researching the topics of grief, death and coping with the loss of a loved one during my own experiences, I noted that there were a couple of distinct approaches. One method focuses on the mechanics of grief recovery and generally speaking, it does an excellent job of providing information. Having myself, experienced the death of a daughter, a son and a wife, I discovered that in my own personal experience, I needed something more heartfelt than raw data, steps and stages of grief recovery. Although I found the information helpful, it served only as an emotional milestone and directional sign but did little for my heart and spirit. The other method was more biographical, almost completely spiritual, devotional and heartfelt. This approach was inspirational and tugged at my emotions but provided me with few tools or a basis from which to heal. The goal of this book is to provide the reader with both components. My intention is to engage the reader with my own personal, first-hand experiences, while providing the necessary information to walk down this path of grief. I’m not afraid to use humor and interject it wherever it’s suitable, or where I think I can get away with it. If my readers laugh often, shed some tears and come away with useful information to apply to their own journey, I have achieved my goal.  

 

I love to tell stories. I sometimes run into parishioners who knew me from my years in the pulpit. A decade may have passed and they may not be able to remember a single sermon but they are able to recall some of my stories and the point behind them. Stories are powerful in conveying a message so I use them to introduce each chapter. The stories in the book are true as told from my vantage point. Of course, most people know that if five people witness the same event, it will generate five different stories. As the writer, I attempt to convey the truth and accuracy of each story told from my experience. Some of the names were changed so as to protect the privacy of others.  This book is my story and it explains how I have learned to cope with the death of the people I loved and offered assistance to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Death is nearly always a surprise, even when it’s expected...

 

I was a young minister when I first experienced death on a personal level. In a departure from my normal routine, I came home for lunch on an impulse to spend a few minutes with my wife and children. We had two beautiful, healthy girls and Anne was eight months pregnant with our third child. As was the norm, as soon as the girls saw me, they assumed it was playtime. My three year-old ran to me in the doorway, grabbing my leg while sliding into a sitting position on the top of my shoe. Her two year-old sister followed, saddling up on the other. Once they were in position, securely wrapping their limbs around my legs, I walked Frankenstein-style through the house until I tired and slowly fell to the carpet. We called what followed “wrestling.” More accurately it was the two of them using me as a human jungle gym and climbing on me, but it was always fun. After our bonding time, Anne usually greeted me with a kiss and hug.

 

While making a sandwich on the kitchen counter I looked up at Anne. She was slowly depositing herself on the sofa, attempting to discover a comfortable position. This was no easy task as she was very pregnant and carried the baby all in front. I know most women struggle with their appearance and self-perception during pregnancy but to me, she looked stunning. Granted, she hadn’t seen her toes in a couple of months but her normal attractive state was multiplied by pregnancy. On this particular day she was wearing a pair of white maternity pants and I noticed what appeared to be a red spot about the size of a quarter between her legs. Obviously she would not have been able to see it so I brought it to her attention. A small spot of blood was more of an inconvenience and not a major concern to either of us. It wasn’t until moments later when I heard her screaming from the restroom did I realize things were serious. I don’t remember Anne ever screaming before… ever. “I’m bleeding! Call the doctor! Blood is pouring out of me!”

 

I was immediately on the phone and within a minute I was in dialog with our OB/GYN who was the mother of one of my seminary friends. I doubt she would have risked offering the same advice for too many others, “Eddy, wrap towels around her, get her in the car and to the hospital immediately! Do not wait for an ambulance!”

 

While Anne gathered and tied towels around herself, I swooped the girls into my arms and ran next door. My neighbor was a member of our congregation and happened to be home at that moment. I’m usually very calm but I don’t remember what I said other than to provide her with grandma’s phone number. I likely stuttered something nonsensical but she instinctively knew I was in trouble and gladly received our little ones. They would be picked up by grandma later in the day.

 

By the time I got to Anne, she was already inside our small economy car with the passenger seat reclined to a near level position. Under normal circumstances, I am a relatively safe driver but I found myself desirous of a magic button that would provide me with warp speed. Small automobile or not, within a brief couple of minutes we were on the freeway traveling in excess of 90 mph. I felt slightly conflicted each time I passed a speed limit sign that boldly proclaimed the maximum allowed speed as being 65 mph. Under the circumstances, perhaps I should have been easier on myself. I’m sure the folks in the congregation would be okay with me attempting land speed records if they knew the reason. Just when I thought I was over the temporary guilt, I noticed that I was rapidly approaching a California Highway Patrolman. The officer seemed content driving at the posted speed limit. I did slow down a little and looked at him but his mind reading skills must not have been functioning as well as I had hoped. He quickly accelerated, pulled next to me and put his hands out as if to say, “What are you doing?”

 

I pointed down to Anne but she was reclining in the seat next to me and the officer, of course, could not see her. In a near comical motion, he glided his hand over the police star prominently displayed on the door of his cruiser like a model demonstrating a product. I felt as though he was saying, “Did you not notice that this is a police car and that I’m a cop?”

 

He seemed like a real nice man and quite understanding but he soon insisted that I pull over. I shook my head “no” in an exaggerated motion from side-to-side while pointing to Anne who was, in his mind, no more than an invisible friend. He responded with an equally assertive up-and-down head motion and pointed to the side of the road. Initially, I didn’t want to alarm Anne as to our speed or the fact that we were now involved in a police chase. Lacking a solution, however, I looked down at my wife and calmly asked, “Anne, wave at the police officer.”

 

Her voice was weak but filled with surprise. “There’s a police officer? Why is there a police officer?”

 

She raised her hand above the bottom edge of the window and in view for the officer to see. With raised eyebrows, I glided my hand over Anne and then toward the officer as if to say, “See? I’m not crazy. There’s a real person here.”

 

It was at this point that the officer ended our once friendly dialog. His expression changed and his motion became very demonstrative. He wanted me to pull over right now. I mouthed the words, “I’m sorry” and shook my head “No.” He pulled behind me and followed for several miles with his emergency lights flashing. Finally, a directional sign appeared indicating the turn off for the hospital. It was only a mile away. The highway patrol car continued to follow behind me in a chase position but the officer obviously radioed ahead for backup. By the time I reached the end of the off ramp, a road block was set up. I could only turn one direction and that was into the hospital emergency area. Two additional police units were there waiting for me. When I stopped the car at the entrance to the Emergency Room, two hospital staff members were positioned at the curb, waiting for us with a gurney. Before they could attend to Anne, the police had to make sure the crazy driver of the economy car was contained. Up to this moment, I had never had a gun pointed in my direction. It produces an immediate level of discomfort. From behind I heard the officer talking to me over a loudspeaker, “Put your hands out the window!”

 

I’ve had a couple of moving violations during my years of driving but I’ve never been ordered to put my hands out the window, especially with guns pointed at me. I had no idea they expected me to put both hands out the same window. I assumed they wanted one hand out of each window. The driver’s side was easy and I nailed it on the first try. The problem came as I attempted to stretch my wingspan across the length of the entire front seat and place my right hand out of the passenger window. By the time I stretched that far, I noticed my left hand disappeared back inside the vehicle. The command kept coming from the loudspeaker, “Put BOTH hands outside the window!”

 

As hard as I tried, my arms weren’t long enough to cover the distance between both windows. In the end, I stuck my left arm out the driver-side window and waved the other around inside the car. I was desperately hoping this was not a pass-fail test because I was not eager to be shot for being stupid. Glancing up to the rear view mirror, I saw the officers laughing at something and then holstering their weapons. The medical team quickly moved in to take Anne. By this time the blood had completely saturated the towels and she was obviously weak. I was relieved knowing that she was being attended to and that she was safe. Whatever price I had to pay now, it was worth it.

 

The officer approached my window and calmly asked me for my license. I found it difficult to look at him. I’m not sure if it was guilt or shame or the fact that I disrespected him by disobeying his authority. I exited the vehicle when he asked me… and finally summoned enough courage to look up at him for the first time. He was a tall, trim, middle-aged Black man with a mustache and a kind face. He asked me a series of questions and I was certain it was leading up to me being handcuffed and taken away to jail. I told him everything I knew and experienced earlier in the day, beginning with the blood spot and up to the time I passed him on the freeway. He told me if I were ever pulled over again and asked to put both hands out of the car, it’s easier to put them both out of the same window. I was a little embarrassed by my obvious error but told him I felt lucky not to have been shot. With that having been said, he handed my driver’s license back to me and walked away. All of the police cars left at the same time and I stood there for a full minute in shock. I wasn’t even cited for speeding. I was never able to thank this man for his understanding and graciousness. If by any chance, sir, you ever read these words, thank you.

 

By the time I parked the car and caught up with Anne, her situation had taken a turn for the worse. The medical team administered several tests but couldn’t stop the hemorrhaging and her life was in danger. As with the deliveries of my first two children, I was there to witness the birth of our newest child. But there was a notable difference in the delivery room with this experience. The physicians were very serious minded and I could tell from the way they looked at me that something was wrong. It didn’t take long for the test results to come back and confirm what the doctors suspected. The fetus was alive at the moment but the baby had a multiplicity of medical issues, all of which were potentially fatal. I was told that if the baby were to survive the birthing process at all, he or she would likely not live through the day. Within minutes, I heard a faint cry. The nursing staff cleaned and bundled up our baby girl and then placed her on Anne’s chest. Tears streamed down my wife’s face and all I could do was squeeze her hand. I felt helpless, realizing her pain was far greater than mine. She had carried the baby for eight months and bonded with her while I was meeting our newborn for the first time at this moment. Words were not sufficient. I held Anne’s hand until the medical team escorted me from the room and directed me to a seat in the nursery. My daughter, now clean and bundled, was placed in my arms and I held her for about an hour before the doctor came in with more shocking news. My wife, Anne, had only a fifty-fifty chance of surviving the night.

 

I looked into the cherub face of the baby in my arms and prayed. It wasn’t my first prayer of the afternoon for I had been talking to God throughout the day. My communications to God weren’t the polished and refined prayers I offered from the pulpit in an official capacity. My prayers were quick bursts of thoughts and mutterings, mostly comprised of pleas for help and divine intervention. They were nearly thoughtless and instinctual, but at the same time, honest and filled with the frailty of my humanity. “God help this car not to fall apart at this speed… God don’t let any cops or parishioners see me driving this fast… God keep Anne and our baby safe… God don’t let the police shoot me.”

 

My newborn daughter had dark hair and beautiful features. Judging by her physical appearance alone, one could easily assume she was a normal, healthy child. Both Anne and I agreed on a name and determined if the baby was a girl, we would call her Jessica. It means “grace.” In the months leading up to this day, Anne and I developed a nighttime routine with our two girls. The four of us gathered on our bed before going to sleep and talked to Jessica. Our three year-old, Angela, was intrigued with the ever expanding size of mommy’s tummy and the motions the baby made as she kicked in the womb. She was fascinated by the thought of there being a baby in mommy’s tummy and was very vocal about wanting a new brother. It seems she was a little disgruntled having a two year-old sister who took her toys. In her mind, having another sister would only complicate an already bad situation. Nicole, our two year-old, was not mature enough to process too much of the information but was happy to be on the bed with the rest of the family. Anne had a nice singing voice so she and the two girls sang together. Music isn’t my gift so I told jokes and tickled her big sisters to make them laugh. I’m sure Jessica was familiar with our voices, even in the womb. Back at the hospital, I sporadically talked to Jessica for the next couple of hours until she peacefully died in my arms.

 

A brief time later Anne was out of surgery but I wasn’t able to see her. She was heavily sedated and her situation remained very critical. It was now early evening and the stress of the day was beginning to catch up to me. The physician who worked on Anne told me she wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone until at least the next day. The best thing I could do is go home, rest and come back early in the morning. It seemed like sound advice but I was conflicted with the thought of leaving Anne alone. What if she became conscious and I wasn’t there or worse, what if she died in the night and I let her die alone? I stayed until late evening and was never allowed to get any closer to her than the waiting room so I left.

 

The house was dark and strangely quiet when I walked in. It is in an instance such as this that one realizes and cherishes those oft taken-for-granted moments of family. Only hours earlier in the day I was walking across the room, wearing my daughters on my feet as boots and holding my wife. In virtually an instant, everything had changed. My very predictable, routine life had been turned upside down; Jessica died in my arms and now, Anne may not make it through the night. I could not help but think, to ponder at length, the possibility of having to raise my daughters alone. I wasn’t sure if I could do this without Anne. I wasn’t sure what life looked like without her. In a busy home with small children, moments of silence are cherished because they seem rare. But now, standing in complete silence, I yearned for nothing more than to hear the clanging of toys and the sound of their sweet voices. I dreaded going to bed alone.

I arrived at the hospital very early the next morning only to discover grandma was there before me. I could tell in a glance from her facial expression that Anne was okay. Anne’s mom was a woman of faith and appeared unmoved by the circumstances. My daughters peeled away from her and greeted me with the usual news of their lives, playing show-and-tell with the small toys grandma had given them. I can’t remember ever listening as intently and enjoying the minuscule details of their stories as much as I did at that moment. The reality of death has that effect. I had become so preoccupied in pursuing the opportunities and challenges of life that I had nearly lost contact with the beauty and benefits of life. Standing alone in a darkened room made me realize that what transcends death are the everyday moments that are etched into our memories. What in life is greater than a three year-old saying “I love you” to her dad? Does anything smell sweeter than a freshly bathed baby? Is there any sound that compares to the giggle of child, or anything that feels better than when they wrap their little arms around you?

 

Anne was still very weak when I saw her. I was astonished to think that women still died during childbirth. The physician said it was not very common but that it did happen. Anne had come dangerously close but she was okay now and was expected to make a full recovery. I greeted her with a kiss and sat next to her, holding her hand. She was troubled, much more than I, and I felt that. I knew she was going through the normal grieving process and I needed only to assure her that it was okay. I wasn’t about to burden her with a distortion of spirituality that dismissed her need to mourn our loss. It’s healthy to grieve and it doesn’t display a lack of faith in God.

 

Anne’s stay in the hospital would extend for another day or two before she would be released and return home. I teasingly reminded her about my poor cooking skills and how I was collecting fast food coupons to prevent us from starving. Knowing how out of place I am in the kitchen made Anne laugh. That’s what I needed from her. I needed to know she was okay and her laugh did that for me. Our attention turned to our three year-old, Angela. What are we going to tell her? She was expecting a new baby to come home with us. How are we going to explain death to a three year-old? I was usually tasked with the serious talks so when Anne asked how “we” were going to explain, of course, that meant me.

 

I waited until Anne returned home before I had “the talk” with Angela. I knew it was going to be a very brief time before my eldest daughter started looking around the house for the new baby we had promised. I put her on my lap and told her that I had something I needed to tell her. I didn’t have anything scripted and thought a simple, heart-felt explanation would probably be best. I started by asking her where Jesus lived? She likes games and I suppose this felt like a game to her at first. She smiled, pointed to the sky, “In heaven!”

 

Angela had practically been born in church so she probably knew as much about Christianity as anyone her age. She understood that Jesus lives in heaven and that He loves all the children of the world. The near boundless imagination of a three year-old places no limits of what they are able to perceive heaven to be. I’m sure in her little mind, heaven was a beautiful and glorious place where she could stay up as late as she wanted and none of the little sisters took toys from their big sisters.

 

The difficulty of our conversation became evident when the word “death” was introduced. I asked Angela where we go when we die. My attempt was for her to make the logical leap and connect the dots to understand that when we die, we go to be with a loving Jesus in a very happy place. She put her head down and became somewhat bashful. She didn’t know or couldn’t piece it together in her mind. I was obviously asking for too much so I gave her the answer. “Heaven is where we go when we die. It’s a very happy place filled with love and we get to stay there with Jesus forever.”

 

Angela slightly nodded her head in agreement with me. I then told her that Baby Jessica was really sick when she was in mommy’s tummy and that a few hours after she was born, she died. Angela looked up at me with an inquisitive expression. I stroked her hair and told her not to worry though because Baby Jessica was in heaven with Jesus and was very happy. There was a pause but no notable response. I prodded her a little, “Do you have any questions?”

 

She looked up me, her big blue eyes filled with innocence, “Can I go outside and play now?”

 

After she climbed from my lap and scampered outside, I watched her play in the yard for several minutes. To me, she seemed to be her usual self. She wasn’t sad or gloomy and appeared to be the normal, carefree and happy child she ordinarily was. Anne called me from the bedroom, “How did it go?”

 

I flashed a big smile while laughing, “I think I’m a genius.”

 

Knowing better, Anne displayed an unconvincing smile and continued to prod, “So how did she react?”

 

“I told her about heaven, love, and Jesus and she seemed to get it. She’s outside playing and seems perfectly happy. I have to be like the best father in the world.”

 

Anne laughed. As I sat next to her on the bed I explained further, “Well, maybe not the best father in the world, but seriously in the top ten.”

 

She laughed again.

 

A couple of weeks passed and I came home to discover Angela playing in the front of the house. Rather than immediately enter the gate in normal fashion, I stood outside and watched her play. The four-feet-tall hedge that surrounded the yard hid me from her view and allowed me to admire her from a short distance. She was engaged in a rather amusing game, tossing her doll into the air and catching it… tossing and catching. After repeating this activity for a couple of minutes, I could see that the object of the game was to toss the toy as high into the air as possible. After a few meager attempts, I could see she was determined to break some sort of doll tossing record by lowering herself close to the ground and extending her release. She was obviously encouraged by this new, more effective technique. It was now time for a world record attempt. She bent low to the ground once again, her hands carefully balancing the toy baby’s weight. And then with a mighty grunt, she shot upwards, releasing the doll at its highest point. In the process of making this record-breaking toss, she tumbled over backwards, causing her to lose visual contact with her toy. By the time she gathered herself together, she had no idea that the doll’s trajectory had placed it out of her view and on top of the tall hedge. My initial response was to reach up and retrieve her toy for her, but I was far too entertained by her reaction. She bent over, looking all around the ground in her play area for the doll. When she didn’t find it, she stepped back away from the house and looked on the roof. Not seeing it there, she peaked around the side of the house; again, nothing. With her frustration mounting, she cupped her hand over her brow and began to look into the sky. It wasn’t there either. Exasperated, she put her hands up in the air and said, “Well, I guess Jesus got another one!”

 

It was at this point I realized I had to forfeit my self-proclaimed “World’s Greatest Dad” award. In spite of my bold claims to Anne that I had effectively communicated the concepts of death, eternity, and a loving God to a three year-old, I had done quite the opposite. Angela had understood Jesus to be nothing more than a baby snatcher that lived in the sky. Perhaps there was a lesson in the experience for me as well.

 

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It’s easy for anyone to misunderstand the concepts of death, heaven and the afterlife. I think in most instances, we are the three year-old on God’s lap. We are not alone. Most of the great leaders of faith erred in their understanding of God’s instructions on this topic. Jesus began His ministry teaching about the eternal reward that awaited all who believed in Him. He frequently reinforced the concept with parables to describe an afterlife and even demonstrated His authority over death by raising Lazarus from the grave. In spite of Jesus’s repetitive teaching on the subject and the miracles He performed before their eyes, it is clear that the disciples did not understand death in relation to an afterlife. One cannot read through the New Testament without noting how many times Jesus made comments that reflected the disciples lack of comprehension. Jesus often repeated the phrase, “Do you still not understand?” Once Jesus chided Peter with the words, “Are you still so dull?”

 

I was listening to an interview with a well-known artist and he was asked how he examined a painting. The seasoned artist offered an insightful explanation. He stated he first looked at a painting from three inches away so he could see the fine brush strokes and minuscule details. He then stood back approximately ten feet from the canvass and viewed the subject of the painting, observing the use of light, hue and texture. Finally, he stepped away from the painting a distance of nearly thirty feet. From this vantage point, he could see the whole composition from beginning to end while absorbing the entirety of the context, scope and message of the work.

If our lives were a painted canvas, our daily existence would be perceived only in terms of the fine details and brush strokes. The early disciples of Jesus, who sat at His feet for three years and witnessed great miracles, only viewed the Messiah’s life from this perspective. A major breakthrough occurred when Jesus posed the question to his disciples as to who people thought that He was. As a group they offered several possibilities such as John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah or one of the prophets. Jesus turned to Peter and asked him directly who he thought He was. I think this may have been one of the few times during the tenure of Jesus’s ministry that Peter correctly answered a question. He identified Jesus as the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.

 

With this new revelation, Jesus began to teach them God’s plan for the redemption of humanity. But even with this new insight, using the illustration of the artwork, they had only stepped back to the position ten feet from the canvas. Although the disciples now recognized Jesus as the Messiah, they could only see the subject of the painting in terms of His life on earth and His relationship to the people of Israel. The Jews were expecting the Messiah and the common but incorrect belief of their day was that the Son of God would deliver them from the oppression of the Roman Empire. The disciples also believed this to be true, therefore when Jesus was crucified they were deeply troubled and confused. If Jesus was the Savior of humanity, why would He allow the Romans to crucify Him? Peter displayed this mindset, even after his admission that Jesus was the Messiah. When Jesus reminded the Twelve of His imminent death in Jerusalem, Peter firmly spoke to Jesus and told Him, “This will never happen!” Jesus responded by telling Peter that he was getting in the way because he did not have in mind the concerns of God, but only human concerns. This is the key. In order to view our lives apart from human concerns, we have to be able to view it from a distance father than our day-to-day existence and farther than the social, political and religious issues of the day. We have to view our lives from the perspective of an eternal relationship with God.

 

The lesson for us living today is to value the individual qualities and fine details of each person’s life and appreciate one’s contribution to their family, community and country. Beyond this, we are to view life without human concerns and recognize the significance of our lives in relationship to Jesus. To truly understand our place in creation, one must envision each life as a single brush stroke contained within the masterpiece and framework of eternity.

 

~~~

 

Points to Remember

 

Death is nearly always a surprise, even when it’s expected. It’s normal to feel shocked by the death of a loved one. There’s a sense of disbelief and it’s common to reject or deny the death of someone close. One may have seen the recently deceased only hours prior and their death doesn’t make sense or seem real.

 

People grieve differently, even for the same person. My relationship with Baby Jessica was far different than Anne’s. I was seeing my newborn for the first time in the delivery room while Anne had carried her for eight months. Anne had not only developed a strong emotional attachment, she set up her crib, organized her new clothes, envisioned her with her two sisters and gave her a place in her heart. In a similar manner, siblings will grieve differently for a parent as each child’s relationship is unique to their parent. In turn, each child’s personality is also unique in their individual response.

 

God hears our prayers—fragmented, reeking of pain and disoriented, God never leaves us.  There’s an old gospel song that utilizes the line, “Tears are a language that God understands.” We are often plagued by feelings of being abandoned by God during times of great loss. How could a loving God allow it? Is there a God? Even as a pastor, I challenged myself with these same questions. This subject will be examined in more detail in the upcoming chapters. 

 

Overcoming self-tormenting thoughts of guilt and “what if.” For months I felt as if I somehow could have changed the tragic outcome if I had done something different. I even felt guilty for not being as deeply impacted by Jessica’s death as Anne. Although I grieved for the loss of my daughter, my remorse was more focused on Anne’s broken heart and I felt guilty for that as well. 

 

Life changes in an instant. Often, the most immediate response one has to death is denial. It’s nearly unbelievable that person that left your embrace only moments earlier is now deceased. It’s not uncommon for those left behind to feel a wide range of emotions, even feeling as though they may be going out of their mind.

 

Death changes one’s perspective of life. It’s so easy to be distracted by the busyness of life. Richard Foster, in his book, “Celebration of Discipline” makes the observation, “Busyness is not just from the devil, it is the devil.” In the face of one’s mortality, a lifetime of effort and achievement is pushed aside in favor of a final comforting thought, a moment of intimacy or reflection.

 

Expressing grief is normal and healthy. It does not indicate a lack of faith or spirituality. Grief is, most simply put, the price one pays for loving someone. It’s not only normal to grieve, it’s necessary to grieve. One cannot adjust to a new life apart from the absence of a loved one without first processing the loss and calculating a life without them.

 

Most of us don’t understand the concept of heaven and the afterlife. I thought I had effectively communicated the concept of heaven to my three year-old daughter but was amusingly disappointed when I realized she only understood Jesus to be a baby snatcher that lives in the sky. George MacDonald stated, “Never tell a child, ‘you have a soul. Teach him, you are a soul; you have a body.’ As we learn to think of things in this order, that the body is but the temporary clothing of the soul, our views of death and the unbefittingness of customary mourning will approximate to those of Friends of earlier generations.”

 

We incorrectly tend to focus and understand life in relationship to “human concerns” and not eternity. We work, perhaps contemplate the economy or politics, pay bills, set goals, plan for a weekend away and attend extracurricular activities. These are human concerns and something we all do. If it were possible to draw a line that stretched from earth to the sun, a distance of approximately ninety-three million miles, and a small marble was placed somewhere along the expanse of this line, the marble would represent “human concerns” or those things confined by our mortality. The vast balance of the line represents our time with God, and that’s utilizing a very limited illustration .

 

Grief is a journey. The death of a loved one is one of the most perplexing experiences of one’s life. A common question that follows is “Why?” In spite of our anguish and our efforts to seek an answer, we, almost without exception, must accept silence as the simple reply. Grief is that journey of not knowing, it’s the process whereby the questions give way to survival, then peace. It’s not so much about forgetting and moving on, it’s more of a change of location and deciding on what to bring with you. The demand to know why diminishes and is replaced by cherished memories.