Growing up I never understood the grief in
death. My grandparents on both sides died before I was born or was old enough
to remember any of them. My first experience with genuine loss came when I was
20-years old. My aunt died. I’d been to funerals for different relatives and
family friends before. Some of those deaths were sadder than others for various
reasons but the first one to really hit me was my aunt. She’d been there my
whole life. I used to stay at her house when preschool was done until my
parents picked me up. My sister and I used to go to her house during school
holidays to watch TV (before cable came to where we lived). We became friends
with her music students. Sometimes I would go with her when she had playing
engagements, at some church or other, to be page turner and general baggage
carrier. She was my idea of what and aunt was to be, not intrusive and always
available. When I was away for college, I’d always check in with her on my
visits home. When she passed, I was away at school and couldn’t make it back
for the funeral. I remember the sense of loss I felt. My sister and I cried
together for the loss of our aunt. That loss shook me, but I was still firm. A
few years later another aunt died, I’d known her my whole life as well, but she
was different from her sister. She was one of life’s truly unique
personalities. She was a nurse, a very good nurse. But she lived a bit more in
her own world marching to the beat of a different drummer, as one might say. I
was also away at school when she passed. I don’t remember crying when she died,
I was sad, but I imagine that I may have been inoculated to the grief, by the
loss of the first aunt.
Then a few years went by and I received the
gut punch from which I’m still recovering. My father died. There still are no
words to express this pain. He was my protector, provider, teacher, and friend
and he’s gone. When he died, I was at home. I’d finally finished my last degree
and came home. He’d been sick and about a year before he passed, he received
his diagnosis. I got the call on New Year’s Eve with the news. I called his
siblings to let them know. When I came home, he and I hung out like we usually
did, I tried to be as much help to my mother as I could in caring for him. Then
11 months after his diagnosis he went to sleep, and it knocked the wind out of
me. But as I have been raised to do, I went into work mode. My tears were not
immediate. There is a lot of paperwork and planning that happens at the end of
a person’s life. I called his siblings and informed them, then I did all the
running around associated with planning a funeral. When we sat down for family
worship that Friday night it all came flooding out. No more work to do on the
Sabbath, you see, so it all came out at the sound of his favourite Sabbath
hymn. That Sabbath happened to be my birthday. Then we buried him that Sunday.
I’m writing this because a friend of mine
lost his mother, after a lengthy illness, a few days ago and I’m not sure how
he’s dealing with it. Two other childhood friends recently lost their brother,
suddenly and unexpectedly, as well, and I know one of them is struggling. I
know there many other people in this world that are experiencing loss in
various degrees for varying reasons. I learned recently that at least 70 people
in my country have been declared missing. This number is exponentially greater
across the world. A loss like this I imagine may be worse than death because
you are stuck in the land of not knowing. Loosing a loved one has caused many
to lose their faith in God. I was reading John 11 recently and it brought me to
tears thinking about my father. I really believed that my daddy would get
better, to his last breath, I believed. He’d never really been sick the entire
time I knew him, I was sure he would recover. But he didn’t, and the story of
Lazarus made me ask God why. Why not my father? He was still relatively young.
He was highly active and very energetic up until his diagnosis. Why didn’t I
get that miracle? I believed. The simple answer is, The All Knowing, All Loving,
All Powerful God, saw that the greatest good would come from allowing His
faithful child to rest. The hurt and the pain and the added responsibilities
left by those who are gone will draw those who remain closer to Himself and bring
Glory to Himself (John 11:4). But we must be humble and accept God’s judgement
in life (Romans 8:28). God allowed John the Baptist, His servant, the greatest of the
prophets, to die in a most vicious manner (Matthew 11:7-11; 14:3-12). Judgement
will be meted out on the perpetrators of his death but a greater good was
achieved, Christ was lifted up and we all have a hope of salvation (Luke 3:16;
John 3:30).
Like Martha I know I’ll see my father at
the resurrection. I believe his sins are forgiven and I know he served the Lord
faithfully and believed completely in every Word of God. The waves of sadness
still come, with I think that he won’t see me married or know my children in
this life. But I have faith that he will know them from the rest of eternity in
a land were there will be no more sickness or dying, no more pain or misery and
all tears will be wiped away and all things will be made new (Revelation 21:4).
Until that day I keep most of my thoughts of him, happy ones. I remember the
positive impact he had on his students, his laugh, his sense of humour, his
reliability, the example he left of what a father should be. His example let me
know some of what my Heavenly Father is like (Matthew 7:11). Now that my
earthly father is gone, God in Heaven stands firmly, unwaveringly and reliably
as my Protector, Provider, Teacher and Friend.
May this bring you Comfort
