Twenty-five years ago and after seminary, I enrolled in a year’s residency called Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) at Meriter Hospital in Madison. It was a life-changing event for me. Before, Sabine got sick, she would tell me that she, too, wanted that experience and put it on her “bucket list.” Unfortunately, she did not get that opportunity, but she did actively walk with me through this intensive, learning process about life, death, and dying.
One of the primary questions that always arose from our group meetings was “Where’s the learning?” Or, now that you have experienced this situation, this event, what have you learned? This became a welcomed mantra in my ministry and life with Sabine.
We can ask ourselves, now that this relationship is broken, where is the learning? Now that we are retired, where is the learning? Now that we lost our job, where is the learning? Now that your loved one has died, where is the learning?
This, of course is not new in human evolution. It is long-standing, ageless wisdom, a wisdom that asks us to reflect on our actions and where we find ourselves; an effort to learn and grow, to improve.
So what have I learned since Sabine died?
1. Fear is dangerous. Grief and loss are like fear (CS Lewis) and in the face of it, I wanted to run away. But I am learning to resists running away. I am practicing being more courageous.
2. People matter. In the face of not wanting to live life without her, I though about going with her. If I did, I would be rejecting all I had said I believed, taught and preached. I could not do this. I sensed my friends and family members praying for me. It would not “let my life speak” (Parker Palmer) the truth I professed.
3. Touch matters (hugs!). LIving in a pandemic creates necessary isolation. This can lead to loneliness and depression. Being able to form a nearby “pod” with best friends Jeff and Bonnie are (hugs, a meal, and Netflix) was a major step toward healing my shattered heart. I don’t think this could be done with strangers. Jeff and Bonnie knew me and Sabine intimately and had been on our long cancer journey with us from day one. They came to the hospital when Sabine and I learned about the presence of cancer. Friends with history matter especially.
4. Faith matters. Without hope, faith in a loving and present God, I would not have made it. I had no anger towards God. We all know the situation == everyone of us will die — there are no exceptions (sorry). The challenge is in the question: “How now we will we choose to live?” Faith in a loving God enabled me to say to God and Sabine, “Thank you, thank you for 40 years of life with this amazing woman. Thank you for the years beyond the medical prognosis of a 2-year “date of expiration!” (As another dear family friend would say when we all camped together in the mountains. “Look out there, David, the only response can be “gratitude!”).
5. Love matters. My love for her is bigger, more spiritual, more eternal, than I ever thought. While I was afraid being in our farmhouse would be lonely and unbearable, I found the opposite. I deeply sense her presence (reminding me of John’s Denver’s song to Annie, “You fill up my senses...”). I deeply sense her presence even in the bed on which she died. And it is not only a presence of location but also of physicality. I sense her (with God’s help) healing the heart of the broken man she left behind and who still, always, will deeply love her. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Love can be eternal.
Whew! So that’s my learning so far. I am sure more awaits me in this fantastic life and the good earth we have been given.
May your day be blessed.
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