You Will Always Be My Valentine

 What more can be said?

About Resilience

 

Researcher Dr. Lucy Hone, talks about what she learned about resilience — surviving loss and experiencing grief. 

In the following TED talk, she speaks not only about her research, but also about her own grief; losing her daughter in a tragic automobile accident.

I found what Dr. Hone had to say is consistent with what I am going through — and maybe what you are experiencing or have experienced as well.

She offers three simple , but effective, grief survival strategies to gather a person’s resilience:

1. Resilient people know shit happens; that suffering is a part of every human person’s existence.

2. Resilient people are very good at selecting where they focus their attention. They tune into the good and being grateful. They realize what they can control and what they cannot.

3. Resilient people continue to ask themselves, “Is what I am doing now helping or harming me? They choose to put themselves back insto the “driver’s seat.” 

You can view an abbreviate video of her talk here. I found it very helpful.

You can also view the full 16 minute video here: https://youtu.be/9-5SMpg7Q0k

A Realization

Early this morning, I came across these lines from the famous Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926). For those of us who mourn, these words could become a call for us, a call to realize not the pain and loneliness that lie ahead, but a great opportunity to realize that “enormous space is near;” and we are asked to step out from the house we know so well.

“Whoever you are: some evening take a step
out of your house, which you know so well.
Enormous space is near.”

-Excerpt from “The Way In.” 

I am sensing a slow turning inside me. Yesterday, my trusty canine companion and I took a drive around the familiar places Sabine and I walked and rode our bikes. Familiar together-places. As I did so, wonderful, loving memories emerged of our long life together and the precious times, travels and events we shared over the past 40 years. It was a peaceful panorama that rolled through my thoughts. I felt lifted up once again. 

When I returned home, filled with wonder and gratefulness, I knew our life could not have gone on like this forever, but that’s what I had unrealistically hoped for. I know that Sabine has died, but I also know that this love I have for her will always be with me. And, one day, I will be okay with accepting what happened and living s life that will always cherish my memories of her.

Dancing 2

What is this strange process that happens, that which comes alive to save us from a crippling grief or loss? Is it God? Is it how we were created to cope, heal, and be able to face another day? 

We must have something inside of us — all of us — which enables us to survive having lost one-half of our beloved team; a soulmate — that in this loving relationship we became a better person; the person we always knew lived within us and which we still can celebrate.    

I am swept away, puzzled, as I ride this primal, healing wave and swim into it...

this morning

while i made griddle

cakes

listening to seattle’s

jazz24

i began to dance

smooth and slow

and yes

you joined me

unable to materialize

incarnate yourself

still 

you flowed

around 

touched me

just like always

we danced 

our shared

special language

nice

sweet

comforting

remember when

that summer’s day 

so long ago 

when we after work?

danced on state street

unabashed 

a balmy duo

when 

after a 

deep slow dip

you slid out of my

arms and we

tumbled to the street

laughing

uncaring

passers by

glanced and wondered

who were these two

zany gadflies

so enjoying one another?

surely not our police

chief

and that lady cop

from the capitol?

we didn’t care 

anymore

than we did now

dancing together in

our

kitchen

among the sweet smell of

griddle

cakes.

The Visit

 

Presence competes with absence and, from time to time, overcomes feelings of loss and absence. It is this sense of a beloved’s presence beyond death that is so confusing. 

How can it be that I sense her presence here, around me in this house, with me, and on our woodland trails? 

Am i in denial? Or is it that profound love developed over decades of chosen togetherness cannot be overcome by death? 

Theologically,  doctrine fails me as i experience Sabine’s essence still among, with, and in me.

————————————————————

shirley

your childhood best

friend called 

sharing a dream

last night

you

visited

looking somewhat puzzled

even a bit bewildered

she hoped I didn’t

mind

you know 

sabine traveling

then 

to make sure

she was recognized

she left a note 

falling to the ground

you picked it up

it read

sabine

i was not surprised

sabine always wanted to

visit shirley

her home in las cruces

mocha and i

are heading south

next month

we all knew

sabine loved 

travel 

but

she doesn’t have to

leave

a note 

when she’s

at home

here with us.

Thought for the Day

Sabine and I were very close and deeply connected to her sister, Barbara and her husband, Ken. It quickly happen at the very beginning of our relationship. Over the years it grew.

Ken and Barb were the first members of her family to be introduced to me. We hit if off from the start and we spent the past 40 years vacationing together. It was Ken and Barb who first supported Sabine’s decision to partner with me (risky business at the time!) Together, we loved the outdoors and camping and I remember one such time in the mountains of Wyoming when Ken and I got up at sunrise, brewed some coffee and just stood there gazing out at the mountains before us. Ken, not a church-goer, remarked, “David, the only response to this is gratitude.” So true. Gratitude makes us human. Over the years, on a sailboat in the Haida Gwai, fly fishing, biking or canoeing, Ken would look at me at say again, “”Gratitude... David, our only response can be gratitude!”

Just today, I ran across this wonderful reminder:

“In your loss, find gratitude in it for once having something worth missing.”

So, as I walk this new and unfamiliar path in my life; a path that began last month with heart-breaking loss and sorrow, I am finding gratitude; gratitude for Sabine, my partner for 40 years, for the bonds of love and kinship in our families, for the friends that came alongside us and walked with us in both joy and sorrow. For the experiences, delights, and passions we all shared together... for so much... so much...

“Yes, David, you must be grateful for once having had Sabine. someone so worth missing...”

O God, you‘ve given me so much, give me just one more thing, give me a heart that will be forever grateful so that in my loss I can find and hold on to gratefulness. Amen.

The Question

When we struggle with grief and loss, we hopefully come to understand that we cannot go back and we must choose, somehow, to go forward. It is, however. a most frightening process. 

While I have gone through divorce, loss of parents, and a child’s suicide, none of these past tragedies have prepared me for the loss of my beloved Sabine. 

Why? Because she was at my side, or there shortly after, to be with me, hold me, and comfort me. I did not have do it alone. And now, I am faced with doing it alone. And so I wonder, what lies ahead? 

I hope the following poem explains some of these feelings... perhaps, you have or have also had them. What helped you emerge? For me is continues to be my faith, hope, and the love I feel from friends and family members. People matter. We press on... 

 —————————————-

stages

transitions

we all go thru them

sometimes easily

slipping

stumbling into joy

accomplishment and peace

sometimes with great pain

screaming 

struggling in our

suffering 

loss and

abandonment

but

each time

we have a choice

forced or free

to answer the 

question

who now we will

be?

this newly-birthed self?

having just clawed out of the

amniotic comfort-sac 

which once warmly

enfolded us 

we wonder

who am I now?

as for me it is 

who is david?

no longer child, husband, student

no longer marine, cop or 

sunday leader?

nothing ever was like this

nothing 

nothing

more 

frightening

unsettling than

david without sabine

yet

deep down a monk stirs 

awakens 

sleepy-eyed

peering down the sticky

tunnel ahead 

he asks “now?

are you sure?”

knowing the dormitory 

of selves

is nearly empty.

Ambushed

 

After suffering a major loss, grief sometimes feels like you are being stalked and periodically ambushed by a wild beast; an animal over which you have no control.

________________________________

 

“I’m feeling better”

I confidently reveal

“I’m getting through this”

Then “a day at a time”

I boast

as now as a

month or more 

has passed

routinely

scheduling a

doctor’s

appointment

i break down

sobbing

gasping

when I simply 

say

“my wife died in 

december”

sadly she replies

“i’m so sorry”

i struggle to

reel in my emotions

i make the appointment

end our conversation

again

everything explodes

lets loose

my dog mocha

gets off the

couch

comes to me and 

sadly 

knowingly 

nuzzles me

until

i stop 

washed out

ambushed again.

 

 

The Birthing

In the mid-1980s, after five years of marriage, Sabine and I went through all the fertility stuff — mostly at the expense of the woman wishing to have a child. You know, shots, and painful procedures. So, not being able to make a child together, Sabine and I decided to adopt. We ended up at Lutheran Social Services in Madison. Because of my age at the time (43), the rule was that we couldn’t adopt a child under six years of age.

The adoption process involved joining a group. All of us preparing for the day we would receive our child from a foreign country. Then the notice arrived that our little Korean daughter we selected had an older sister. Would we be interested in adopting two children? (Taking into consideration that if her 12-year-old sister were not adopted she would work in the orphanage as an indentured servant for the rest of her life!) YES, we said, we’ll take two! Two for the price of one? Nope. You must pay an additional adoption fee.

And so the great day came when we were told to pickup our girls at Chicago O’Hare Airport Bursting with excitements we rushed south to Chicago.

I have told this story more than once. But I think it bears repeating. Having been at the physical birth of my older children, I found this experience just as emotionally powerful. Instead of a hospital birthing room with gowns and lights, we encountered an aluminum womb called an airplane. The birthing began after we did not see our girls emerging. Difficulties? A breech birth? We walked into the womb.

As we entered, we saw them sitting together in the furthest seats. Months earlier, we had sent them a photo album containing pictures of us, our house, work and hobbies. Would they recognize us? As Sabine approached and gathered them together, I took the picture below. It is a picture that speaks a thousand words. 

When the girls visited me last week, they found separate envelopes address to each of them. The envelope contained this picture.  

Memories. They sustain me in my grief. Remind me of the wonderful, adventurous and love-filled life we had together! In the picture, Sabine is bubbling with joy! As we walked them out of the womb, we shed many happy tears. Now heading north, back to our New Journey Farm.

(P.S. Those two little orphans from Korea went on to graduate from college. Sumi attended the Fashion Institute in New York after college and is a fabric designer in New York City, married her college sweetheart, and have a daughter. Yumi joined the military and retired as a U.S. Army officer. She married a Texan, have a daughter, and live in San Antonio. Want to talk to me about immigration?)

The Epistle From a Grievant

One of my duties as a parish priest over the years has been to write a “Pastor’s Pen” for our church newsletter. I began this morning to write to Mary, our diligent treasurer and my unpaid assistant, that I would be unable to contribute an article this month. As I began to write my apology to her and updating my life, I found I had inadvertently written a “Pastor’s Pen.”

___________________

Dear Mary, sorry I missed your call. I am continuing the slow, unsteady path called “recovery.” Even though Sabine and I had diligently prepared for this tragic event and how I might survive life without her, it was and is still a major blow. Expected? Yes. Prepared for? Diligently! God with me? Yes, of course!  Friends and parish family connected? Powerfully! Their prayers and love do hold me up. 

Easy? Not at all! But I do think easier than if we had not prepared, talked, and wept together about this inevitability over the cancer years!

The visits by a most helpful son-in-law and loving, comforting daughters was a Godsend. So much in which to arrange, decide, cast off and take on. Sabine and I did much to prepare: the two properties legally split. a new wall for the barn this summer, trees trimmed and some removed... and so on. BTW, our adjacent hill house that once belonged to Sabine’s parents and its 25 acres went quickly on the market. My agent and I had 12 offers. We decided on a young couple from Madison who have a new baby, 2 dogs, 5 chickens, and a desire to live simply and rurally. I feel they will be great neighbors. Selling a property next door to your residence adds another factor greater — compatibility over price.

A great fear I had was managing our finances. I probably wrote only ten checks over the past decade. Sabine was the brains and money-manager. She paid the bills out of an intricate paper system she learned from the financial expert Dave Ramsey (and which she shared with our children). I was terrified about the money situation. Thankfully (and unlike me) I asked for help from our local bankers. I have to say that hese young women saved me. I have now have everything online and paperless. It was a great load off my shoulders and led to the decision to sell the hill house in order to have the resources to enable me to live out my remaining days here at New Journey Farm.

The early plans I made, with Sabine’s endearing support. involved me running away and not remaining here in this house. First we looked at St. John’s on the Lake (that was my plan for a few years), then the Veteran’s Home in King, and now for the past six years, I would live on our boat on the Mississippi at Dubuqe. All that washed away in the days after her death. Amazingly, I found great comfort in this old farmhouse among our things and her tangible presence. I sleep in the bed we shared and on which she died in my arms. I walk the trails we walked together for all those years. I find tremendous comfort just being here, This was so unexpected.

But still... how does one prepare for the final relational split that death does? The rendering of what was once, day and night for four decades, US? What was once us is now just me? I strongly sense my physical and spiritual task is to begin to answer a most important question, who is David without Sabine?

I am just not ready to get back on the “horse” yet (parish leadership); to try to do what we once did together. I am praying and pondering this. I need to visit the rest of my biological “gang” who reside in Florida. I have told them to stay put and not visit me at this time. So, in turn, I plan to venture forth— pickup truck, tent, and dog in mid-March to sunny Florida. 

In August (with help from my second Covid shot and a receding pandemic) I will be flying to Beijing, traveling north to grab the trans Siberian railroad across Russia to St. Petersburg. With Sabine’s encouragement, I have been re-studying my college major, Russian language, for the past three years as a hobby. Now for the test! This will be my third visit to Russia over the years. My first visit was in 1969 when historic St. Petersburg was Leningrad.

Making plans ahead for the coming year, living more simply and with few encumbrances, seems to be the path Mocha and I will try to negotiate. Sabine and I named our home in the rolling hills west of Madison New Journey Farm when we first purchased it 40 years ago. And now, I feel Sabine expects me to continue the journey, another new journey, we first began. Living my faith and sharing what I am learning. And be willing to ask for help and let God “hold me in the palm of his hand.”

Well. I didn’t think I was going to be able to write a Pastor’s Pen this month, but it seems that I inadvertently did. Please accept my love for all you, my dear friends. And do feel free to share this “epistle to grieving pilgrims”who might find comfort from it because it is exactly what they, too, might be feeling.

Your brother in Christ.

Father David

Dancing

 

two 

not one

hip-joined

enmeshed

Inseparable

“unhealthy” 

a therapist

cautioned

in one voice

they replied

“thanks but 

we like it this way”

now after 40 years

sabine leaves her

life’s work behind

it’s david

it’s him whom

she focused

crafted 

loved fiercely

he 

stumbling out of

a failed marriage

unhappy co-workers

undaunted

she 

going about her

task

quietly 

behind-the-scenes

intense and unconditional

she loved 

and molded 

this

adventurous two-step

a man emerging

who would love

her 

above career

children

even self

thus

after decades

together

he was ready 

ready

to step up

when

mr cancer

came suddenly

to visit 

and

stayed

unbowed

they danced

it was so sweet

until she had to

rest

years

of loving work

together 

now she was

dying 

holding her in

his arms

he kissed her again

and again

a life’s work

completed

promises kept

and so

above their bed 

in that old farm

they called

new journey

he heard 

the song of

angels.

.

Beckoning

 

standing at the

edge

his beloved

fallen

slipped away

from

grasping

arms

he looking down

sees vast space

now wondering 

which way to go?

what now to do?

alone

that which once

was Important

no longer

necessary

the essential 

faded 

a claxon 

alerts 

pierces his absorption 

shouts

danger danger 

he backs away 

still unmoored

one-half of a

grand and zany 

team called

them

now one

where shall he go?

one swept

away 

the other wondering

what will david be

without

magnificent sabine?

hey God 

do you remember

hearing that cry

so long ago?

(psalm 132!)

another david

prayed from his

grieving heart

“Lord, remember me

In all my troubles”

perhaps you might

help this david

too

haven’t you always

said you

would?

his beloved

fallen

slipped away

from

grasping

arms

he looking down

sees vast space

now wondering 

which way to go?

what now to do?

alone

that which once

was Important

no longer

necessary

the essential 

faded 

a claxon 

alerts 

pierces his absorption 

shouts

danger danger 

he backs away 

still unmoored

one-half of a

grand and zany 

team called

them

now one

where shall he go?

one swept

away 

the other wondering

what will david be

without

magnificent sabine?

hey God 

do you remember

hearing that cry

so long ago?

(psalm 132!)

another david

prayed from his

grieving heart

“Lord, remember david

In all his troubles”

perhaps you might

help this david

too.