I couldn’t feel God’s arms around me. He was with me, but I couldn’t feel him. I could feel my family and friends’ arms around me, though. God loved me through them. My buddies came over, the three men from the “Sandhedrin” group, a group of Christian men whose name came from our many vacations at Silver Lake; hence the word “Sand” in the title.
Mike called to see if he could come over. I said he could, and seconds later, he was at the door (he called from in front of the house, I later found out, but at the time, I was surprised). He prayed with me, encouraged me, and shared that his brother likely died the same way from the same disease. It was undetectable. Since there was no autopsy, I felt God was giving me the answer to how she died. And I accepted it. Then, I could turn my attention to the rest of the chaos around me. Looking back at that moment, it was another spilling of grace on me.
“Don’t take any more calls, unless it’s family,” said Mike, “You will be overwhelmed with people.” I had already taken two calls from good men who were struggling with their emotions over Deb’s death, something I didn’t have the bandwidth to help. “Good idea, I’m already overwhelmed,” I told him. Many people love Deb and me, but I couldn’t share my story with fifteen others right then. Not now. Not at this time. I think I gave my phone to Brooke and let her screen my calls.
My sister went into “executive mode” and started organizing things. Man, that was helpful. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that. I didn’t know what to do. Her clear direction was a balm to me, a sense of stability helping me not to go off the rails and into a ditch (metaphorically speaking). Besides, I didn’t care. At all. I had no motivation or concern about anything. With friends at my house, I feeble tried to entertain them but fell short. I asked my friends to pray for me, and they all went home after the pizza. I had no answers for them. Thank God for family and friends.
When night came, I was left alone. It was my first night in an empty, painfully silent home. The funeral home had taken the “body,” and now I was alone. Now, I had to recalibrate my life. I had to figure out what the next step was. I didn’t know what the next step was. Normally, I’d rely on Deb for the details of life, but I didn’t have that luxury anymore.
That night was hard on me. I was in bed alone. God was with me, even though I’m not sure I acknowledged him. He didn’t take the pain away; he helped me through it. Oddly enough, my greatest pain wasn’t the first night; it was weeks later when I was all alone when I could fully grasp the degree of my solitude.
One of the highlights of my life is patting Deb’s but before I go to sleep. It may seem odd, but it brought me great comfort. It was my Shalom. But that was taken from me. I didn’t have anything to pat. No one was there. So, I pat the empty side of the bed in the dark. Deb is in heaven now and doing great. I’m here. I knew this would be a long journey for me, living without Deb and alone. And this was just the first night.
Life After Deb
My family (and the funeral home) told me what to do and when I needed to do it. I gave no pushback. I didn’t have a clue about what I should do next, though. I was happy that my family was there.
When Erin finally arrived from Connecticut, I gave her my cell phone and asked her to screen everything. That was one of the few wise things I did.
My sisters took charge of the food (thank God for them). Meanwhile, everyone kept looking at me, waiting for me to do something. They knew I loved Deb a great deal. I’d always touch her when I was with her. I think the family was waiting for me to do something, but I don’t know. Whenever I said something, that thing was somehow important. It took me a few meals before I realized this pattern. It was uncomfortable, but I understood. It was done in love, and I so appreciate it. I was trying to take care of my children as my children were trying to take care of me. I was a little slow but could finally see what was happening.
I was spoiled. Everyone took care of me. And I am indebted to my children and family because I’d still be sitting on my living room floor if they hadn’t surrounded me.
I was a blob.
It felt like disorientation after an outpatient surgery, not fully oriented to time, place, and situation.
Was Deb really dead?
Occasionally, I’d cry or stare off into the distance. I was zombie Andy. It was embarrassing how many times I turned to Deb to get the answer, and she wasn’t there. Eventually, I would joke about it, but no one laughed. It was my way of handling the discomfort of not knowing the details of my life.
But the gravity of the event was settling on me. I was not entirely responsible for everything. Deb handled the finances, the bills, the plans for the future, the details of the house, and who gets what birthday gift or Christmas gift. Now, all these questions were mine and mine alone. I had to step up to the plate and be responsible. My family helped make things seamless, but still, I was responsible for things I hadn’t been responsible for. It was scary. It was like the black hole inched closer as I realized I had no idea what to do.
It’s a good thing I had (and have) a great God. It’s also a good thing I had dozens of great people praying for me, blessing me with a sober mind I was not capable of on my own. It was God who held me together. It was God answering the many prayers, keeping me sane.