I was at work Thursday, doing my job, when I began to have a bad feeling. I wasn’t feverish, and my body wasn’t ackey; I just felt terrible. It was sort of undefinable. I couldn’t put my finger on it. My stomach was unsettled, so I only ate a granola bar.
After lunch, the feeling grew worse. I could feel I was about to bawl. Not cry, but bawl. I was supposed to run a group with six prisoners and couldn’t do it. I never told my prisoners my wife died, and I didn’t want them to know. As staff, we keep our personal lives from the prisoners to avoid over-familiarity. Sometimes, prisoners use private information to manipulate staff, and I was avoiding any pretense of this unhealthy practice. Still, on a personal level, I was falling apart.
In my mind, I wanted to “grin and bear it,” like I did with most of the obstacles in my life. It’s part of being an adult, working through hard times. I’ve bulled my way through sickness, confusion with insulting wrong-sized windows, and pretty much all my automobile repairs. But I don’t think that was going to work today.
I approached my boss, told him, “I gotta go,” and left. My voice cracked. It was easy to see I was beginning to cry.
I realized I had to leave the prison without breaking down, which was no easy task. I just made it out of the prison before I burst out crying. I wasn’t even in my car. I guess one of the skills I have is that I can drive while crying. I don’t think that it’s a marketable skill. I call these crying episodes “Deb Attacks.”
I cried most of the way home. It was uncontrolled, involuntary crying that was physically demanding. It wore me out, and I was drained by the time I got home. The odd thing is, I wasn’t thinking directly about Deb. I was crying. I wasn’t trying to think about her beauty or how wonderful she felt in my arms.
A widower friend told me that this could happen. Not specifically that I’d leave work in the middle of the day, but that I would have really “bad days,” especially over the first few months after Deb’s death. They told me, “It will be way worse than anything you’ve been through before.” I think this is the worst thing you can tell someone who lost his wife. I mean, how could it get worse? I was close to ending it all, and it would get worse. Is worse possible?
I went home and slept for over an hour. When I woke up, I didn’t know what day it was. I was so disoriented that I had to remember why I had taken a nap in the middle of the day. Then I remembered the crying, and it all came back. For an hour, I found relief from the pain. Perhaps that’s why I’m so addicted to naps. I will take one whenever humanly possible.
I was trying to make sense of life. Of my life. Of Deb’s death. I remember being afraid of losing it in front of the prisoners. This was my second time having a “Deb attack” this week. That’s normal, but I’ve not read any literature on it. Do other men do this? How in the world would I make it through life this way? Would I always be this way? I didn’t think I could handle life if I would always be this broken, this frail. The idea of living my next two years like this was nothing but oppressive.
Future
A coworker asked if I’d ever marry again. I said “yes,” fairly confidently. I don’t know who I’d marry and likely haven’t met her yet, but I would like to be married again. I loved being married. I long to be married again, but right now, that longing must remain in theory. I couldn’t handle another person in my life right now. If I ran to another woman (and part of me would like that), I wouldn’t have taken the time to fully heal, and the relationship would be codependent (me needing her instead of wanting her).
Today, holding anyone outside of my two daughters is repulsive. I think that’s healthy. I think this a good thing. I know it will be a good year before I take off my wedding ring and even consider dating. It could be longer, but that’s not in my head right now. That’s beyond me. I’m just trying to make it through the week without falling apart.
It should be noted that my first wife left me and had an affair with another man. This happened only 9 months after marriage. The divorce was signed and final before the first year of our marriage. I was a youth pastor then, but that career left when she walked out the door. I couldn’t be a pastor and divorced. And quite frankly, I was okay with that.
After signing the divorce papers from my first wife, I threw myself into the church my parents attended (and, as it turned out, Deb attended). I had no children, so I had nothing to stop me. Most nights, I would do something in the church. And I told everyone I wouldn’t date anyone for a year.
But I met Deb, who was in my group (young single adults), and we got married before the year was up. She questioned our brief courtship, but I was motivated for purity’s sake. I didn’t want to have sex before marriage, which was very difficult, so our dating was short. I knew who I would marry; I figured we’d work out everything together after marriage. And we did. We were both adults; she was 31, and I was 26. If I had to do it again, I would do the same thing. However, Deb had misgivings and thought the engagement should have been longer.
I loved those early years of our marriage. I was both immature and passive, but God worked in my heart, and I was able to move into manhood. We grew up together. I learned to put up with her as she learned to put up with me. Then, over the next six years, we had three children and one Master’s Degree in Social Work. Needless to say, they were ambitious years with little downtime.
I violated my one-year-before-I-date policy by actually dating and marrying Deb before the 12 months were up. When I have time, I go through pictures and relive those precious memories. I miss her so much it physically hurts.
“Lord, give me your wisdom; teach me how to rest in your goodness. Help me not to be driven by grief but by your love. Help me know what the next step is for me. You promised, “Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.” I struggle to believe that. It doesn’t seem true of me. Not now.
I miss Deb. I want her back, Lord. I know you can’t do that, but I wish you could make an exception for her. I wish I could hold her in my arms one more time. I don’t think I’d ever let her go. I mess things up, Lord, so give me the wisdom to take the right step. Give me the strength to believe your promises are true because I don’t know if I feel anything right now.
Jesus, my heart is broken. The nights are hard and lonely, and my heart is searching for relief. Please help me to be faithful to you as I learn a new level of suffering.
You are worthy, Jesus. You are so worthy of my heart. Help me to listen to you.
In Jesus’ name, amen.”