Grief doesn’t follow the rules. It’s kind of like water; it goes everywhere, and your futile attempt to stop it usually results in a very wet carpet and lots of paper towels. Grief happens, and any attempt to control it usually results in a mess.
What’s odd to me is I’ve been told that there are no rules by people who break their own rules while telling me there are no rules. “Andy, don’t let anyone tell you how to grieve,” and then they tell me how. Honestly, I look at this advice from a kinder, gentler perspective. Actually, it’s funny. If you want to help someone, you don’t start by giving contradictory advice.
It’s kind of like (but unrelated) the liberal self-contradicting statement “There are no absolutes,” which is itself an absolute. These non-critical “modern thinkers” contradict themselves within their statements. It’s kind of funny. It’s a little pathetic. But mostly godless.
Sometimes, I think I’ve got a suggestion box taped to my shirt saying, “Feel free to give all suggestions you want any time of the day.” I get lots of advice. I don’t ask for it, but people feel compelled to pull me aside and tell me to do all kinds of things that I need to do. It helped them, so it obviously will help me. I still giggle at the recommendation that I get a horse. They’ve never been to my postage-stamp-sized city lot before, so they don’t know how silly that suggestion is. So, I make eye contact, nod my head, and make the “hmmm” sound. I still have my mind and will do what I think is best, but I want others to feel heard. I think they are trying to love me, which is a good thing, even if their form of love doesn’t fit in my backyard.
Do I fit in a special category now? I’m not single. I’m not married. I’m not divorced. Sometimes, I have to check the “other” box on forms. I wish I could get one of those cool arm bands they wore in the World War II movies I’ve seen. The downside is it would act like a suggestion box taped to my chest, telling the world, “Hey look everyone, I’m in a special category, give me as much advice as you can possibly give.”
I’m not sure I want to define myself as a “griever,” but I think the title fits. It’s a little uncomfortable because I don’t want to be defined by what I don’t have. It’s not like I have leprosy or anything like I need to call out to anyone within 20 feet of me, “Griever! Let me tell you how my wife died! And if you have any suggestions how I should live my life, feel free to offer them!”
I’d like to say I’m done struggling with my identity, but that would be a lie. This journey took a sudden right turn after Deb died. The difference between me and the average junior high schooler is that I have a house, two cars, a real job, but no pimples. Am I regressing?
Rules
Generally, rules are “You should…” statements that end with someone telling you to do something you aren’t doing. One example of this is attending church on Sunday evenings. I guess I really should go…but I have lots of valid and invalid reasons for not going. Attending Church on Sunday evenings is not a rule in the Christian faith, but sometimes it feels like it. I’m sure the services are wonderful, but after enjoying Sunday afternoon’s rest, I lost my motivation to go back. Maybe I’m just justifying my actions, but I’m not sure. Sometimes, I hide behind my often-used excuse, “My wife just died,” like that has anything to do with getting off the couch and heading north in my car.
Lotsa’ Guilt
I’m told by Google that, on average, men lie six times a day, while women only lie four times a day. I don’t know where they got this research, but it makes me feel like I need to apologize for something I can’t remember doing.
Guilt has been and remains my personal “inner alien.” It doesn’t break through my chest like some of the more famous aliens out there, but it beats me mercilessly with “Shoulds,” “Oughts,” and “Why are you still eating after 8:00 p.m.? Didn’t we talk about this already?”
There is true and false guilt, but the line between the two gets a little blurry. And if someone is mad at me, the line completely disappears. As a Christian, I know I need to obey God. But so much of life is gray. No, I shouldn’t rob my neighbor, but is it wrong to drink beer? Can I stay home on Sunday nights and NOT feel guilty? And why can’t I stop eating after 8:00 pm? These situational landmines cause my guilt alien to rise and wet-rag my happiness. I think “defeating myself” is one of my strengths. It’s something I’m good at. The “should alien” works havoc on me, both to my soul and my digestive system (with specifics to be shared on a need-to-know basis).
I “should” have gone to the Wednesday night Bible study tonight, but I just didn’t want to. Is that sinful? Do I need to confess this? Last year, I was at the Bible Study all the time; this year, I can’t seem to get out of my chair. I don’t want to do “another thing.” Last year, I had a wonderful woman preparing meals, shopping (and remembering what she was shopping for), doing my laundry, paying my bills, and knowing what is and is not in our freezer. Now, I’m left to fend for myself. I have to become the “adult” I have so cleverly been able to avoid for the last 32 years. And it turns out I’m not as good as I thought I was at this time. I get a “D-” in “preparing,” and I always forget what I went to the store for until after I get home.
The Four Rules
With all the false, real, and imaginary guilt floating around my prefrontal cortex, one thing I have been holding onto is the “The Four Rules of Widowhood” (or the Four Rules). My friend John, whose wife died several years ago, created these rules. My world, like his, flipped upside down in a matter of minutes. Nothing I “knew” about life meant anything once Deb died. I think of those poor Marines that get flipped upside down in the water inside a pool (I’ve seen this on Tic Toc, so it must be true). When you are completely disoriented, you need to have a plan, or you will sit in the upside-down chair and think, “Boy, it’s hard to breathe like this.”
When you are the wrong way up, you need rules. They become your friends. Scripture means more than it ever did before. And your church becomes your top priority of the week (except on Wednesday nights). The Four Rules allow side rails to be placed in your life of chaos. When grief shocks your system like an immersion into icy waters, you need to know which way is up.
Below are the Four Rules. You could put Bible verses behind these rules, but I didn’t. These rules fall somewhere between “preferences” and “absolutes.” I think they lay in that thin category of “Christian Common Sense.”
- Don’t run to Bourbon.
Addictions have run in my family for decades, so I need to be very conscious of my alcohol intake. Granted, these guidelines have become looser since Deb died, but I am very aware of this demon and have built parameters around it to protect me. I could destroy everything in my life in a matter of weeks. I have that potential. It lies within me (next to that guilty alien). I don’t want beer in my house, but I like wine.
And for the record, I hate Bourbon. It tastes like what I imagine rubbing alcohol tastes like.
2. Don’t get a Bike and drive from your pain.
I don’t own a motorcycle, I’ve never driven one, and I don’t plan on getting one. This one doesn’t apply to me, but it needs to be stated. I’m sure some guys may want to run to the far reaches of North America to numb their feelings, but I don’t. And I don’t want a horse, either. I can run to addictions, but none of my addictions have two wheels or involve leather.
3. Don’t run to Babes.
Now, this one hits me in the eyes. I long for someone to take Deb’s place (if you think about it, it is a pathetic and self-centered statement even to make). I love companionship. I love hugging, holding, talking with, and sexually engaging a woman. I think I’m built for marriage.
I’ve heard it suggested that I wait a year before dating, and I think this is a good idea. I won’t commit to this “rule,” but I will lean in this direction. I need time alone before I bring anyone into my mess.
Implied in the “Don’t run to Babes,” the rule is don’t run to marriage. I can’t imagine getting married a few months after my wife’s death could be a good idea. I want to, but I also want to have a big piece of cake, and I’m not getting that either. I must learn to say no to myself. I’m not the judge of others, but I am the judge of myself. A hasty marriage would result in a great deal of collateral damage.
Marrying someone before I am ready could be cruel to her, her family, and me and my family. My wife doesn’t exist to “make me happy.” Cars can do that, but a woman can’t. She is a precious child of God who has her fears, strengths, desires, past, and dreams. Any attempt to meet my desires by a person will end in disaster. My job is to love my wife like Christ loves the church, to give, not to pull, to sacrifice for, not to take.
Also, I fear a quick marriage would short circuits the grief process.
Having said that, I think about women, “trying them on for size,” in my mind. “I wonder what it would be like to be married to her?” I ponder silently in my mind. But today, I’m not fit for marriage. I’ve got too much of a mess inside me to be able to sacrifice to another person.
I do plan on getting married someday, but not now. I have been in a great love relationship for 32 years and want to return to a deep one. But if I jumped into the waters of marriage now, I’d be pulling life from her instead of training myself to draw life from God alone. I need to heal in the quietness of my house, in the solitude of my bed.
I’ve been sexually active for 32 years, but right now, my job is to wait. It’s not what I’d like to do, but I believe in God’s plan for me today.
Related to this is something I’m ashamed I’ve seen too much of in Christian circles – living with a girlfriend. I was talking to a non-Christian and told her I wouldn’t have sex with the woman until after we got married. She had a hard time understanding this concept. She didn’t understand celibacy before marriage. Granted, it’s not popular, but God’s rules have not changed. Living with a woman I’m not married to is a sin, no matter how convenient that sin is. God doesn’t give me a “pass” because my wife died or because I’m 59. When I try to bypass God’s rules, I walk out of fellowship with him. And I can’t tell you how badly I need Jesus. Sex is fun, but God is better. Trusting God is trusting the standards he wrote thousands of years ago.
The rules haven’t changed, even if “most” people think they have.
4. Don’t Hide.
I do like to hide. Not all the time, just sometimes. I want to get under my bed and pull them up like a little boy. It’s juvenile, but these feelings are so strong I don’t know what to do with them. I want relief. I want the pain to stop. And I don’t know where the off button is.
Sometimes, I need to cocoon myself in warm blankets and feel safe in the darkness of my bed. I can go there, but I can’t stay there. I permit myself to “take the day off,” but I know I need to get back on the horse (metaphorically) the next day. One day off is OK. Two days off is a problem I need to look into.
“When life is heavy and hard to take, go off by yourself. Enter the silence. Bow in prayer. Don’t ask questions: Wait for hope to appear. Don’t run
from trouble. Take it full face. The “worst” is never the worst. Why? Because the Master won’t ever walk out and fail to return”
Lamentations 3:28-30 (MSG)
Resting and sleeping overlap but are two different disciplines. I need to rest. The trauma in my body is heavy at times, and hiding for an evening may be the best way to weather the storm of chaos. Related is the need I have for sleep. I’m going to bed an hour or two earlier than normal…because I need the rest. I assume this will be short-term, but for now, it’s necessary. I need to listen to my body. It’s trying to tell me something.
Resting is the act of giving my pain to God and waiting to see what he does with it. Usually, I assume he will do something good, even though I can’t see it right now. I practice this discipline when I “do” less and “be” more. It’s what I do when I go for walks.
I allow myself to watch a movie on Friday nights and a Sunday football game (go Lions!), but I don’t have my TV on outside of that. Rest and entertainment are two different things. I need rest; I want entertainment. I hate it when I constantly go to homes with the TV on. How distracting is that? I rest when I have devotions in the morning. I rest when I go for walks. I rest when I read. And I rest when I write. There is something about rest that requires silence. Silence can be redemptive if we allow it.
Learning
Grief is a journey; one I sometimes invite others into. Still, no matter how many people help, I struggle. It’s my pain. Others can help me with my pain, but it’s mine and mine alone. No one can grieve for me.
I need Jesus’ healing touch each day to make it. The tunnel is dark, but God can breathe purpose into my pain and allow me to impact others with my journey. I think he’s doing this partly through this writing. He also provided me with good men and His Word to direct me. I am a blessed man, no matter how much grief I’m experiencing.