Loss is an inevitable part of life. It comes in all shapes and sizes, from the aggravating loss of misplacing your keys to the devastating loss in the death of a spouse. For some losses, such as the keys, we have to blame ourselves. Other times the blame falls on others—the drunk driver who caused the accident. The most painful times are when we want to blame God.
In recent times we’ve watched loss stick up its head for us and many in our lives. Last summer we had to part with the sweet little dog we had loved for twelve years. A friend had her marriage and family snatched away from her. (Though it was a step-family, she had been very close to them.) A former coworker watched his wife lose her valiant fight against a tumor in her brain. Most recently, a young couple, ecstatic over the prospect of twin girls, lost one of them at 32 weeks and but for the quick skills of the doctors would have lost the other one. At every occasion in this little girl’s life, someone will be missing.
Loss hits us in other ways, too. Loss of vision causes confusion, struggle, and sadness. Loss of freedom brings pain, not only emotionally, but sometimes physically. Loss of a limb, or even the temporary use of a limb, can slow our world down in frustrating ways. Loss of an opportunity can set us back and pile up frustration. Loss of a dream can leave a hollow, gaping hole in the spirit.
How we deal with the losses in our lives often defines our character. If we stew, rant, or wail, we may release some emotion—but it seldom changes or improves anything. If we close up, pull into a shell, and hold the rest of the world at bay, we nurse the loss and keep it alive. If we strike out and strike back, we risk destroying relationships and perhaps opportunities.
A strong, foundational faith in God can be an anchor when dealing with loss. Having faith that God knows what will be best frees me to accept a loss without debilitating hopelessness.
I learned something about loss when we brought my precious daddy to our home for what turned out to be the last fifteen days of his life. The better the relationship, the more pain you will suffer when you lose it. Yet I’ve never found anyone willing to trade the good of the relationship for hurting less when it was gone.
May God grant give us strength to face the losses of life with courage, wisdom, and confidence in His divine ability to help. May we deal with them in ways that make us people of God and our world a better place.
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Sunday, May 30, 2010
I’m still in shock.
I cannot get my brain to focus well enough to pull cohesive thoughts together. What do I say? Where do I start?
We learned today that our young friend Kevin died earlier this week. He was the age of our own children. People that age aren’t supposed to die of heart attacks.
My husband and I met at Kevin’s parents’ wedding. A year later, we were married. In the years following in the late 50s and early 60s, we alternated having babies. When we traveled to their part of the country during our furloughs from South America, we stayed with them. Kevin went to college with one of our daughters, and we have graduation pictures of them and us together.
I’m sure I should be coming up with something profound and touching to say, but instead everything is vague and undefined. We know where Kevin is—with the Savior he loved and served, and that is a comfort beyond words. But the idea that his life has suddenly been . . . been guillotined is surreal.
I know somewhat of what his family is going through. I have not lost an adult child, but my parents did. My brother died in a car accident when he was 24. Kevin turned 3 that month. Don should be past 70 now, yet he’ll never be older than 24. The hole he left in our lives is still there. Most of the time, the edges aren’t as jagged as they were in the beginning, but it is still a gaping hole.
Kevin’s died in eastern New York state, and we hadn’t seen him in years. We were up there just a month ago, and we had hoped to stay with his parents. But they and Kevin were away that week on ministry business, so we missed them. That makes me extra sad now.
My prayers are for his family now – his parents, two sisters, and a brother, each with spouses and children. They are hanging together, and I’m glad. I know that the God who saw our family through such a tragedy will not leave them to bear this alone, but I also know that the days and weeks ahead are going to be long and often dark. But I know the One who will be there with them.
The Apostle Paul called Him God of all comfort (I Cor. 1:3).
I cannot get my brain to focus well enough to pull cohesive thoughts together. What do I say? Where do I start?
We learned today that our young friend Kevin died earlier this week. He was the age of our own children. People that age aren’t supposed to die of heart attacks.
My husband and I met at Kevin’s parents’ wedding. A year later, we were married. In the years following in the late 50s and early 60s, we alternated having babies. When we traveled to their part of the country during our furloughs from South America, we stayed with them. Kevin went to college with one of our daughters, and we have graduation pictures of them and us together.
I’m sure I should be coming up with something profound and touching to say, but instead everything is vague and undefined. We know where Kevin is—with the Savior he loved and served, and that is a comfort beyond words. But the idea that his life has suddenly been . . . been guillotined is surreal.
I know somewhat of what his family is going through. I have not lost an adult child, but my parents did. My brother died in a car accident when he was 24. Kevin turned 3 that month. Don should be past 70 now, yet he’ll never be older than 24. The hole he left in our lives is still there. Most of the time, the edges aren’t as jagged as they were in the beginning, but it is still a gaping hole.
Kevin’s died in eastern New York state, and we hadn’t seen him in years. We were up there just a month ago, and we had hoped to stay with his parents. But they and Kevin were away that week on ministry business, so we missed them. That makes me extra sad now.
My prayers are for his family now – his parents, two sisters, and a brother, each with spouses and children. They are hanging together, and I’m glad. I know that the God who saw our family through such a tragedy will not leave them to bear this alone, but I also know that the days and weeks ahead are going to be long and often dark. But I know the One who will be there with them.
The Apostle Paul called Him God of all comfort (I Cor. 1:3).
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
How the Captain Lost His Leg
April 17 is the third-year anniversary of our sweet Captain-Jack-CJ kitty losing his leg. It was on an unforgettable spring Sunday. Unusual for him, he hadn’t come home the night before, nor that morning before we left for church.
When we arrived home, a neighbor rushed over to tell us our kitty had been “hurt.” I’ll never forget the moment Fred handed him to me with one foot totally gone, the stump all bloodied with jagged bones sticking out.
Why do things like that happen on Sunday when places are closed? We had to take him thirty minutes across town to a “weekend vet.” I sat in the back seat beside him in the carrier. He would be silent for a while—and then he would let loose with this piercing wail of agony (something else I will never forget).
That establishment wanted $800 just to keep him and treat him overnight till we could get him to our own vet the next morning. Of course that was out of the question. We settled for their hydrating him and giving him antibiotics and pain meds, and we took him home. We threw quilts on the office floor, and I slept there beside him that night. Once he had the pain meds, we didn’t hear any more wails out of him, but by morning, the smell was beginning to be pronounced.
Meanwhile, we wrestled with what we would do about him. We were prepared to put him down if that was best for him, but we had a grandson doing his own wailing that he would give us all his money providing we didn’t let anyone “kill” CJ.
The next morning we were at our own vet even before they opened. Those were the people who had saved CJ’s life once already when someone brought him in as a half-grown kitten to be put down because he had an infected eye. But the vet staff found him so loving, they couldn’t bring themselves to do it. They confided to me that they had put him in the “witness protection program” until they could find him a home. They were the ones who named him Captain Jack because the decisive way he swished his tail reminded them of a pirate's sword.
When we saw the doctor, we heard the same thing we had the day before: all his vital signs were normal! Not only had he not bled to death in twenty-four hours or more, but the crazy little guy had normal blood pressure and no fever. How could we decide what to do? Finally, we put it to the doctor—if he were your cat, what would you do?
You already know the answer because you can see CJ’s picture. I’ll tell you the rest of the story tomorrow. [I’m sorry it’s been a while since I posted, but first I was sick, and then I was out of town and sick. Now I’m home but still recovering.]
When we arrived home, a neighbor rushed over to tell us our kitty had been “hurt.” I’ll never forget the moment Fred handed him to me with one foot totally gone, the stump all bloodied with jagged bones sticking out.
Why do things like that happen on Sunday when places are closed? We had to take him thirty minutes across town to a “weekend vet.” I sat in the back seat beside him in the carrier. He would be silent for a while—and then he would let loose with this piercing wail of agony (something else I will never forget).
That establishment wanted $800 just to keep him and treat him overnight till we could get him to our own vet the next morning. Of course that was out of the question. We settled for their hydrating him and giving him antibiotics and pain meds, and we took him home. We threw quilts on the office floor, and I slept there beside him that night. Once he had the pain meds, we didn’t hear any more wails out of him, but by morning, the smell was beginning to be pronounced.
Meanwhile, we wrestled with what we would do about him. We were prepared to put him down if that was best for him, but we had a grandson doing his own wailing that he would give us all his money providing we didn’t let anyone “kill” CJ.
The next morning we were at our own vet even before they opened. Those were the people who had saved CJ’s life once already when someone brought him in as a half-grown kitten to be put down because he had an infected eye. But the vet staff found him so loving, they couldn’t bring themselves to do it. They confided to me that they had put him in the “witness protection program” until they could find him a home. They were the ones who named him Captain Jack because the decisive way he swished his tail reminded them of a pirate's sword.
When we saw the doctor, we heard the same thing we had the day before: all his vital signs were normal! Not only had he not bled to death in twenty-four hours or more, but the crazy little guy had normal blood pressure and no fever. How could we decide what to do? Finally, we put it to the doctor—if he were your cat, what would you do?
You already know the answer because you can see CJ’s picture. I’ll tell you the rest of the story tomorrow. [I’m sorry it’s been a while since I posted, but first I was sick, and then I was out of town and sick. Now I’m home but still recovering.]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
