I have heard both of my daughters say on occasion, since their mother, and of course my wife, Vicki, died that sometimes the reality that “Mom isn’t here” hits them out of nowhere. That is certainly true for me as well. But so much of what I hear in our culture’s conversation about grief seems to be suggesting that grief has an expiration date. For some it is x-number of days, or months, or maybe even years. If you surpass that deadline, in the world of psychology, that may suggest you aren’t “coping well” with reality. In the world of theology, it often seems to suggest “you need more faith . . .” Both of those options seem to suggest that the denial of reality is a legitimate way to address grief.
In writing on this blog I’ve tried to be honest about grief – and by that I mean honest from a deliberately faith-oriented perspective. I’ve had many responses/comments, etc. to the effect that my honesty has been helpful in a variety of individual’s journeys through this “on-going saga” we call grief.
One blessing I personally have in this journey is two daughters (and their husbands) who haven’t left me alone. I also have other family members – from my side and Vicki’s side – who check on me regularly. I have tons of friends, many of them Point colleagues, some preachers, others in different walks of life – who have invested time and energy in me. I went to a professional counselor for a while. He finally suggested that I was “doing fine mentally, but had a limp.” He went on to say he thought the “limp” was indicative of the kind of marriage Vicki and I had, and that he suspected it would always be there. I can live with that.
Around 7:00 p.m. tonight, four years ago today – 24 August – Vicki’s earthly battle with pancreatic cancer ended. She wanted to be home as we all recognized the end was drawing near, and in God’s great mercy, we were able to manage – with the help of home hospice care – to make that happen. It is difficult for me to believe that is has been that long – and then it seems like it happened yesterday. August is a tough month for our family – Vicki’s birthday is in early August, our wedding anniversary is a little later in August, and she died on the 24th, two weeks after our 48th anniversary – which we were able to celebrate at home.
Earlier this week, Thursday to be specific, my younger daughter and I drove (she was by Uber driver!) to West Point to attend and participate in the Fall Convocation service at Point and the inauguration of Point’s new president, Dr. Stacy Bartlett. It was a long, but glorious, afternoon-evening. I helped lead a prayer time for Point’s faculty where we met and prayed for President Bartlett, for Point’s returning and new students, for faculty, staff, coaches, trustees, and supporters. Then I was honored to offer the invocation in the Inaugural-Convocation Service.
In that service, a combination of current Point students and Alumni sang two beautiful and meaningful selections. A mix of Point faculty, students, alumni, trustees, staff, and others did a responsive reading that was moving. Dr. Bartlett’s inaugural sermon was more than merely good and appropriate.
During both songs the choir sang, I couldn’t help but think, “I wish Vicki were here!” She would have been there and participating. Vicki missed few choir concerts, recitals, and other musical events in the years since we moved back to Atlanta in 1976 until her illness made it impossible for her to attend. That’s why I was so happy that Point’s advancement office (led by Dr. Bartlett at the time) allowed me to raise money to have the recital hall in the Scott Fine Arts Building to be named the Vicki Kindt Huxford Performance Hall.
Then later that evening, as my younger daughter was driving us home, Bethany casually said, “I wish Mom could have been in that choir!” She went on to say that “Mom would have been sitting by Faith Mims Simpson, and they would be giggling about stuff in the service.” Bethany called that one exactly right.
I had already been thinking that. Then Bethany said it out loud. And I will admit that in the dark recesses of the passenger seat, a tear or two may have suddenly made their presence obvious to my cheeks. Much of what I’ve written about grief has focused on what I am missing by Vicki’s absence. But it dawned on me that evening on a ride home from West Point to Tyrone, that a great part of grief is “sadness for what Vicki is missing in this world.” She misses being present at our birthday celebrations, at our holiday dinners, at a trip to Key West this summer and a camping trip or two as well this summer. She missed being “the mother of the bride” at Sarah and Stephen’s wedding. The list could go on and on.
I don’t question that “heaven is a wonderful place, full of glory and grace, . . .” as the old camp song goes. But quite frankly, I would prefer that Vicki still be by my side. Death was not a part of God’s original plan for humans and I refuse to act like it was. I’m grateful that in the death and resurrection of Jesus, God “fixed our problem” – but at the moment, her absence is sometimes painful.
So I think I have learned something new about grief – I’m thinking in the context of “A Grief Observed” by C.S. Lewis – on this fourth anniversary of Vicki’s death. I won’t just be sad for me that she isn’t here, but will be sad for her that she is missing so many things she would have dearly loved. Maybe I’m weird, but for me, it brings comfort that I have come to understand that reality.
Thus – Grief: An On-going Saga – I think is a legitimate title for what I’m thinking this afternoon. I hope it will be helpful to you. Don’t let the nonsense of our culture – including sometimes what Christians say about grief – get the best of you.
[Disclaimer: If you read my blog posts regularly, you know they always look better than this rather plain version. My older daughter Sarah, graciously takes what I write and makes it look like my blog normally looks. I hope the spelling and grammar, etc. are all okay. But the layout, appropriate picture, etc. are missing. I didn’t want to write this – perhaps couldn’t write this – until today and didn’t want to ask her to do a rush job on a Sunday afternoon like this to get it posted. Our family is going out to dinner together tonight. We will celebrate Vicki’s life and her impact on us. She would insist that we do – but it would still be better if she were here and we were just going out as a family to dinner.]
Wye Huxford 