Second blessing is that it is progressive. A progressive disease gives the patient and caregiver time to draw close to the Lord and experience His presence. The disease slowly disabled Sandie without pain. That’s mercy. I got to love and care for her every day. When Sandie became confined to a hospital bed, we watched Christian movies at night and “attended” Sunday worship at several churches from home.  I think a progressive disease with hospice care would be better than dying in an accident. As a chaplain I have dealt with husbands and wives shocked by the unexpected cardiac death of their spouses. An expected death is less traumatic than an unexpected accidental death. So, when I’m called to the ICU or ED for a death one of my first questions for the living spouse is “Was this expected or unexpected?” Grief is still real, but with Sandie’s progressive disease I went through the stages of grief several times during her final year in hospice. I was beside her the moment she breathed her last breath and it felt like painful relief. Pain from the grief, but relief that the struggle was over.

Third, the progressive nature of her disease made it a sanctifying experience for me.  Jesus gave me Sandie to sanctify me. “Every affliction comes with a message from the heart of God.” The message is sanctification. I struggled to accept and fully utilize the adversity for my growth in agape love. My sinfulness was revealed many times when I was impatient and angry. (I bear a keloid scar that reminds me of my sinfulness.) My growth in agape love was revealed when I was patient and kind as described in1 Corinthians 13. But I sometimes argued with the Lord: “If Sandie’s disease is about perfecting me, sanctifying my soul, then it isn’t fair. Why should she suffer to make me more in Your image?” – I now know the answer to my complaint: because I loved her. It’s all about agape love. The Lord used the wife I loved to show me my sin and perfect me in His love. “I’m afflicting the person you love to teach you about My love” doesn’t seem fair, but the Lord’s purpose is growth in agape love for the patient and caregiver.

Grief is like a rollercoaster. I am crying and laughing at the same time. One minute I’m weeping and the next I’m rejoicing. The rejoicing comes from a secure HOPE. 1 Thessalonians 4:13: But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.

Grief needs weeping. Weeping is necessary. Jesus wept with weeping friends (John 11). Weeping is to grief as a vent is to a pressure cooker. Weeping releases the loss and pain of grief. It is healing for the soul and even the body.

Weeping is unpredictable. I am an “on call” night chaplain. When someone dies between 5pm-8am I am “called back” to the hospital. Five days after Sandie went to heaven I was called to the hospital (8/10). I met with the family of the deceased patient and talked with the NOK. I asked if she was present when her mother died, the moment her mother’s spirit left her body. She was. I shared my experience of being with my wife when she died five days ago and how I saw her spirit leave her body. I started weeping! Then all the family members in the room were weeping.

We all wept together. Romans 12:15: Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.

I don’t know when I will weep. Something will trigger the tears; a picture, a memory, a song, another person’s grief at his/her loss. I wept 3 months before Sandie died. I was driving around Big Bend NP while taking a respite from caregiving listening to satellite radio and John Denver’s Annie’s Song came on. I sang it and wept; it was “Sandie’s Song” for me. When the weeping is triggered, just let the tears flow. Don’t be embarrassed or try to “be strong”. Open the vent and let the pressure be released in tears.

Weeping is an expression of love. John 11:35-36: Jesus wept. So the Jews were saying, “See how He loved him!”  Love weeps.