What to gain from grief
When something inserts itself in human lives so persistently, I have to think there must be a reason. I’ve pondered many times, for example, the significant impact grief has upon us. I don’t believe the pain it inflicts is intended to be punishment for some misdeed or bad choices, but I do believe we’re being taught something when we’re hit with sorrow. There must be a reason.
I had a lot of time to think about this all over again on a recent 800-plus-mile drive from Michigan to Columbus, alone. Because I don’t always resist the impulse to brag about my kids, many of you may know that my daughter, Stacey Duke, is a preacher. She has been a church pastor for the past 22 years, first for five years in south Georgia and then for the last 17 years at First Baptist Church of Ann Arbor, Michigan. She and her husband share the pastor duties there equally, along with additional work as American Baptist campus ministers at the University of Michigan.
My daughter is a bundle of energy, a trait she definitely did not inherit from me. She preaches, teaches, writes, knits, manages a home and is a deeply involved mother to two teenage boys. She eats the right stuff, never smoked, never did drugs, works out at the gym, and is the picture of health. And nine weeks ago, she was hit with a bombshell when she learned she has a rare, aggressive, metastatic cancer that made its presence known in both of her lungs and her liver. She is undergoing chemotherapy at the University of Michigan Medical Center, still working when the impact of the chemo allows it, still preaching, still trying to cling to some of what has for so long been a normal life. The large signature mass of red curls is mostly gone now, along with travel plans and other facets of that normal life. A warm and loving congregation, as well as supportive friends all over the country and some overseas, along with her resilience and determination to fight this thing at least to a draw, all help. Still, there are moments of crushing grief.
In the midst of all this anguish, there was the cat, Suki. She was Stacey’s extra special pet, among many others, from the day she was born in the parsonage, 18 years ago. Stricken with Stage 4 kidney disease, she had been kept alive and comfortable for many months by her owner’s diligent administering of treatments and medicines. I watched last Sunday as she lay for hours in her favorite position, stretched on her owner’s chest, one paw reached out to touch and hold to the human hand. At 4 o’clock the following morning, still in that position, she drew her last quiet breath and slipped away. People who love animals and have family pets will understand the gaping hole that opened in this family’s collective heart at that moment.
When I said goodbye a few hours later and left for Columbus, there were tears, of course. Parting is always sad for us, but I knew the pain of parting was only one component this time. This bundle of grief, I thought, is so painful that it must surely also do something positive for us. But as I drove, I came to no conclusions, only a couple of possibilities: Maybe grief enters our lives to pound and tenderize the tough layers we build up as a defensive barrier, layers that can make us insensitive to the pain and needs of others. Or, instead, maybe grief is saying, “Hey, enjoy your life when you can. But don’t expect permanent happiness. Remember that I’m always waiting right around the corner.”
This story was originally published March 24, 2018 at 8:00 PM with the headline "What to gain from grief."