They were Not Alone

What do we do with the images of our loved one's last moments?

And just like that, news of political corruption, or some other headline, has taken over the airwaves. I live in San Antonio, Tx, less than an hour from the horrendous floods that, only a few short weeks ago, gripped the Nation's attention. While the Nation is moving on, those in central Texas who lost so much may be only beginning to experience the depth of their pain. Some are grieving multiple family members taken all at once, others, their only child, and still others, the center of their lives -  their home. There is so much about what these families are experiencing that is bringing back not only memories of my own loss, but lessons I took away from it.

My first husband was a fisherman lost at sea when I was 24 years old.  A month went by before his body was recovered. His Captain's body was never found. The sound of Coast Guard helicopters, the front page news updates of the search, the drowning...there are many comparisons. The one that has been keeping me up is this one: those left behind who are wondering what their loved ones were going through as they grapple with the guilt of not being there to rescue them. Were they screaming? Were they scared? Did they die quickly? Did they suffer? They are likely wondering what their last moment was like. For me, the idea of my husband drowning in a dark ocean quite literally gave me nightmares. Was he knocked unconscious? Was he aware he wasn't going to make it? If so, what were his thoughts? Was he panicking? Was he at peace?

Visualizing what your loved one was experiencing in their last moments, especially if it was a violent or brutal ending, is mental and emotional torture. It steals your ability to close your eyes and rest, even for a second. In the beginning, the shock and the decision-making keep the worst of it at bay: The decision about their final resting place - burial or cremation? Writing an obituary. The distraction of phone calls, condolences, the family and friends that are gathered, coming to grips with what has just happened. Then comes the planning of a funeral or a memorial. Do we have a viewing? Open casket or closed? Flowers? Slide show or pictures? Which ones? Should someone give a eulogy? Who? Subsisting on a cocktail of exhaustion and adrenaline-fueled exertion, the day finally arrives. Putting our loved one in the ground, physically letting them go, is a reality few consider until the moment it arrives.  That moment is not closure, it's another level of trauma. Especially, I think, for Momma's and Daddy's laying their babies in their final resting place. When all begins to quiet down, all of these thoughts, from the first second of shock until the guests have all gone , the images that have been swirling, circling, nagging and tugging come calling like a gangster bookie calling for his due - that's when the real torture begins. 

When Jesus was preparing his Apostles for his own death, he promised them he was not going to leave them alone; he was sending someone after him, the Holy Spirit, who would teach, guide, lead and even comfort them. His promise was not only for them, but for us. As followers of Jesus, the promised Holy Spirit resides in each one of us. 

When I was grieving the loss of my husband, visualizing all that he may have been experiencing, the Holy Spirit gave me the words of Psalm 139 to comfort me. In the depths of the sea, in his darkest moment, the Holy Spirit was there, comforting and holding him. Not only with his last breaths, but in his final resting place, there was no darkness to fear, "...for darkness is as light to you."  He was not alone. 

They were not alone...

As the visions of your loved one's last moments come calling, it is my prayer that the Holy Spirit uses these words to comfort you. 

 Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me and your right hand will hold me fast.

If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me, and the light become night around me,” even there the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.

 Psalm 139:7-11

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