“Honey, I just got a call from the doctor and she wants me to come in tomorrow for an angiogram.”  

Five years prior the doctor suggested we track progress with the possibility of the need for a heart valve repair in the distant future. Apparently “the future” was here. 

My husband’s heart valve repair surgery was scheduled for Thanksgiving week. 

I recall returning home alone the night before the early morning surgery. As I crawled into bed and looked at the empty pillow next to me, I cried out to God, “Is this how it’s going to look now? Or will you fill this empty place again with my dearest friend on the planet, my husband?” 

As a friend said to me recently, “Bev, you’ve written Shepherding Women in Pain, but how does it work when the shepherd is in pain?” She continued, “Frankly, the greatest pain for me during this time of a cancer diagnosis has been the hard things well-meaning friends have said to me. Bev, they just don’t get it!” 

I could relate to my friend’s frustration. It seems easier when you are on the outside looking in, but what a different view when YOU are the one experiencing emotional pain. 

Well-meaning friends said to me:

• “You teach pastoral care, you’ll know what to do.”
• “My uncle also had an open heart surgery and he survived fine. He has since gone to be with the Lord. Your husband will do fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.” (He’s dead! Is that supposed to be comforting? Easy for you to say “He’ll be fine!” How do you know?)
• “God never gives us more than we can bear.” (Not comforting at the outset.)
• “I know exactly how you feel. Just keep praying.” (No one can know exactly how another feels.)
• “If there’s anything you need, let me know.” (Putting one foot in front of the other may be all the person in pain is able to do. They may not be able to even articulate their needs, let alone ask.)  

Typically at the first impact of loss (real or threatened), few words are best. Presence counts more. Sometimes silence can be comforting. Don’t feel you have to have just the right thing to say. It may minister to someone in extreme pain to receive (verbally or in writing) one of the following simple expressions. 

• I am praying for you (if you really are!)
• I don’t know what to say (acknowledge how hard this is).
• I love you. I care about you & your husband (if you do).
• I’m concerned about you. You mean a lot to me and I want to help (offer specific help).
• I wanted to come here (to the hospital) and just be with you (without feeling like you have to keep a conversation going non-stop).  

Memories of my mom’s story ending in loss—leaving me no chance to say “good-bye” to my beloved dad—dominated. It happened so quickly and we were thousands of miles away. The grief seemed endless as did the conversations with God. 

Would my father’s artificial heart valve failure be duplicated in the second man most loved in my life? The possibility gripped my heart and drove me to my knees before God my Father. I remember that night alone trying to regain my equilibrium in conversation with God about the unknown future. Words do not adequately convey those experiences. Often we do not receive the answers for which we are searching, but we begin to see God in a new light. Oh, it’s not God who has changed, rather he’s opened our eyes to see him more accurately: his true character, rather than the caricature in which we’ve been trusting. 

I am so grateful that the pillow beside me is now filled nightly with the presence of my dear husband. The gift of family and friends sitting with us in the hospital and then visiting during the six month recovery in our home is a lingering sweetness. The reality of my husband’s presence is even more endearing as I recall those intimate times with my Savior.  

Authors writing their stories of extreme pain, loss and darkness may enlighten our own quest for God. Mike Mason’s journey led him to write one of my favorite books, The Gospel According to Job, An Honest Look at Pain and Doubt from the Life of One Who Lost Everything. Mason digs deep into the book of Job, but serves his findings on digestible two-paged sightings.  

Our family has one more life-giving reason to give THANKS to our Good Shepherd, especially Thanksgiving week.

What expressions of care and/or conversations with God have been most meaningful to you during a time of anticipated or real loss?