“My mind is clearer now.” These are the first words of the first song in the musical, “Jesus Christ Superstar”, sung hauntingly by Judas.
“My mind is clearer now.” These are also the first words I feel I must write today, two weeks after the last article which I wrote, in and through pain, late on New Year’s Day.
“My mind is clearer now.” And yes – after the anger, the questions, the demands, the doubts, even the betrayals written – no, screamed in that last article – the irony that these words came from the lips of Judas is not lost on me.
In our American achievement-oriented, goal-oriented society, we love planning, calendars, schedules, lists, and getting things done, and moving on to the next thing. We thrive on it. We are obsessed with it. “Plan the work, then work the plan”, right? Why should the grieving process, at least in America, be different than any other “process”? And even though the psychiatrists/psychologists/sociologists or whoever developed the “Five Stages of Grief” deny that there is any timetable connected to these stages or to completing the process of grieving – the truth is that they still put it out into our society in the form of a list that looks suspiciously like every other list of steps you must take, or tasks you must accomplish, in the proper order, if you want to accomplish virtually anything in our American achievement-oriented, goal-oriented society.
And so, at least in the back of my mind for the last twelve months, I have had the hopeful idea that the one year anniversary of Renee’s death would be a significant milestone in this whole grieving process – a marker from which I could look back with perspective, and from which I could look ahead with clarity. Someone had pointed out to me that it takes a full year to go through all of the important dates of a Year alone for the first time – birthdays, anniversary, Holidays. And after a year, you have experienced all of that, and things can become easier since you know what to expect.
And that makes sense. On paper. Everything makes sense on paper. I’m finding that paper doesn’t seem to measure up to, or bear the weight of reality.
For some reason now, even with a mind that is clearer, even as I realize that this is the last article I will write before the one year anniversary of the death of my wife, Renee, I seem to be no closer to…something – whatever it is I’m supposed to be closer to after a whole year of grief. In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t even know what it is that I’m supposed to be closer to by now. I’m not even really sure what it is that I had imagined I would be closer to by now. Am I supposed to be closer to Understanding? Am I supposed to be closer to Acceptance? To Healing? To the End of Grief? To “Closure” – whatever that word is supposed to mean, whatever that word is supposed to look like in a case like this?
“Surely I am closer to all of those things by now; surely I am closer to completing the process, to checking off all the boxes, to achieving the goal”, he declares boldly! “Right? Maybe?”
But how do you measure this thing called “closer”? How do you even define it? If it is measured by units of time, am I now only days away? Or is it months? Years? Millennia? If it is measured by units of distance, am I now only inches away? Or is it yards? Miles? Parsecs?
For nearly 365 days, I have walked through this dark world alone. Looking back with the “perspective” that I thought a year would bring, I cannot see that I am getting any better at it. I cannot see that I am really any closer to anything. The loss, the hurt, the sadness is still there. My eyes have not adjusted to the darkness. Practice is not making anything perfect.
My son lost a tooth last week, and I do not know how it happened. All I know is that it probably wouldn’t have happened if Renee was still here taking care of him. All I know is that it proves I am still struggling to make my way, to make sense of this new life.
Looking ahead with the “clarity” that I thought a year would bring, I see that I have no idea how “close” I am to reaching anything. I don’t even know if I’m going in the right direction. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be looking for. I can’t even get grieving right.
Maybe “perspective” and “clarity” will come later – perhaps on the anniversary of the funeral. Or maybe on the anniversary of the Memorial Dedication Service. Or maybe on the anniversary of the disposition of her mortal remains. Or maybe something else will bring this.
Or maybe nothing will.
And maybe that is the real answer. Maybe there is no ultimate goal, maybe there is no list to check off, maybe there is no achievement to celebrate. Maybe we’re not supposed to say, “There, I’m finished. What’s the next thing on my list?” Maybe I just need to be ok with this, with who I am now.
Maybe we’re just supposed to learn to live with the loss. Maybe we’re just supposed to go on - not by forgetting, not by denying what has been lost, and not by remembering only the grief – but by letting the sweetness, the life, the love, the joy of the time shared become a solid place to stand as we step into the unknown but possibly hopeful, possibly even wonderful future that God has prepared for us who have been left behind for a little while.
Maybe. Probably. But this, at least, I know - “my mind is clearer now.”
Ambrose Ramsey | Pastor and Shepherd
