Loss of a Spouse/Partner
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold itagainst your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.—Mary Oliver from “In Blackwater Woods”
I would love life to be this neat and linear—first you love, then you hold, then you let it go. But living is messy, not neat or linear.
I’ve thought about being able to bargain with God—I certainly know many people who use prayer to get them through what seem to be unfathomable depths. But I have a hard time getting my head around the actor God of my Jewish childhood who had the power to make things happen in response to human behavior.
I prepared for ministry with the Christian God, who at least had a little more time on earth through his son, Jesus. But the God in the Christian testament is even less personable and no more believable to me. And though the God metaphor is my preferred vocabulary for discussing the sacred, my image of the mystery which connects us to one another and to the larger universe is neither personal nor omnipotent.
This makes it kind of hard to know how to invoke the spirit of connectivity and support that I have longed for as I go through the biggest challenge of my life thus far—watching my soul-mate succumb to cognitive dementia over the last six years. She passed away in July, so the years of observing her suffering are behind me, but my needs for connection to the larger universe remain.
How do I find that connection in UU community? Where is the epitome of the sacred in our congregations—be they actual or virtual?
Personal Story
“Do you know who I am?” I asked my soul mate of almost 23 years. She looked at me attentively, which was something, but said no words. “I’m Patti,” I said, “your wife. We’ve been together for 23 years.” This time her response was instantaneous. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Expressive, clear; that was something else. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
My relationship with Janis was the foundation of my adult life. She introduced me to Unitarian Universalism, supported me through seminary, and was certainly my biggest fan. She modeled self-confidence, and looked forward to being the ‘minister’s wife’ with plans to retire when we were called to a congregation. It would be a new adventure and hopefully an opportunity to move closer to the east coast part of our families.
Instead, she was diagnosed with a rare form of Parkinson’s disease which attacks cognition instead of movement. Lewy Body disease moves much more quickly than traditional Parkinson’s, with life expectancy between 5 and 7 years from diagnosis. Janis lived for six. And almost everything that I was called to do to support her life for that time was antithetical to my skills and experience—far outside of my comfort zone.
I am a good pastor—I know how to offer presence to those who are in crisis, to bridge the isolation of coping with life’s surprises. But no amount of this training or experience comforted me or bridged my own sense of isolation and disorientation as my world seemed to diminish with Jan’s frontal lobe. We are blessed with a large network of caring friends and for the last six months of her life there was always someone with her—and therefore, I was never alone. But company and connection are two different things. And my connection weakened as her illness progressed.
As a spiritual director I’m used to asking people to think with their hearts—”where is the sacred in this question, what does your heart tell you about this, have you asked God about this?”
But my heart was buried in a dark cave under water and though I know the sacred is always present, I sure didn’t think it could find me down there. Besides, the one thing I could not afford to do was open my heart in the service of my own spiritual life.
Janis has been gone for two months now. The shock has started to wear off and the grief is starting to flow. The isolation of being tied to home has passed, but the world feels no more real than it did while she was dying.
I’m not sure that my spirit has climbed out of the underwater cave yet and I’m not sure how to help it—except by waiting. And I’m invited to learn yet another skill set— that of climbing back into a life that is irrevocably changed.
A Prayer
Mary Oliver speaks to me again, when I am feeling so very low, I hear her voice asking me:
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
—from “The Summer Day”
Asking the question, that is my prayer.
A Spiritual Practice
One day I was complaining to my spiritual director that I couldn’t find any time for spiritual practice. She suggested to me that everything I do is a form of prayer. So I renamed my spiritual practice—spiritual practice on the fly—practicing the intention to stay present, moment by moment, or at least some moments when I stopped to take a breath. It’s not really what I want, and it doesn’t replace the set-aside time to invite the holy into my being. But when all I have is a few seconds to invite God into my awareness, I do just that. “God, be with me.”
May you find ways to remind yourself that you are connected to the larger universe in the times when you feel it least. May it be so, may it be so, please, may it be so!
- Loss of a Spouse/Partner - October 23, 2011
