Anyone who knows us well knows that we have had several crises in our nearly forty-nine years together. I've crawled out of a car after a head-on collision, hauled water into the house for a month after our well collapsed leaving us with no running water, bandaged bullet wounds after Keith was ambushed and shot five times in the line of duty, endured frightening, painful, experimental surgeries to save my vision for just a little longer, and that doesn't even cover half the list of traumatic experiences we have endured. In every instance our brothers and sisters crowded round us with loving support and practical help. In every area they went far beyond our expectations.
In all these things, though, I have learned through experience, that even though the immediate crisis may be over, the after-effects linger, sometimes for years. We are all taught to put on a smiling face—who wants to be around a moping complainer? And so people look on a smiling widow and think she is fine. They see a cancer or severe injury survivor who appears alive and well and don't see the lingering pain of medication side effects or horrific injuries that will never go away. After a good while, they completely forget the life traumas that others have dealt with and continue to deal with. Even though I am more aware than some, I do it too!
But I have learned to send my sympathy cards a week or more after the funeral, when the incoming mail will have trickled down to nearly nothing. To ask a cancer survivor every six months or so how their numbers are—they are usually checked every quarter and that day of waiting can be full of anxiety. To ask a widow how she's doing for a couple of years rather than a few weeks.
Think about some of the things you have been through that may still be bothering you with physical or emotional pain. You aren't the only one. But I have found this—thinking about the aftermaths others are dealing with rather than focusing on my own can help enormously. If we all did that, no one would be left to sigh or cry alone for the long, difficult time afterward.
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God (2Cor 1:3-4).
Dene Ward
In all these things, though, I have learned through experience, that even though the immediate crisis may be over, the after-effects linger, sometimes for years. We are all taught to put on a smiling face—who wants to be around a moping complainer? And so people look on a smiling widow and think she is fine. They see a cancer or severe injury survivor who appears alive and well and don't see the lingering pain of medication side effects or horrific injuries that will never go away. After a good while, they completely forget the life traumas that others have dealt with and continue to deal with. Even though I am more aware than some, I do it too!
But I have learned to send my sympathy cards a week or more after the funeral, when the incoming mail will have trickled down to nearly nothing. To ask a cancer survivor every six months or so how their numbers are—they are usually checked every quarter and that day of waiting can be full of anxiety. To ask a widow how she's doing for a couple of years rather than a few weeks.
Think about some of the things you have been through that may still be bothering you with physical or emotional pain. You aren't the only one. But I have found this—thinking about the aftermaths others are dealing with rather than focusing on my own can help enormously. If we all did that, no one would be left to sigh or cry alone for the long, difficult time afterward.
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God (2Cor 1:3-4).
Dene Ward
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