My prayers started the moment Steve was diagnosed with esophageal cancer: “Please God, please, send a miracle. Let him be in the 15% of those who statistically beat this cancer. God, I beg you to restore Steve to health, please heal him completely, as you have so many times in the past.” This and similar fervently issued prayers were to continue even up to the day Steve died, exactly six months later.
Those of us who have lost our spouses despite prayers such as these have experienced first-hand one part of how grief and loss affects us spiritually. We can be left wondering, “Why him or her?” “Why not me?” “Doesn’t God listen?” “Does this mean God doesn’t care?”
Grief and loss affects us profoundly on a spiritual level, whether we are affiliated with any one religious organization, or if we are those who walk our own spiritual paths. The loss of our spouse can leave us feeling isolated and disconnected from the larger universe, from the web in which humankind exists.
I know that after Steve died, I doubted that there could even be a God who would permit such a thing to happen. I’d grown up being taught that we have a Heavenly Father who loves us. But if he loves us so much, why would he let Steve die? And how could he let me experience so much pain?
During the time of loss, some people feel immense satisfaction and comfort from the words of their scriptures or from their pastors, rabbis or ministers. I didn’t. I felt like I’d scream if even one more person told me, “Take comfort — he’s now in a better place.” Or, worse, “Well at least you know you have an eternal family… it must feel good to know your family will always be together forever.”
Put my head in a blender. Press “Whirl.”
I couldn’t even come up with a response when I was offered such bromides. I’d just paste a benign smile on my face and nod. And inside, seethe.
But I couldn’t seethe too much, because I was also extremely thankful to be encircled by such a loving community of kind souls who surrounded us with love and support throughout Steve’s illness and after his death. I realized they were simply trying to offer comfort in the only way they knew how.
At that point, I didn’t really care about anything that might or might not happen after we were all gone from this earth… I missed Steve NOW. I wanted him to still be ALIVE. My daughters needed their Daddy to support them as they transitioned from their teens into adulthood. I missed the presence of my best friend. That person I could lean against. My sounding board. The other half of my memory bank!
I felt abandoned by my God, and felt angry that my trust had been betrayed, and that I was forced to discover this at the lowest point in my life! And because I was still in shock and so numb at that point, I couldn’t even recognize what I was feeling. I just knew that I had never felt so alone in my life.
What I’ve learned:
- For many months, I carried enormous guilt that my faith had so totally disappeared, and when I learned while attending the grief workshops that this spiritual disconnection I felt is a very normal aspect of grief, I felt immense relief.
- I also have come to realize that the numbness that envelopes us upon the death of a spouse is actually a gift. I think of it as a protective buffer that allows us to gradually come to terms with the loss, because if we fragile humans were forced to endure the full measure and enormity of the pain all at once, it would kill us. Instead, I think God has provided us with a period where we feel the pain incrementally as we gradually awaken to the reality of the death. For this, I am thankful.
- One thing that I heard in the workshop gives me a lot of comfort (and makes me smile): “It’s okay to be mad at God. He’s a big God. He can take it!”
As I continue walking my grief pathway, I can see how much I have grown spiritually since Steve’s death. I began my journey as a person who had the unshaken faith of a child and had put 100% of my hope into God sending a miracle to heal Steve. I transitioned through a period of seeming lack of faith to one where I can now see the miracles that surround me every day. I have been slowly rebuilding my relationship with God, and now, five years since Steve’s death, feel confident that I can once again put my trust there. I guess that I now understand that our prayers are always listened to, but that we just don’t always receive the answers we desire.
And, in addition to feeling a reconnection with God, I also have experienced a sense of spiritual connection with Steve. Just as I pray silently to God, I often find myself speaking silently (and sometimes even aloud) to Steve, asking questions, seeking affirmation for hard decisions, wanting him to know how much I miss him and how much I’ll always love him.
I have felt his presence at my side, I have benefited from his support when feeling lost, and have been comforted knowing that even though his heart stopped beating physically, we are still connected on a heart level and I know he still loves me.
How has the death of your spouse affected your spiritual life? For some people, grief strengthens their faith. For others, questions arise. I’d love to hear how you’ve been doing in this area.
Beverly Chantalle McManus lives in Northern California with her two daughters, who have each now graduated from college. She is Vice President and Treasurer of the Board of Directors for the Open to Hope Foundation, a bereavement facilitator and core team member of the Stepping Stones on your Grief Journey Workshops, and a frequent speaker and writer on the topic of loss and grief. In addition to grief support, she is also a marketing executive for professional services firms.
