Jesus wept

There is no adequate way to write this post.

I know from the outset that even though you will read these words and feel for their meaning, they cannot be understood until becoming a widow or a widower is your own experience.  They will not make sense until you live them.  I know that because it happened to me.

I thought I was prepared for Jake's death.

We knew that he had a terminal disease and for 2 years and 3 months I lived with the prospect of his passing constantly. It tortured my heart and soul and was something I had to work on in therapy, in prayer, in faith, in submission so that I could even cope with the possibility of it.

And in those years, although I dreaded his death with my whole being, I also changed and became willing to accept it if that was God's plan for our family.

You all know what happened.

In March of 2016 Jake had a shunt surgery, which afterward revealed that the cancer cells had diffused in his brain to now the right hemisphere (they had previously only been on the left side) as well as the brain stem and he would only have a few months to live.

And on April 23, 2016 Jacob died.

For the next many months I was in the honeymoon phase of grief and from different people I have talked to I think this is a common experience.

You are given an uncommon strength- a peace from heaven as you face the immediate aftermath of the passing of your loved one. You are comforted by memories with them and the love and kindness and thoughtfulness of people around you is overflowing. You are sort of in a haze and not even capable mentally, emotionally or physically of grasping the reality of what has happened to your life. It is probably that way by design.

But then time marches on and inevitably the honeymoon phase is over.

And your descent into grief begins.

For me that started to happen in earnest almost 5 months after Jake died and remained relatively constant until, for the first time, I've experienced a small reprieve these last two months. And even though I can sense the beginning of healing inside of me, it is and will definitely still be a touch and go, an up and down, a roller coaster ride sort of experience.

There are several things I hope to share about what you experience and what you learn as you mourn the passing of your spouse. I am just beginning to find the words- to find expression for the things I have been feeling for the last two years. And I imagine that the passing of time will continue to reveal more about the grieving experience and help me understand things I was going through that initially I could not even identify, explain or characterize in any way.

1. You lose your identity

I was speaking to a dear friend last week and she said that after her husband died she felt like she lost her confidence. Similarly, my experience has been that I have completely lost my sense of identity- I do not know who I am anymore, I do not know what I like, I do not know what brings me joy, I do not know what my future holds, I do not know how and where I fit in.

I have a new appreciation for all that marriage does to benefit, strengthen, define and bless two people as individuals who come together as one. Marriage is a literal coming together in EVERY possible way. And oh how Jake and I loved being married to each other. You physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually bond and blend yourself with another being and really have no idea of the depth of that relationship until it is severed and you are left as just one half of a whole.

It is upending and infuses every aspect of your way of life and functioning.

No wonder some widows/widowers go crazy. They make bad decisions. They are irreparably changed. They stop living. They are not themselves. They are lost.

This is almost impossible to see from the outside and does not make logical sense.

To anyone looking in, I usually appear to be "doing well," I have remained functional and I appear to be the Jordan I have always been to them. I think most widows retain some level of functionality during this mourning period. Especially those with small children. It is not possible to cry all the time and never get out of your bed. Kids need breakfast every day.

And there is comfort in doing things that require no emotional effort, that are innate, that are rote. So grocery shopping, loading dishes, moving laundry, and reading bedtime stories continue and are a gift of normality when your heart and mind are in turmoil.

But because I cannot be exactly the same Jordan I was when Jacob was alive, because I do not recognize this "new/old" me,  because I feel like half of a whole, this feeling of identity loss that is so pervasive and diffuse has been the hardest for me to bear.

2. You go through chemical withdrawals

There was a very interesting talk I listened to in the BYU widow/widowers conference archive where the presenter spoke about the very real dopamine withdrawal you face as an individual who has lost a spouse.

He talked about how when you are married and experiencing a physically intimate relationship you receive dopamine hits many times a day through those sensory experiences. You have someone there to hug and kiss and touch and when that individual is suddenly gone you go through a real period of physical, and dopamine depleted, withdrawal.

I have never been a drug addict, nor even taken a drug in my life, but when I heard this idea it made complete sense to me. I knew what he as talking about.

Some of the effects of dopamine withdrawal are insomnia and sleep difficulties; anxiety, stress and other forms of fear; headaches and stiffness in muscles; fatigue and weakness; depression, despair and other forms of sadness; lack of focus, attention, concentration (brain fog); mood swings; frustration, irritability, annoyance and other forms of anger; flu, nausea, fever and other forms of sickness; desire to avoid socializing.

I can and have felt the reality of that dopamine withdrawal and it adds a very physical layer to the feelings of loss and pain and grief that you are already experiencing.

3. You experience a level of pain you never knew existed

One of the most startling things that I felt around the five month mark after Jake's death was the immensity of the pain- it was pain that I had no previous experience with and that was so shocking in its force, its depth and its complete control over my mind and heart.

And those first many experiences with this new magnitude of pain are terrifying.

You do not know if you will make it out. You feel encompassed about by its darkness. You do not know if it will ever end.

I was describing it to someone like this- that the hardest thing about that kind of pain is that you do now know where the bottom is. It feels like being thrown into a lake with a weight tied around your feet and you are sinking and sinking and sinking and only want to bottom out, but have no idea where (or more terrifyingly IF) there is a bottom.

I have a new friend who has said that she has rarely seen me cry. I think other people I interact with may say the same thing. I have thought about this and realized that I often don't cry- that sobbing, uncontrollable, body heaving cry in front of other people because when it first started it was so unsettling for me that I did not dare to let it out when I had no idea what would happen. How long it would go on or if I could even recover in the presence of another person. Jake saw me in that state a few times before his death and it was very hard for him to witness because he felt powerless to help. I have also learned that at times the depth of these feelings surpasses tears. It is an internal pain that sometimes cannot even be expressed through weeping or other times it takes weeks for feelings to process before they can even be cried out. It is all part of plumbing the depths of grief and pain.

I wrote about this kind of experience over a year ago. Even re-reading it brings back the reality of those feelings and the raw nature of that pain. I can say that time does help and time does heal. Not that the intensity of the experience is any less painful when it comes, but it does come with less frequency- the waves lengthen out and you start to have moments of peace in between each painful spell. You also become familiar with the pain and it is neither so shocking nor so startling as it was when it was new.

The pain is what you cannot anticipate, you cannot pre-determine, you cannot be prepared for even if you know your loved one will die. My mom lost her father when she was 28 and was acquainted with this sort of pain. I remember a conversation with her shortly after Jake died where she expressed her sorrow at the pain me and the kids would experience. At the time I could not understand that she was talking about. I did not know what that sort of pain felt like. Only after having experienced it can I understand why her heart was sorrowing for us. Why we all sorrow for those who have lost a loved one. The pain is unimaginable.

4. You understand the finality of death.

In the honeymoon phase of grieving you are incredibly comforted with the knowledge that the spirit of your loved one is still there, that they continue to exist and that you can live as a family unit with them again eternally.  This doctrine is an especially comforting assurance found in the LDS church. If you want to learn more about these beliefs CLICK HERE.

I can say that overarching my grief is the knowledge I have gained through the witness of the Holy Ghost that because of Jesus Christ, the resurrection is a reality for Jacob, and for everyone who has ever lived and died on the earth. Because of that gift I will be with my beloved husband again.

However, the blessing of the resurrection seems very very very far away while the reality of death is part of my daily life.

Death is real.

It is final and it changes everything. It has no antidote and it lasts for the rest of your mortal life. Death stings.

And until someone you love has died you almost cannot comprehend the shocking finality of it.

I have come to appreciate a story from the New Testament that sheds light on the truth of this painful experience.

It is the story of Lazarus.

It is the story where Jesus wept.

The record of John states that the sisters of Lazarus sent unto Jesus, notifying him that Lazarus was sick. But instead of coming hastily he abode two more days where he was while Lazarus died. Finally, the Savior starts his journey to Bethany to see his friends Mary and Martha and Lazarus, whom he loved.

Upon hearing that Jesus was coming, Martha ran to him and testified that while she knew he could have saved her brother, she still believes that He is the Son of God and that whatever He asks God will give it to Him. Christ testifies that He is the resurrection and the life and Martha goes to find Mary.

She tells Mary that the Master is come and He is calling for her. Mary comes to where Jesus is and seeing him, falls down at his feet weeping and says "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." And when He sees her- Mary whom he loves weeping, and the Jews that were with her also weeping the record states "he groaned in the spirit and was troubled" and said "Where have ye laid him? They said unto him, Lord, come and see."

And so it is that Jesus, himself hurting and surrounded by those he loves who are wounded, who are in pain, who are mourning the death of his and their beloved friend makes his way with them to the place where Lazarus was laid.

And Jesus wept.

He wept.

He did not tell them it would be ok. He did not wonder why they were struggling. He did not ask them to remember the plan or consider the big picture or promise that families can be together forever.

Jesus wept.

That one verse speaks volumes to anyone who has ever looked upon their loved one in death. To anyone who has ever felt the sting. To anyone who ever weeps and hurts and mourns death's blow.

You do not weep alone.

The Savior of the world weeps with you. He sees and feels and knows of this pain- the pain of the sting of death- and He cries with you.

I know because He has cried with me.

Even though Jesus knew what He would do- that in the coming moments He would raise Lazarus from the dead- He still groaned for the aching pain of death that must come before the glorious reality of life.

And if He can weep and groan and feel troubled then so can we. Death is painful and Christ knows it. He knows it and felt it and feels it now.

I am so grateful for Jesus.

For the Word made flesh, who came and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.

He does, so completely, understand.  He has felt what we feel. He stands ready to succor us. He descended below. He is the resurrection and the life.

And He wept.