A Raw Glimpse into Grief
Susy and I met in college. We got married in July 1986 and moved to Dallas two weeks later. After ten years of marriage—finishing school, traveling, and enjoying time with just the two of us—we entered the parent world in 1997 with the birth of our first daughter, Mackenzie. Our second daughter, Savannah, was born in 2001. We raised both girls in the Richardson/Plano/Fairview areas. We supported both girls through college graduation and saw them both embrace careers that involve helping people. We were also able to celebrate Mackenzie’s marriage to Luke, and they have now been married for over three years.
Somehow, I never imagined I would ever hear my wife say to me through tears, “I have cancer.” I heard those words from her on the first Sunday of January 2022. We jumped into her treatment that same week. In May of 2022, she went through a stem cell transplant. That process included her staying almost a month in the hospital, followed by 100 days of isolation for her and about 50 days of isolation for me.
After a year of good progress battling cancer, we received a call while on vacation that the cancer was coming back rapidly. Susy immediately began a more aggressive treatment schedule. Six weeks later, she was gone.
Looking back, friends were extremely supportive and encouraging during our cancer treatment. My priority was Susy: to spend time with her, be her #1 cheerleader, and journey with her every step of the way. I worked during this period but took time off during intense treatment times. And I did my best to update my daughters and have them home often to support Susy.
There was one major thing that I didn’t do. I didn’t plan for my future of being alone. To do so felt wrong, like I would have been giving up. Susy wanted to talk about it, but I shut those conversations down immediately. I didn’t want that to be reality so I just ignored it, denied it, pretended it would never happen—whatever you want to call it. Doctors had told us she had years left, so we decided to focus on those years. Little did we know it was really months, weeks, and days. I didn’t see it coming until about two days before she died. She passed on on July 12, 2023. I describe Susy’s death as something between a cancer battle and a fatal car accident. It surprised her doctors, and it definitely shocked me. I wasn’t prepared in the slightest.
Susy was prepared. She planned her own memorial service, with an amazing photo presentation, four of her favorite songs, and her own inspiring speech at the end. I haven’t watched a playback of her service since the week it happened.
I’ve found that grief, for me, has a language of its own. I don’t have words to explain it. But please allow me to try to share a raw glimpse into this grief journey that I am on.
- Grief hits you on its own schedule, often at the most inopportune times. For example, it can be triggered by hearing a song or an illustration in a message at church, seeing someone who looks like Susy, and experiencing countless other things. When I have something good happen, my first thought is, “I am going to call Susy and tell her…” But then I quickly remember that I can’t call her anymore.
- Grief forces you to forge a new identity. It was “Jack and Susy” for 37 years. Now it is just Jack. Forging a new identity is just like it sounds. It is hard and it takes time, more time than I would like.
- Grief has waves of deep sadness that bring a heavy stream of tears. These waves came every few moments initially, then every few hours, then every few days. I am still in the “every few days” stage. I do believe the stage of “every few weeks” is in my future. I just don’t know when that will happen.
- I feel like friends tire of me being sad, so I either fake it well or withdraw, declining invitations. They would say they don’t mind my sadness, but it is hard to imagine it being fun to be around me sometimes. I push myself to spend time with friends, but my initial response is to withdraw.
- I want to “get over it” or “get through it.” But I am slowly learning that you don’t get over it. You learn to live in it and with it.
- I don’t like being asked, “How are you?” My answer is long. Here is how I would answer it: “I’m not doing so great. I am navigating this journey fairly well with counseling, support, and decent self-care, but I am deeply sad at times and have no idea what my future looks like. I often feel alone and misunderstood. I don’t even understand myself at times.” How is that for an answer?
- I talk to God more than ever. I read more, listen to podcasts more, pray more, and engage in various spiritual practices, but all of those combined don’t make me happy or “fix me.”
- I do hard things like meeting friends and attending life group with a bunch of married people. I go to the dentist for cleanings and get my annual physical. (I stole the phrase “I do hard things” from Dain Ussery and his family. It’s one of their family mottos and I love that.)
- People often say “I can’t imagine…” when talking with me. I get it, but what really helps me is when people send texts that say “thinking about you and praying for you,” cards that share an impact that Susy had on them, and invitations to do things together.
- People also say, “My loss doesn’t compare to yours.” There is no need to compare. All losses matter, whether they relate to a spouse, a child, a relative, a pet, a job, a friendship, etc. Every loss—no matter what kind—is real and needs to be processed and grieved.
I am in no place to give a speech or keynote address on grief, but I pray this look at my journey helps you understand what others may be going through with loss. And I hope it gives you some ideas about how to support and interact with them.
Those of us who are experiencing recent loss are a challenging group, I know. We don’t want pity. And we often don’t know exactly what we need, so we sure don’t expect you to provide that for us. But please don’t give up on us as we learn what it means to grieve. We’re not done with this journey yet!