Letter to God - A Wedding Ring and Facebook Status

Good morning Lord,

This morning I am holding two seemingly contradictory thoughts in my head.

-          I am now a single man

-          Shannon will always be my wife

Twenty-two years ago I made a vow to Shannon that ended with ‘’Till death parts us.”  That brutal reality has come to fruition.  One month ago this morning Shannon took her last breath.  Death has parted us.   I am no longer a married man.  That is a strange thought.

Shortly after Shannon passed away I looked online to see the ‘protocol’ for wearing a wedding ring after the death of a spouse.  Not surprisingly it doesn’t exist.  Some spouses wear their wedding rings the rest of their lives.  Others put them away.  At the time I thought that one month seemed about the right amount of time to continue to wear it.  This morning it's one month.  It seems appropriate to take it off and acknowledge my new reality.  I am no longer a married man.  Wedding rings serve as symbols of a lifelong commitment.  I have now removed mine.  The commitment has come to an end.

Last week I checked on Facebook to see how they listed my marital status.  Shannon’s Facebook page has been set to a ‘memorial’ account, so I thought that perhaps they would automatically list me as a widower.  They don’t.  Facebook assumes that I am still actively married to Shannon.  This morning I will change the status to ‘single.’  ‘Widowed’ is an option, but when I think of widowed I think of an elderly person who will be alone the rest of their life.  That’s not me.  Shannon and I had many conversations about the fact that I would remarry and life would continue.  She had no desire for me to ‘pine away’ for her.  Life moves forward.   No timetables exist for such things.

I am a single man.  It’s an odd feeling but it’s reality.

Yet I’m not single in the way I was single as a teenager.  Shannon will always remain my wife.  For twenty-two years we shared everything together.  My relationship with Shannon Marie Reuss changed me from a geeky 20 year old into the man I’ve become.  She encouraged me, supported me, loved me, lived with me, journeyed through cancer with me.  That can never be taken away or forgotten. 

Last night in conversation I found myself referring to ‘my wife Shannon.’  To do anything else would be to deny the love that we shared.   She has gone from this world but not from my heart.  While the day may come when this changes to ‘my first wife Shannon,’ the title ‘wife’ will accompany her until my dying day.

God,  I had no idea how much work it would be to try to figure these things out.  Thank you for walking with me on this journey of discovery, hope, and grief.

Letter to God - The Isolation of Cancer

Dear God,

I’m coming to realize what an impact cancer has had on me over the past 11 years.  It took Shannon’s life.  It also isolated me from the world.

Before cancer arrived in our lives Shannon and I were out and about.  We had friends to play cards with.  We cooked together.  We had a huge garden, spending our evenings canning beans and freezing corn.  We went on daily walks, hand in hand.  We sat on porches and chatted with neighbors.  We went camping regularly.  We did most everything together and loved every minute of it.

When we found out she had cancer we had to stop those things while they blasted her with chemotherapy.  As soon as that awful time ended we got right back into card playing and gardening.  The cancer returned a second time and we had less time and energy for things.   We didn’t realize it at the time but our life in isolation had begun. 

It didn’t hit all at once.  Life changed a little at a time.  We got together with people less often because Shannon didn’t have energy for it.  Sometimes just going to worship on Sunday was all she could handle.  Shannon slowly lost the strength to help with mundane things like laundry, dishes, or cooking as most of the household tasks fell to me.  We hired housekeepers to do the deep cleaning, but someone had to have things ready for them to come.   My days off became a long list of tasks to accomplish.  I grew exhausted.

Shannon constantly implored me to ‘get out there and have some fun.’  I did my best, getting together with Dave for a beer or with Eric at the lake, though as time went on even that became difficult.  To have a social life I had to leave Shannon behind.  For a while it wasn’t a big deal, but as she lost energy I felt like I was abandoning her.  My deep love for my wife kept me near her as much as possible.  My time with others slowly slipped away. 

Little by little cancer isolated me.  When not at work I plugged away around the house while she rested.  That’s what became normal.  I used the little free time that I had to be with her, still walking whenever possible, but now avoiding contact with others.  The goal was to get her some exercise and get her home.  Standing and chatting took too much out of her.  My one ‘selfish’ activity was running (and it kept me sane).

God, it’s only now, looking back on things, that I see how cancer stripped away so many things that I loved to do.  I’m a social creature and don’t do well when by myself for hours on end.   Life has been hard.

Now that Shannon has died life has changed dramatically.  In the past couple weeks I’ve done more things with friends that I’ve been able to do in years.  I get together for a drink after work.  I watch football with guys.  I head off to run in far away races.  I have a social life again.  It’s been amazing.

God, I admit that part of me feels guilty that I’m enjoying life.  Shouldn’t I be pining away for my deceased wife?  On the other hand I’m finally doing what she’s implored me to do for years.  “Get out there and have some fun.”   

Cancer took away so much.  You remain.  Shannon has new life in You.  I now have new life as well. Thank you for the hope You provide.

A Letter to God - Leaving the Door Open

Good morning God,

This morning I woke up at 5:00 (I’ve done a lot of that lately).  Exactly three weeks ago my wife Shannon left me went to be with you.  How can it only be three weeks ago?  It seems like a lifetime.

I’ve struggled with how I feel I ‘should’ grieve.  I never wanted to be ‘that guy’: the guy who stuffed his grief down deep and pretended to move on, the guy who kept himself busy so he didn’t have to think of his loss, the guy who didn’t cope well. 

Before Shannon died I imagined myself pining away for her, missing her at every turn, struggling to believe that she had died.  I’ve been surprised to find my brain fully capable of comprehending the fact that she is not here.  It’s like I finished reading a really good book.  I enjoyed it while it lasted but I knew that eventually I came to the end and it’s time for a new one.   Perhaps all the work Shannon and I did over the years to ‘live in the moment’ is coming to fruition.  I’m in the moment and the moment doesn’t involve a wife to live with and laugh with.   It’s a new reality.

At moments the tears still flow but in many other moments I am learning what it is to ‘read a new book.’  I’m reengaging in my work.  I’m having creative conversations with folks around Shannon’s business (ok, there’s another weird thing…it was always ‘my wife’s business’).  I’m getting together with people to watch football and chat (something I haven’t been free to do in years).   I admit that sometimes I feel guilty for enjoying myself too much.  Shouldn’t I be pining away??  People still come with their long faces and ask, “How are you doing?”  I want to give some deep, poignant answer, but the reality is that at most moments I’m doing just fine.  Perhaps I’m fully in denial, but I’m finding ways to move ahead into this new life.

Yesterday one of Shannon’s best friends sent Ben and me a package.  Laura had taken quite a few of Shannon’s ‘Beauty Each Day’ photos and turned them into a book.  The note with it struck me deeply.  Laura lost her mother a while back and she shared some words that Shannon had offered to her in her dark days:

A doorway doesn’t need a door---it can be a giant window to what lies behind and what goes on next.  You aren’t expected to shut it firmly behind you and not look back, or think about what is in the space behind it.  You can leave it wide open and cautiously move ahead while keeping all that is behind you fully in view.  Even as time goes by and you venture off to the doorway into the new space, you can return to the doorway between any time you like, and bask, and reflect, and ponder.

God, I have walked through that doorway.  Last Sunday night at our Bishop’s Theological Conference we had a service for the remembrance of the saints.  I stood in that doorway and lit a candle in Shannon’s memory.  The tears flowed.  This morning in worship our congregation will celebrate ‘All Saints Day’ (a week behind, but that’s how People of Hope rolls sometimes!).  Ben and I will together stand at the door and remember.  We will receive the reassurance that you have conquered death for your people…for Shannon.  It will be hard, but as Ben says, “Dad, we need to do this.” 

God, help me to keep that door open.  When it is appropriate, bring me to that door to look back and remember.  At other times, lead me into the new life you provide.

Thank you for allowing Laura to share Shannon’s words with me.