It Will Be All Right in the Morning

IT WILL BE ALL RIGHT in the MORNING

iUniverse, Inc.

Chapter One

"It will be alright in the morning"—this was my husband Allan's answer to everything! I was frequently told this when wishing to discuss a problem last thing at night in bed. He would try to convince me that our great faith would solve everything by the morning, whereas I was sure he just wanted me to go to sleep and shut up. He was trying to demonstrate that by faith it would be alright! Mind you, it felt that for most of our lives together he was correct—it really did feel much better in the morning.

This book is written for therapists and those helping people who are "going through" a time of grieving, somehow allowing them to see that it will be alright in the "mourning". If you are one of those people please read on, especially if it does not feel alright in your mourning.

The understanding of this concept was not in the forefront of my mind when I began my personal journey of grief. The ramblings of my story are certainly honest and may show the depths of despair and pain which are often prevalent should a loved one be taken away from us. It can also show the hope that things do get better.

My Story

He was an optimistic extrovert who loved life, God and everyone he met. That I'm glad to say included me.

Our marriage began on Easter Monday, 1961. I promised to obey—he promised to love me which we managed to do for forty years—well, most of the time!

The two children we were blessed with are now in their forties. Both have wives, who are not only daughters to me, but between them have produced seven wonderful grand children. The youngest three have been born after his death. The last granddaughter was only with us for ten days. I see in each one something of him, but then I would, wouldn't I? On becoming grandparents, our love and caring moved up 20 thousand notches!

Each person who knew Allan felt they were his special friend—that's what he communicated to them and, of course, to me as well.

As we approached our sixties, we planned a move to the south coast of England to take up the business of semi-retirement. Allan began to get pain in his back, with it worsening each day. We believed it was because of lifting heavy things ready for the move. The day before the move, with packing going on in our house, he had a check up with a specialist. The timing was not great but it was the first appointment we could get.

By this time it was hard for Allan to walk upright and when the specialist saw him he gave his decree of "That's not muscle pain that's cancer!" A short time elapsed and then a scan which confirmed the specialist's view.

Our comfortable happy life disappeared into the depths of despair and we fell apart. Allan stayed in hospital for radiotherapy treatment while I moved to our new house with the help of my sons. There was no cancelling of the house move as contracts had all been signed and the chain was ready to go.

One week later Allan walked through the front door of our new home he so wanted to live in. We cried together. Another week later he fell as he tried to climb the stairs. Three weeks later I crawled through Christmas with Allan in a wheel chair.

New Year's Day he entered hospital never to return to me in our new house. He died on January 12th. It was only seven weeks and two days from the first diagnosis of melanoma until his death.

During this time we had some friends, and the elders of their church, who came and prayed for Allan and for his healing. Some church members took it on themselves to pray twenty four hours a day and people were even praying as far away as Kenya and other places around the world. We believed, as much as we could, that he would be healed.

Allan was given bible verses, poems and encouragements from many visitors during that time. You name it—we claimed it! I am definitely not making fun here but I just want to be honest. Love and support were oozing out of our friends and family. I am exceedingly grateful.

I don't have a reason even now, whilst writing this, as to why Allan died much too early.

My Grieving

The first day of grieving I did not cry. I had kissed him after he left me with the soft touch of his hair resting against my cheek. I wanted that as a memory that I would always be able to feel. I still can.

The next day we told the grandchildren. Their pain I will also never forget. Alice who was six sobbed and sobbed on her mother's lap, while Jack who was just four looked on motionless. It was only later that we saw a solitary, quiet tear falling as he asked "will I never see Grandpa again?"

All the family mourned in their different ways. As for me in shock, in denial, whatever you want to call it I made up my pretend world that Allan was still around and coming home soon. I couldn't bear it any other way. I still pretend sometimes.

Someone, who had been through a similar experience, said later to me that it is like nothing has changed but everything has changed. Those of you reading this in grief will understand that, while you go through the motions of everyday life that has not changed, it feels like nothing will ever be the same again.

Each morning I would put the rings he had given me back on my fingers and wonder how he could be gone. My heart ached and ached so much and so deeply. Even physical pain was there sometimes and I thought I was having a heart attack. Anyway, would that be so bad? I really wouldn't have minded going too! "Oh Allan! I just want to be with you" I said, hoping so much that he could hear. I wanted him to know how much our separation meant to me.

The spirit world of God began to be the most important idea to me. One night, as I lay in bed, sometime between the funeral and the memorial, I felt a touch on the right side of my face so lovingly. I wanted it to be Allan. It may have been a comforting angel. Wonderful!

Is there a link between God's spirit world and our physical world? In the ensuing days, I thought a great deal about the two worlds, wanting, so desperately, to bring them both together. I thought of the beginning of the world when Adam and Eve walked with God. I presume this was a spirit world as God is a spirit. Adam, however, had been created with a body. I am only writing this as it was what was going on for me at the time. I am not suggesting it's written in stone.

Can these precious creatures, that have left us, be in both worlds at once? Some would suggest that this comes later but what does later mean in a place where there is no time or clocks? We can try to get our minds and hearts around these notions but the definite knowledge escapes us. We do know, and this verse comforted me a great deal, that:

"Yesterday, today and forever Jesus is the same." (Hebrews 13:8 NLT)

The other reasoning that comforted was that Allan had defeated death, as his saviour did, and had risen again to be with Him. This, in my mind, was defeating the enemy and his powers. Throughout this time the spiritual dimension became so exceedingly real to me. I wanted it to, of course.

When we are enjoying this world as much as I did when Allan was here we are not as conscious of the heavenly domain. No condemnation to anyone who feels this world is great! I remember staring out of the window, seeing blossom beginning to arrive on a tree and it seemed that if I sat in one place in the room it appeared as if there was more blossom on the tree than if I changed my position to see it from another angle. The blossom was always the same amount and in the same place but I just perceived it differently, depending on where my position was in the room.

God's heavenly world is always there but, if we are in a position to stare at it, we can see more!

I was trying a lot more, in those dark days, to feel the presence of God. I did feel guilty for not wanting God's presence more while Allan was here on the earth. Maybe, I loved Allan too much—more than God. Was that why he was taken? However 'there is now no condemnation.' (Romans 8:1 TLB) I do not need guilt or fear in my life.

I do believe we catch glimpses of heaven, even while still here on the earth, by seeing God's love in others.

When Allan died, I wrote the following poem, which I actually managed to read at his memorial service.

      HERE IS LOVE

    What can I say of Allan's life?
    The many varied aspects of it, as his friend and his wife
    It could be his kindness, his laughter or the grace he showed me
    It could be his strength or all the cups of tea he brought to me
    Each morning—every day of our married life
    You want to know what I think of him as his friend and as
    his wife
    I'll give you just three words as sung in his favourite
    song:
    HERE IS LOVE

    As we began together along the path you see, he gave me hope
    I began to see I was worth a lot. He really loved me
    I watched each day as my dearest husband showed me a
    glimpse of God's love
    He cared, he shared, he dared for me
    He listened as I told him my woes you see and forty years
    later I can say
    HERE IS LOVE

    As we had our family together and he became a dad
    He made them feel they were special and if they sometimes
    felt sad
    It wasn't for long as his laughter and fun very soon made
    up for the bad.
    I watched each day as their father showed them a glimpse
    of God's love
    He cared, he shared, he dared for them
    He listened as they told him their woes and thirty years
    later they can say
    HERE IS LOVE

    And then he became a grandpa and oh what a day that was
    to be
    They were certainly very, very special and they were
    constantly filled with glee
    Because here his fun and his laughter were always allowed
    to run free

    I watched each day as their grandpa showed them a glimpse
    of God's love
    He cared, he shared, he dared for them
    He listened as they told him their woes and six years later
    they can say
    HERE IS LOVE

    And now in heaven there's laughter and much rejoicing it seems
    We look and try to imagine what's going on, what are the scenes
    We know Allan is there and he's whole and he's walking
    And he's probably doing most of the talking
    When together with Christ on streets that have no ending
    We'll know God has completed, as He said, our salvation
    We'll know He's done away with forever—separation
    We will see more than a glimpse of His love
    We will bow and worship our Lord in adoration
    And forever and ever and ever we will say
    HERE IS LOVE

Holding Hands—by Emma—aged 11

The love we had between us seemed like a glimpse, and only a glimpse, of God's love which is always with us and for us. The closeness Allan and I had reveals a small part of the closeness God wants with us. The unbearable pain of separation I felt shows a glimpse of how God could not bear to be separated from us, His creatures. He sent His own son, Jesus, to die the horrible death that He bore so we could be with Him forever. And so it was that I found a measure of relief, at this awful time, by having thoughts like this.

Love never ends. God's love for us, and I like to think the love Allan and I had for each other down here on earth, will also be eternal and made into a perfect love. I don't pretend to understand how that will be, or what form it will take, but I believe it will be forever. Other things will fail and end but love persists into eternity. Eternity is so long and this time here on earth is so short.

God is carrying me and you, who are reading this, and He never has to put us down!

Do you ever have imaginary conversations? I did one morning which went like this:-

Allan—"It's fantastic in this world"

Me—"I wish you could cut the grass"

Mowing—by Lomax—aged 11

Faith can build a bridge across the gulf of death, but in this world he (Allan) still cannot cut the grass! I had never cut grass in my life and, although I found a man I could pay to do it at the time, these simple jobs, and how to sort them out, seemed overwhelming. They are accompanied by insurmountable grief.

I want to tell it as it was and not wrap up my negative feelings which appeared to be taking over my life.

Everything was "topsy-turvy". I used to love weekends, especially the warm sunny ones. Now, in my grief, I liked it best when I had to work (Monday-Friday) and it was raining. Why was this? On sunny weekends I was supposed to be enjoying myself, which was impossibly difficult, whereas, I could throw myself into work and, to a limited degree, forget for a while. Looking back, I can see the presence of God with me but, at the time, when grief was at its deepest, even the psalms I used to love reading would wash over me, refresh me a little and then seemed to be gone.

"God is our refuge and strength a very present help in trouble." (Psalm 46:1 NLT)

I knew somewhere this was true but wanted that "refuge and strength" to take away my overwhelming feelings. "When my heart is overwhelmed lead me to the Rock." (Psalm 61:2 NLT) I know He kept me in these times but it felt as if He was only just keeping me. I suppose that was enough.

In the church in which I was brought up, I was taught we should never pray for the dead. I remember arguments between brothers on November 11th. At 11am we were all in the Sunday morning service where we must only think about the Lord and not others—especially dead others! So it was deemed that those who wished to respect the two minutes silence were wrong to even want to do this. I have to say I took on a more Catholic approach and found solace in praying for Allan, wherever he was. Occasionally, I still do pray for him, but not every day.

Yes, my life had been separated from my love, but I lived a great deal of the time as if he was still around. I longed so much to hear him laugh and even snore!! I so wanted to hear his car coming up the drive.

Others missed him too. One son told me he missed his dad, especially when it was World Cup time. I mean football for those of you who don't follow the same. They always watched the games together. The other son wanted him in his business world. He did tell me, one day, after I had mentioned it was a shame that he couldn't get wisdom from his dad, that, of course he did! I remember sitting in a meeting where my son was doing something I knew his dad would be proud of and whispering to him "I hope dad is watching you". His reply was "It's Saturday so he's probably watching Arsenal!"

I do believe those "gone on before" are conscious and have memory. I think this is supported by the "Heroes of Faith" in Hebrews who are written about as witnessing what is going on down here. (Hebrews 12 NLT)

I want to insert a lovely story I read in "The gospel of the hereafter" (J. Paterson Smyth)

"An old county cricketer had lost his sight and it was the grief of his later days that he could not see his own boy play the great game in which he himself had excelled. The son became the crack bat of the school team and used to lead his father to the ground, but beyond hearing the comments of the crowd on his boy's play he got small satisfaction from it. One day he suddenly died. The following Saturday an important match was to be played and the other members of the team took it for granted that their best bat would be absent but to their surprise he strolled down to the pavilion in his flannels and announced his intention to play. He batted that day as he had never batted before. His companions were bewildered. He rattled up a century in no time and won the match for his side. After the applause in the pavilion had died down a friend said to him "You played the game of your life this afternoon." He replied, "How could I help it? It was the first time my Father ever saw me bat!"

The grandchildren have been, and still are, such a blessing and a joy to me, but then I wish he could see what they are like now and what they are doing. Maybe he can. As I sit and write, I believe God has shown me that we will have eternity together and enjoy the tales of escapades here on the earth and then have more and more escapades in heaven! Wow! The best is yet to come. There is no sorrow in heaven because there is no sin "What joy may come from dwelling in His unutterable love". (The gospel of the hereafter)

One day I felt my hand being held very tightly and thought I heard "step out, even into the unknown". We can think of "the unknown" as being going into the next world but we can also step out here, in this present world. After our loved one dies leaving us in the unknown place, we can know we are being held by God and step out to just begin to live again. Very gradually, I began to do this—with some returning to my "hide-away". I could, perhaps, see a pin-point of light leading me on. Barbara Johnson writes about seeing the light at the end of the tunnel but quotes someone who said "What light? I'm still looking for the tunnel!" ('Pain is inevitable but misery is optional—so stick a geranium in your hat and be happy!'—Barbara Johnson—1990)

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from IT WILL BE ALL RIGHT in the MORNING by Rosemary Pavey-Snell Copyright © 2012 by Rosemary Pavey-Snell. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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