At last, she returns with a blog from the fog. In 2020 I was stubbornly determined not to write about the pandemic. The same pandemic in which I became a widow. The pandemic I participated in personally right after David’s funeral. One could call it all a breathtaking experience, wreaking havoc with my asthma for several months. My new and potent pulmonary meds made my brain thick with migraine-like fog resulting in my dropping out of graduate school. Even my dog got killed by a hit and run in 2020. Stinkin’ year, that! Still, none of these things moved me to write, I mention them only so my subscribers can feel caught up.
Something I will add that may help the reader map out this leg of my journey is a partial list of the people I have loved and grieved, most young and unexpectedly: My sister Kathleen (she was 18, I was 12); a friend in high school, Diane (abduction and murder); Audrey age 22 (car crash); my parents (ages 69& 71); my brother in law 27 (car crash); my brother Mike 50 (heart attack); my father in law 67 (heart attack); Jethro& Leander ages 7&9 (drowning); Caleb age 14 (accident); David 61 (heart attack). Okay, so you get the idea. With the exception of my parents, these were all sudden deaths, I did not list the friends and loved ones gone after cancer battles and illness or old age. My point is, I have seen a lot of sudden death.
Part of the grieving process, or at least for me, is a macabre obsession with death. The length of the phase varies, but I recently had a sort of relapse. It started with the stench of death just outside our urban church building.
If you have lost a loved one, you know the phase; for me, it occurs usually on an overcast day and everything I see or think of follows a trail to the topic of death. The closer the loved one the stronger the suction is into the trap. Everything from sights, songs, to smells kick it off. The most recent episode for me gave me a new conviction to reach out to people about Christ.
As I was coming out of my fog from David’s death and my Covid troubles I was walking into church when I smelled an accident. Around the corner a crowd was gathered and a mangled motorbike was being hauled away. I did not have to wonder what happened, I could smell it. Sparing the details it is a smell any emergency personnel can identify, hot concreate + blood+ flesh. It is the smell of death on the road but it mimics the smell of a mausoleum, only worse. And the smell was right at the doorstep of my church. As I entered the building with the thought of ‘somebody just died out there’ I was soberly hit by notion of all the spiritual death just outside that door.
My pleasant, healing church walls felt miles away from the death going on outside. I was moved to consider what a mission field we were placed in. We get a few people through our doors that are right off the streets, seeking and we try to serve them. That night, however, I was overwhelmed by the strong scent of death just outside our doors and asked God not to take away the burden that the smell caused me. Our churches are in war zones, we can’t always see it, or smell it, but we are there. Lord help us to see, hear, and smell the dying that is going on all around us, let us be disturbed into action.