Within His Eyes

I glanced up from what I was reading and found myself looking into the eyes of my husband. Though the face was the same endearing face his eyes held a sorrow, a sadness I had never seen before. Then it was gone. It happened so quickly it made me wonder if what I had seen was real.

A few moments later, it was there again as yet another image flashed across the screen on my computer. Different picture, same impression; deeply sorrowful eyes.

I placed my book on the end table and gently nudged the dog from my lap, as I got up and went to my computer. I click on My Pictures and as it started to load my thoughts wandered. I remembered that for a while now I had not been able to look at pictures of my late husband, Tim, from the previous year. Every time I saw one of those pictures it was the illness that I saw in his eyes; that poured out from the contours of the face I loved. Even his big smile could not hide the disease that was slowly taking him from me, that in the end did take him.

But the sadness I had just seen was not from pictures taken in the recent past. The two pictures that had caught my eye were from happier, healthier times; pre-terminal-diagnosis. I chose a folder from that time and opened the pictures. There before me was my husband Tim with that big grin that always came just before a tease or a tickle. Yet a certain mournful melancholy had settled in his eyes.

I remembered taking that picture; the moment, the laughter, the kidding around we were doing. It was a good day. How could I have not seen the sadness then? Why now? Where did it come from? But the most disquieting question was; why did what I saw in Tim’s eyes feel so familiar to me?

Tim, in his slow easy manner of weaving a story complete with all its history, could tell you the exact day that sadness pierced his life. He would tell you when it took up permanent residence. He would tell you when the life he loved ended and in its place a gripping desolation entered his every breath.

It wasn’t the day his wife died, after a 4-month battle with cancer. Or the day of her funeral when life was so surreal because he still couldn’t believe she was gone, yet the wails of his four children reminded him otherwise. Tim would explain that for the next two months he faded in and out of shock until he finally told himself it was time to start getting back to normalcy, and he returned to work.

The loss of his wife was both magnified and diminished as he held his first-born grandchild seven-months later. She was colicky and only her granddad could calm her as Tim held her tightly against his chest and murmured soothing words that emanated more from his heart than his mouth. As that precious infant, bundled in all pink, quieted and slept so did Tim’s broken heart.

The death of his father that same year did not cause a spike in his sorrow. That pain was absorbed into all the other loss that Tim was living. Still, life went on as proven by the tiny life of his grand daughter; with each swell of breath he felt as she was held within his arms.

No the piercing stab of anguish came a few years later after more joy, another marriage, a second grandchild, and happy holidays with all the kids together. January marked a new year that held promise; the healing from grief had softened the sharp edge of pain that he had lived with for so long.

“Mr. Thomas… Tim Thomas? Are you the father of 26-year old Theodore Thomas? We need you to come to Olympia and make an identification. I am sorry sir, it looks like a suicide.”

Agony.

Torment.

Distress.

Loss. Senseless loss.

So many questions.

No answers. No one to ask.

Guilt. Regret. What ifs. What did I miss? I should have known… done something.

Ravenous, unquenchable piercing sorrow.

Gripping desolation.




I remember when Tim and I were first getting to know one another during which we shared the stories of our lives. When he first spoke of his wife and then his son, I cried. Every time after that as I met his family and his wife or son came up in conversation tears would well up in my eyes and my whole being was washed in grief. I could not understand why I felt so terribly saddened.

I know now. In all the years we had together, I never saw Tim’s grief, that sorrow that resided permanently in his eyes, but I had felt it; from his heart to mine, I felt it. The tears in my eyes were his tears, the grief was his that I sensed and therefore shared.

Quite often profound sorrow hovers just beneath the surface of our lives as we go through the business of living. For most of us it doesn’t rise above that unless we are in the presence of a trusted and compassionate friend. Within that realm of safety our multi-layered lives mysteriously meld into an open scroll that is our whole being. I have friends who are my tears. I realized I have cried for my husband feeling his sorrow even when his grief was not visible to my human eye. The eyes of my heart knew…saw…felt…and responded.

That morning when I was drawn to my computer to bring up pictures of my husband and look into his eyes, it was disturbing. I realized that I could now see his piercing grief because I was living it. Extreme. Acute. Throbbing. Agonizing.

Similar to Tim, no matter what would come next in my life, in my eyes sadness would reside, forever more. That knowledge made me feel desolate. I was overwhelmed with a sense of hopelessness as the new definition of who I was became imprinted in my mind. I stared at a picture of Tim and really saw him…and saw myself as well.

Finally, I couldn’t look at it anymore. I closed the program, shut down the computer, and went back to my little reading area. I sat in my chair holding the book I had been reading but I could not hold back the tears. I was in despair knowing that this sadness was permanent.

An image…a memory… slowly made its way through my tears.

Tim was standing on our glass-railed deck drinking in the sweeping views of the endless lake and the mountains that held it. The sunrise had come up throwing out fiery flames of orange and red after which it introduced us to a blue-skied day. Transfixed, Tim held his morning cup of coffee deep in thought. I stood inside the house watching him, not wanting to disturb his moment. When he looked back and saw me, he held out his arm to me and I joined him.

Shrouded in serenity he softly said, “I am so blessed.”

I sensed he was sharing the thoughts that had been born of the morning’s majestic entrance that we had both witnessed.

“Look at all that God has given me. I never thought I could ever be happy again. But He gave me you….this house…this view. This is beyond anything I could have ever dreamed of.”

As I sat in my chair remembering that moment, I knew that one day I too would be happy again. Yes, sorrow and grief will always be a part of who I am, but it will only serve to make the joy and happiness that much more cherished.

When I considered Tim’s eyes – the laughter that was there when the picture was snapped – the sorrow that I now see – both images are true for they are a reflection of the whole of life – the full spectrum – the fiery red dawn giving way to blissful blue skies.

I opened the book to where I had been reading and began where I had left off at Psalm 37. As I read the verses in my Bible it became God speaking to me personally through His written word.

“Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and cultivate faithfulness.” Psalm 37:3 [cultivate faithfulness was defined as: feed on His faithfulness, be nourished by it]

I cross-referenced this verse to Isaiah 40:11 “Like a shepherd He will tend his flock, in His arms He will gather the lambs and carry them in His bosom; He will gently lead nursing ewes.”

An image came to my mind. It was of Tim, holding his colicky infant grandchild against his chest, murmuring softly; calming her into peacefulness.

When I cry, with gasps of colicky grief, my loving Heavenly Father will hold me close to His heart and, with His arms wrapped strongly around me, will murmur soothing words of love and compassion. He will nourish my aching soul as He reminds me to feed on His faithfulness. That is when the sorrow will be diffused for a spell and peace can calm my soul as I heal.

He gathers His lambs and carries them in His bosom. I lay my head there and rest.