On a hot and muggy night in the month of July, six months after the death of my wife Doris, I wrote these dark and gloomy words in my ever present journal, "Tonight I am in a rather somber and melancholy mood." And then, sad to say, I was not content to leave it there - I continued on "And now, what I need is for someone to place their arms around me, hold me close and tell me that tomorrow is going to be a better day."
But that did not happen - my companion of fifty seven years was now gone and there was no one to take her place. Life, as we have experienced it, is not always a bed of roses that pleases the senses with vivid colors and pleasant aromas. Rather, the times are many when everything seems to go wrong and we become, as Shakespeare expressed it, victims of the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune."
While today, we no longer use the words "slings and arrows" to describe the nature of the many negative events that happen to us, we know there are many in number and we do not take them lightly. In my case, my "somber and melancholy mood" resulted from a series of negative events that happened over a short period of time and were quite disturbing in nature. Some of them were sad; some were painful; some produced disappointment; some filled me with anxiety and all of them occurred outside the realm of my control. All of this created a "victim mentality" in my mind that left me no choice but to write in my journal the words "Tonight I am in a rather somber and melancholy mood."
Escape from becoming a victim of such dangerous and destructive moods is never an easy thing to do. A logical beginning point is a clear understanding of the meaning of the word mood. When we set aside its meaning in the field of English grammar, we generally use it to describe a state of mind or a pervasive feeling that something is wrong and needs to be corrected.
If these moods cease to be temporary, trouble is in the brewing stage and it is an indication that help is needed without delay. There are many sources of available help, including self help books if used with wisdom and only for moods that are minor in nature and short in duration such as having the "blues" for a short period of time. Anything beyond that needs the attention of those who have been trained in the field of mental health. Clinical Psychologists should not be overlooked when attempting to eliminate the harmful effects of remaining in a somber and melancholy mood for an extended period of time. This was valuable information for me to follow and I did so with profitable results.
As I continued to write in my journal, I discovered one of the primary reasons for continuing to write: it provides a back-up record of happenings and events that might be lost because of a fallible memory - a memory that has grown hazy and no longer can be trusted. A foggy memory needs a backup-record to make certain that all the events and happenings in life really occurred and are not a product of an overworked imagination.
By writing down the words somber and melancholy, I was identifying the state of my emotions and reveling my deepest feelings. I was using my journal as a confessional booth - not to excuse my actions but to be transparent in what was happening in my life. At that time and in those moments I was sad; I was unhappy; I was heartbroken; I was full of anguish. It was a cry for help in my time of need and my journal became the means for an outward expression of what was happening inwardly.
It was then that a strange thought, coming without an invitation, invaded my mind. The thought was in the form of a question: what would my late wife's reaction be if she could have read the words I had written in my journal? She was a strong willed person who was unafraid to speak her mind. Would she have said, "Kenny Merle, get a life. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with living." Or, would she have said, "Kenny, I know you have had a bad day and I want you to remember that, with God's help, tomorrow will be a better day." I was soon to find out.
But, before I did, I was prompted to make a major review of what my journal has revealed over the past two decades. I traveled back in time to the beginning of my wife's seventeen year adventure with an incurable form of cancer; I traveled back in time to review the many trips we made to the M.D. Anderson Cancer Clinic in Houston; I reviewed the multiple times she was in and out of remission with the cancer. And then I reviewed the time when her team of doctors informed her that medical science had done all that could be done to cure the cancer and restore her back to health.
And then, my journal described a minor miracle. After a three month stay in the hospital, Doris was allowed to return home in time to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas with her family. More good news was recorded in my journal when a Home Health Care Program was established. This program provided for regular visits from health care providers and a weekly visit from a Registered Nurse who maintained a record of Doris' vital signs.
In between visits from the nurse, I kept a detailed record of her pulse, her temperature and her respiration. One day my records showed that her temperature was growing dangerously high and I placed a call to the nurse, who, after her own examination, placed a call to the doctor.
The conversation between the nurse and the doctor was short and to the point. He wanted to know about the wishes of the family - did they want Doris to be returned to the hospital or did they want her to remain at home? It was another way of asking me, "Do you want your wife to die at home or die in the hospital?" I chose the latter because of the superior help that could be given to the patient with end of life medications.
When that decision was made, the nurse departed and I was left alone with my dying wife. I was not really alone, of course, Doris still had a measure of life in her and we were about to experience one of the most remarkable events of our life together. Knowing that members of the family should be notified, I took a portable phone with me to another room where I called my granddaughter, Sherri. With tears of sadness flowing down my cheeks, I began to cry, not knowing that Doris could hear our conversation.
I then came back to her bedside and asked if she had heard my conversation with our granddaughter. She nodded her head yes and then she did a most remarkable thing: she lifted her small thin left arm and, looking up at me, started patting the bed with her hand - she wanted me to lie down on the bed beside her. As I did, she reached out with her other frail arm and began to pat me with her free hand as if to say, "Don't cry any more. I am here with you and everything is going to be just fine."
What a wonderful demonstration of compassion and love - a dying wife giving comfort to a grieving husband. This was a complete reversal of how these events transpire. The living should be comforting the dying; the healthy should be encouraging the sick; the strong should be holding the weak. Who can explain this without recognizing that this is another gift of God's sustaining grace? And, it made me realize that the healing of a broken heart is as great a miracle as the healing of the physical body.
Returning now from the enduring memories of the past, I am now facing the challenges of the present time. It is now a hot and muggy day in August. Thirteen years have gone by since that hot and muggy day in July when I was broadsided by a mood I describes as "somber and melancholy." It was an intense battle between my faith and the secular view that we must struggle alone in this life. I am glad to report that faith won.
Now, whenever a new day brings the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that threatens to turn a good day into a bad one, I go back in time when the frail arms of my dying wife hold me close and my heart hears her saying, "Kenny, I know you have had a bad day, but always remember that with God's help "Tomorrow will be a better day."