Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. – Anonymous
We thought that we are done with our “giant,” but we were wrong. My children and I were confident that somehow, going to church where my darling was the pastor is better. We were able to make it through when we arrived home, but we underestimated our confidence. If there is a word that is greater than a giant, then that would be it. Going to church was more heartbreaking than going to our home, where more memories of my husband are. It is closing or ending a chapter of my darling and our family.
My husband was the pastor for almost three years. It was the church where we first met, fell in love, got married, and had children. We were college sweethearts, engaged for 9 nine years, married for 25 years. Our relationship was firsts for both of us. We didn’t know that he would become a pastor after more than two decades, more so, pastor the church where our earliest memories occurred. We moved from our hometown to the capital city where he worked. He was a Mechanical Engineer by profession, Risk and Insurance Consultant/ Engineer by occupation. He was elbow to elbow with the presidents of the different insurance companies of our country back then. He left ALL of this to answer God’s call to minister to the maximum-security compound of the National Penitentiary for almost ten years, added to that, to the people who are going through rehabilitation due to substance abuse for two years. He usually tells people that he moved from Palace to Prison.
It took us (with my children) 2 years before my husband got our support for his ministry in the prison. I was so concerned about our material and physical needs then and our children were still young. But, by God’s grace, we were able to make it through. I was able to find a job, but he remained to be our primary provider despite giving up his high-paying job. We never lacked anything. Psalm 23 is very real to us. Then, another detour took place. That was when God called him to pastor the church where most of our early memories were. That same year, I was promoted, our daughter just started working in a nearby province, and my son is about to enter college. Eventually, we all agreed that I would stay with my children in the capital city until our son becomes independent or our daughter can join him. Along with this agreement is, I have to travel as frequently as I could to join him every weekend if possible.
Our arrangements were good. It was even better (so we thought) when COVID19 came; it was better because it meant we would be together while my daughter and I keep our jobs and my son continues to study because of work-from-home and no face-to-face classes condition. We had the best year in 2020. We lived together under one roof for months, I did not have extended hours of travel, and at the same time, I can support and help my husband in the church. We survived 2020 together by God’s grace, without anything to give up or sacrifice. But my family was knocked down by COVID19. The virus that led to our reunion as a family was also the one that tore it apart.
Our arrangements were good. It was even better (so we thought) when COVID19 came; it was better because it meant we would be together while my daughter and I keep our jobs and my son continues to study because of work-from-home and no face-to-face classes condition. We had the best year in 2020. We lived together under one roof for months, I did not have extended hours of travel, and at the same time, I can support and help my husband in the church. We survived 2020 together by God’s grace, without anything to give up or sacrifice. But my family was knocked down by COVID19. The virus that led to our reunion as a family was also the one that tore it apart.
For almost three years, my family witnessed how my husband endured and struggled in the ministry and continued until his last breath. His stay was short-lived yet we know he had fought a good fight, he never gave up, he was able to reinforce missions, accountability, and stewardship. These words have been his mantra since.
Upon reaching the church, I was able to put my mask on. (Figuratively and literally). My children and I were “holding on” or “hanging in.” I kept biting my lips to hide the quiver when my husband’s name was mentioned, the prayers said by the pastor on our behalf during the worship service, and memories of him preaching in that familiar pulpit kept rushing in. I wordlessly collapsed into a strong hug to some people who had the courage to come and greet me with their own tears spilling: a gesture that I appreciated, a gesture of kindness that I practically needed at the moment.
That Sunday was our last that to be in his office, sit on his office chair and sofa, see his books on the shelves, his similar colored barongs and pants, and pairs of shoes that he uses for services and the smell of coffee. It was his other place of refuge—a place where he spends time preparing for his Sunday and Wednesday messages. I could not handle the pain, imagining him to be there and the very act of packing his things are “oppressive.” My anxiety level again is about to explode, especially when I heard my children’s simultaneous sobs as they begin to box their papa’s things. I never saw them weep and cry the way they did, more than the weeping they had when we arrived home. At that point in time, I did not have the courage to join them because I was also drowning in tears.
I gathered all the courage I can get to speak during the ladies’ meeting at that time and talked about the subject that many people are not comfortable with – grief. (Agreeing to meet with the ladies was my way to escape, and not see my children suffer in agony as they continue to pack and box my husband’s things). At first, I was hesitant because I am afraid of what can happen with my volatile emotions. I am worried that I will make the ladies uncomfortable, which I actually did and regretted after. It was my longest talk ever. I never thought that I used up all the time without realizing that there are concerns that I am supposed to settle and knew of it only after. It was the end for us in that place. I saw the lights slowly fade away and the door closing in for us.
A lot of people already knew of my grief; they have heard the same thing repeatedly. A lot already grew tired, and I do not blame them; it is not their fault. My world is getting smaller, and I prepared myself for it. I appreciate those few who stayed behind and did not grow weary and the new ones reaching out. You are my prayer warriors, my fellow weepers who continue to shed tears with us as family, patiently praying and waiting as we continue our walk of faith, hope, love, and healing.