Whether you’re a pastor or a friend, helping those who grieve requires special wisdom.
We want to provide some help in these pages. Instead of textbook advice, we have decided to follow a pastor and his wife through a devastating tragedy that happened to one of the families in their church. Included in this article are the private thoughts of the grieving widow, which eloquently describe her traumatic experience, and the long, slow, prayerful path back to faith.
On Sunday, March 18, 1979, Mrs. Stephanie Ambrose May lost
* her husband, John Edward May, 51, chief executive officer and chairman of the board of May Petroleum; a business and civic leader in Dallas, he received a doctorate from Southern Methodist University, and had completed Harvard’s advanced management program.
* their son, Davin Edward May, 22, a senior at the University of Texas majoring in petroleum engineering.
* their daughter, Karla Emily May, 18, a senior at Highland Park High School.
* their son-in-law, Richard Owen Snyder, 27, a landman for the R. L. Burns Corporation, and a graduate of Hampden-Sydney College, who was reared in Richmond, Virginia.
Dr. B. Clayton Bell is the pastor of the Highland Park Presbyterian Church, Dallas, Texas. He and his wife, Peggy, alternate in relating the events that intertwined their lives with the life of Stephanie Ambrose May.
CLAYTON: It was 6:20 on a Sunday evening-March 18, 1979.
I’ll never forget it.
The first segment of Sixty Minutes had just ended and the commercial was on. It had been a busy day, starting early for me as all Sundays do. It had been a good day.
Then the phone rang. “Clayton, this is Marilyn Culwell. Cully just got a call from Aspen. John May’s plane crashed after taking off and he’s been killed.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Just last Saturday evening we had opened our World Outreach Week with a dinner party in the Mays’ home. In a large church like Highland Park, my wife and I had come to know many people superficially; but the Mays had endeared themselves to us shortly after we arrived. Less than two years before, I had performed the wedding ceremony for their daughter Valerie to Rick Snyder.
“Marilyn, are you sure it was John?” I asked, groping for hope.
“Yes, a friend in the tower called to tell us. Cully is calling the sheriff’s department in Aspen to confirm it.”
“Has anyone told Stephanie?”
‘No.”
“As soon as Cully gets confirmation, call me. I’ll go to Stephanie.”
My mind was racing. Anticipating Cully’s call, I hastily put on a clean shirt, tie, and a suit coat. When the phone rang ten minutes later, Cully confirmed what Marilyn had told me. He added that several persons had been on the plane and that there were no survivors.
Hurriedly I telephoned a family I knew to be close to the Mays. I broke the news to them and asked that they give me ten minutes lead time and then come on over.
As I drove the few blocks to the Mays’ home, I prayed for special grace each second. The door was answered by a young lady staying with the Mays during her senior year in high school while her parents were going through a divorce. In a few moments, Stephanie came down the steps in her robe. She had been dressing for a dinner party she and John had planned to attend upon his return. With as steady a voice as possible, and with tears coming to my eyes, I broke the news to her. We didn’t have details and didn’t know who else was on the plane.
But Stephanie knew. “It was my whole family,” she said.
We sat on the steps and cried together. I had no words. I felt the terrible frustration of wanting to help, but I could only sit by and wait for God, through the gracious work of the Holy Spirit, to do his work of comforting Stephanie in her grief. Sitting on the steps with her, I knew that words were not only inadequate, but inappropriate.
PEGGY: As Clayton left for the May home he asked me to come quickly, but first to call Herb and Nancy, close friends of the Mays. I trembled when I found the line busy; I asked the operator to break in and then I broke the news to Nancy. I called two other couples and asked them to meet us at the Mays’.
CLAYTON: For an eternity that lasted ten minutes, Stephanie and I sat on the steps. Shock and disbelief registered on her face. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She asked questions I couldn’t answer. Theological explanations had to wait for a time when the mind-not emotion-was in control.
Stephanie’s husband John, her only son Davin, her high-school daughter Karla, and her son-inlaw Rick had all been killed. Only Valerie was still alive, for she had taken an earlier commercial flight.
The doorbell rang. The house quickly filled with stunned friends who, with warm embraces, said what words could not say, and with busy hands began to do what grief demands.
PEGGY: I went to the home feeling like an intruder. My heart felt heavier than the massive doors of the house. I wondered if I could open my mouth-and if I could, what I would say. Already a few familiar cars hugged the curb (oh, how I wanted to be a car!). The people I had called had dropped everything and come.
Inside, my eyes quickly searched for Clayton’s; he was with Stephanie. The news had been given as gently as possible, but it was horrible, hurting, destroying news. “Oh, God,” I prayed, “give Clayton the ability to minister. Help him, Lord, to be your man.”
Valerie was at her home in Richardson a few miles away. Quickly we decided to bring the only remaining child to her mother. This girl had lost a husband, a sister, a father, and a brother. Again I prayed, “Oh, God, Valerie needs you.”
Then it was, “Someone answer the phone . . . attend to the door . . . find Kleenex . . . turn on the lamps . . . make coffee . . . find paper for notes . . . make calls . . .
telephone relatives. Who? Find out.”
More close friends came. With breaking hearts they quietly assumed the responsibilities at hand.
CLAYTON: The next few days were a blur. Peggy and I spent hours with Stephanie, who often retreated to the quiet sanctuary of her bedroom. There she relived the past, pulling out the memories of twenty-five years of marriage and mothering. We were amazed at her ability to express herself so we could share in what she was feeling.
PEGGY: Phones rang constantly, flowers came, food was brought in, people came in and out, and telegrams arrived from all over the country and abroad.
CLAYTON: How grateful I am for a wife who is sensitive to others’ hurts. Peggy’s creative common sense and practical piety enabled her to do what was needed at the moment. Her gift had never been more apparent to me than in our joint ministry to Stephanie.
PEGGY: My eyes searched Stephanie’s and I saw her tears, my ears heard her sobs, my senses felt her broken heart, and my body trembled with the vibrations of her grief. “Oh, God, help!” was the only prayer I could utter.
Everything looked bleak. In a moment, life for Stephanie had become dark, lonely, and ever so painful. God seemed to have forgotten her. His eyes didn’t seem to be on her. His ears seemed to be deaf. His healing hand didn’t begin to touch any of the pain. Yet I had to believe he was in control.
Stephanie, wrapped in a robe, lay in her darkened room with her face buried in a pillow wet with tears. I sat on the edge of her bed and gently rubbed her shoulders or wiped her face with a cool damp cloth. She had asked not to be left alone; it was so important to be near and to hear anything she might want to say.
There was no way I could enter completely into her sorrow; and yet, I wanted so much to feel her pain in my heart if in any way that might help. I had given birth to children who loved me as hers loved her. As she remembered her children having favorite clothes, favorite memories, favorite records, favorite places to go, I could identify with them.
But my experiences were in the present tense; hers were in the past. Her family had suddenly ended. It could have been my husband and my children. I knew that I’d want someone to care-to feel their importance and their loss, to vicariously live with me through my beautiful memories. Listening, though painful, gave some joy, for I was allowed to sense the joys she had once experienced. From the beginning I knew Stephanie would not be helped by my talking. I couldn’t give advice, for I had none. But by my presence, I wanted her to know I cared and God cared.
CLAYTON: We could not have the funeral until the bodies were released, and the coroner was having a difficult time making positive identification. By Tuesday we knew the bodies would be ready the next day, and the funeral service could be scheduled. Stephanie wanted a funeral service rather than a memorial service. I dreaded the emotion four caskets at the front of the church would create for family and friends, not to mention myself. But Stephanie was definite, and there was no wisdom in trying to dissuade her.
Each member of the family had made a commitment to Christ; so in spite of the pain and grief, I could firmly proclaim to all that “to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.” The full choir ministered superbly through music. The Word of God was reassuring, and the few words I spoke were intended to undergird sagging spirits and questioning faith that God, in spite of evidence to the contrary, is a loving Father who is sovereign over the circumstances of life.
PEGGY: In the days that followed, Clayton and I maintained close contact with Stephanie. One morning at six o’clock I pulled on my warm-up suit and drove to her home. We had agreed that an early morning walk in the park might be helpful. When I arrived, I found her hunched down on her doorstep waiting; she had been there for hours. In silence we walked around the park, down one street and across another -on and on-resting in a little gazebo surrounded by spring’s colorful azaleas and pure-white dogwoods. There we sat with tears streaming down our faces, realizing memories are only memories, and that she would never touch or commune with her loved ones again in this life. She cried, “Why? Oh, why?” and I could only say, “I don’t know.” She wondered why she couldn’t go to heaven right then.
There were quiet times together when she didn’t want to move from her bedroom, and she would sit sipping a favorite tea John had brought her a few weeks before his death. Other times she had great drive and energy; certain things had to be done.
In the evenings Clayton and I frequently drove over to check on her. She talked, many times with tear-stained face yet with great control, about her courtship, her wedding, vacation trips, problems, dreams, and plans. She talked about her children, the happy times and the sad times; she talked about their schooling, their training, their commitment to the Lord Jesus.
Never once were we bored; instead, we were always blessed to have a glimpse into the life of a couple who had given twenty-five years of faithfulness to each other and who had raised three children.
Again and again we were impressed with her graphic language, her ability to communicate her deepest emotions. Clayton realized she might have the ability to put them down on paper, so he asked her to keep a diary for herself and for others who grieve.
In God’s Hands
Editor’s note: The following is Stephanie’s diary. * We reproduce it in full, not only because it is powerfully expressed, but because ministering to those who grieve is not a task of a few days. If we are to truly minister, we must sense the depth of that valley, for grief devastates day after day after day. …
We believe it would be a helpful experience to read the entire diary, lengthy though it is-for we can have many answers to share, but if we do not know at least a little of what such grief is like, we may lack the insights and empathy so greatly needed.
March 18
Late afternoon-doorbell-Clayton and the awesome news of tragedy- (death, plus death, plus death, plus death=death). They rose-I fell! Cut loose to float in a timeless, unconscious yet conscious space beyond, but painfully here. I do remember, but I don’t-faces and blanks-things and unthings-a merry-go-round of a horrid sort. God, please take care of Valerie- I can’t.
March 19
I rose to the surface on occasion and was emphatic about what I somehow knew must be! There must not be a memorial service. I want the bodies in the Highland Park Presbyterian Church. That is what John would want, as his Christian life was spent there, our children were baptized there, and Richard and Valerie were married there. It is a beautiful church with beautiful memories. I must choose the caskets, and I know they must be covered in roses. I love them so- if each petal could only talk- blankets of love for those I was never to see or touch. If only I could! It’s strange-I could go directly-as if to pre-chosen clothing-I knew it all to be exactly as it should be for my precious loved ones. I did write them a letter. I don’t know why or exactly what I said, but I loved them so. It was important that they each have a cross and a silver heart from my necklace. My love goes with you- why can’t I? Help, help, I can’t stand alone. Where is God?
March 20
A vision, my family of four, on a horizon in God’s glorious light! Now released to Thy Heavenly care. Dear Lord of amazing grace and unchanging love, You are all powerful, and all knowing, here and beyond. Merciful Father, help me bear and comprehend the enormity of my loss. Scooters, skates, tricycles and bicycles, all lost in a myriad of my love. God of the heavens, God of the earth, I am leaning so hard-please don’t let me fall! Hear my prayer, hear my plea, send arms of comfort to Valerie and me.
March 21
Cesspool, whirlpool, black river, cold space, alone, people, questions, rivers of life, and memories, but mostly fear-and of what? I don’t know! I don’t know where I am-I don’t know what I say-twisting pain and grotesque flashes of what I knew to be truth. Oh God, oh God, where are You? I am hanging-somewhere, by something, for what? Suicide- suicide. The logs and branches of my memory have broken the dam of all my being, and I am pouring out everywhere- yet nowhere! I remain!
March 22
The service came; the service went. My eyes only reviewed the caskets frantically! Empty-empty time-as if it should not and could not be. The very strings of my heart and every inch of my anatomy was ripped and torn as each casket rolled past me, embarking on the final drive to a resting place. No roses-no people -no caskets-no more-just gone! We drove, we followed, we walked, we sat-a mumble of words and a sea of faces. Now a dreadful time to turn their remains over to a sealed vault. I must have a rose from each-I reached-oh, how I reached beyond the roses-one last time I reached toward my loves. Tears-home- people-tears- tears. Oh God, oh God, where are You? My Christian faith told me they had risen and were at peace, but the parting with their bodies was devastating-excruciating -tormenting, and most of me died today!
March 23
Down, down into the depths of depths in hollow, dark desolation. Days, nights, times, dates, people, sounds, smells and deeds all lost in a vacuum of my mind. I heard the echo of my own voice-but what did I say? I scream in my empty space- my loves, my loves of life, you were my all-the sum total of me!
March 24
My mind has been flooded night and day with whole and partial thoughts. Good, bad, soft, kind, unkind, where, what, how-are they all about me? Who is my sorrow for? Why can the tears not stop? Why is the pain so deep and unrelenting? Open heart surgery, hysterectomy and childbirth without anesthetic cannot compare with the death-the tearing away- the deep loss of all I have lived for and loved-my family, oh God, why my family?
March 25 A sermon-When Too Desperate to Pray-should be-when too desperate to see, hear, feel or touch before prayer can begin!
I loved them each and every one to the fullest of my capacity, and they in turn loved me. I did the best I knew how, but certainly could have done better. If I had it to do over, I wouldn’t change a thing-for I am me! It is precious Valerie’s birthday, how sad, but I must make it happy.
March 26
Valerie is my arm to reality. My only love left. I need her desperately, but must not overcrowd. Much to be done-I am the center core of devastation that touches many. I must handle it right, but how? Where do I begin? Again, I know it is with Valerie. Organize, dismantle-move Karla out-move Valerie in! Through pain and tears, I do work. I must touch each item-I must make each decision-I must, I must. Upstairs, downstairs, boxes, stacks, piles, all is packed. It is as though an eraser wiped the slate clean-Karla was, but is no more. I have surely come to that dried up stream!
They came to take Karla’s car, and that was the tearing out of my heart. No more!! I will give, but they must not take. My beautiful happy baby is now gone-only a small box of trinkets and pictures to remind me of 18 years of joy. My life so touched by her sparkling ray of sunshine that glittered always, her deep laughter echoes in my head. Surely the pain can get no worse. I love you, Karla, I love you, Baby! For what time do we have anything? The pores of my body are like headlights searching the dark for my throbbing loss. Suicide- prayer-tears-no sleep.
March 27
Pain, suffering, trial, testing, cruel world, and kind world. People come, people go. Some touched, some scarred, but I must remain to endure my tragic loss. As quickly as a rainbow can appear, my family disappeared. I took for granted my beautiful home, a happy life, the sharing of love, affection and loyalty, my devoted husband, and precious children. God, forgive me for my sins. Set my values straight that I might grow in human compassion, love, and service. Show me the reality of eternity and the courage to accept Your authority. God, be with me.
March 28
I must move forward, as things need to be done. I can surely be more abstract in dealing with Valerie’s house. I have found a wonderful place for Richard’s clothes. Valerie agrees, and we feel good about how they will be used. Peggy is with me, and I will do all I can. I seem to have moments of real sanity, then the waves of tears take over, leaving me dissolved in a pool of selfpity or despair or just missing my loved ones beyond all reasoning. Little was done, and to go back (which I must) will be even more difficult. To close a home -how sad-warm lights go out- who will move in? While Valerie is faced with a new and different life, I must close the book on the first chapter of what I thought was going to be a beautiful life for Valerie and Richard. A fine and handsome young man, his smile radiated a very special love and warmth. My love is with you always, Richard.
March 29
Wondering, wandering, fear, fright, alone, not alone, reaching but into empty space, terror, hell on earth, why not beauty? No smell, agony, hurt, pain. I have died a thousand times for each of them-how much more can I do? Such pain, ripping, stabbing, tearing-I float. Then it starts again. Oh God, please be with me-are You there? Only I’m too blind to see . . .
March 30
As a pebble rings water-as a bell tolls all, my disaster has propelled me into a widening circle that touched so many lives and caused an unbelievable outpouring of love and compassion.
April 1
I gird, I guard, I brace for the important things I must endure. Holding back tears seems an insurmountable task, and just when I think I have gained control-dear God, You show
me the unexpected and bring me to my knees. I beg, I plead, I pray- show me the way.
April 2
I am crushed, broken, and stripped naked. I am trapped in a prison of my own vision. For a plane in the sky is my family, the earth is the crash site, all teenagers are my beautiful Karla, all young men are my precious Davin, all young married men are wonderful Richard, and all husbands are my beloved John. Oh God, You have left me no place to rest my eyes. I am engulfed in tragedy and wrapped in a blanket of pain.
April 3
Please God, dear God, hear me, for I am Your child, and I am in such pain. My loss is Your loss, my pain is Your pain, and the answers I seek are all within Your kingdom. The whirlwinds of life have tossed me severely; my tranquil sea of life, love, and home has vanished. I am over whelmed by grief, bewildered by tasks, confused by words, angered by some, and loved by many. l have health, wealth, and one child, but only You can touch my heart, ease my pain, and give purpose to my life.
April 4
Again I pray, again I cry, for from the bare, darkest corridors of my mind and body, I tear at the darkness and grasp for Your light. Release me from the erupting volcanic bowels of this earth’s hell. Leave me not on the barren, cold, craggy, mountainous peaks. As a widow, brokenhearted, empty-handed, and in disbelief, I stand before four gray, cold, marble, Christian tombs. Oh, God, help me.
April 5
I cry, I kneel, I bow. I am weary, and I have aged from the agony of death. My life would be empty and without hope, except for Your promise of love and everlasting life.
April 6
Tomorrows keep coming, and I know I must walk a long and lonely road. God support me so I can walk. God listen when I pray, and God love me so I can survive. God lead me this and every day.
April 7
A miracle, a creation, a birth, a babe in arms, my son, my only son, Davin-to raise, to love, to touch, to hug. A Christian in spirit and action, a man to respect and admire. His good life will leave a lasting impression on all who knew him. His heart belongs to Debbie. Sweet Debbie, may God bless you, guide you, and keep you safe always. The light of my life burns elsewhere now-until we meet again-I love you, Davin!
April 8
Almighty, everlasting, and eternal God, You have taken that which was Yours to give and take. Though prostrate and in shock, I do not hate You God, and I am not mad. For from my bed where I lie, Heaven must be a long, long way. I am so cold and numb, as my body warmth has left me to search for my loves. Grant me peace, double my strength, hold my hand, and light my way. For now, alone I must face the adventures of an unknown world, lost emotions, eternal longings, difficult decisions, immense problems, and special days filled with the pain of beautiful memories.
April 9
Only You, God, know how much I love my family! I yearn for a clasping hand, a wink, a smile, a cry, a “Hi, Mom” and “I love you, Honey”! Tears of anguish, tears of pain, tears of sorrow, tears today, and tears tomorrow. God, be with me.
April 10
I drove, I walked, I sat, I appeared and cried a sea of tears at a round table with four men. Decisions, discussion, conversation were on the surface-I was below, in pain, some how protected, but still not connected to anything. If true, how will I survive-maybe suicide or just turn aside. Help-prayers-help! I sink and there is no bottom!
April 11
I know today is Wednesday, and I know what I’m saying-as if the light has dawned. I will be brave and go on-but where. Which way do you turn to take the first step? Three quarters of me has been ripped away. My balance is off-I don’t think straight-I don’t feel and I know my mind goes up and down like a roller coaster-and more off track than on. Chaos-confusion! Valerie needs me! Clare was here today to listen and give Christian support. It lifts my spirits that he cares enough to come.
April 12
I talk, but it isn’t me talking-only words-my thoughts are elsewhere drowning in confusion-arms reach for me, but I don’t feel. Comfort has abandoned me. I ache, I hurt, I plead for my family. Oh God, don’t leave me, or maybe I have left You!
April 13
Went to church-shouldn’t have gone -drowned in tears-no thoughts- empty space-void-cold-parted- away-alone-empty nights that last forever. I cry all day, I cry all night, no angels surround my head.
April 14
Fly away to a ranch-tears-must be alone-walked and walked. A rock called-I sat, and what seemed to be grotesque trees turned to a work of art as I stared. Thousands of rocks looked like skulls, and I could see them forever-all peaceful. Not a bug or animal to frighten me. It was the first moment of peace I had known since tragedy, atrocity, accident, loss. Most of me is missing.
April 15
I feel a delicate touch of soft healing from the woods. No more voices from downstairs. That’s good.
April 16
I can live with grief and die, or I can get over grief and live.
April 17
Feeling I really must go to the crash site, I was anxious. All was set up for Wednesday, April 18. I was content. At 5 o’clock things changed. I’m much too weak for change and disappointment. The plane might go to New Orleans. I will know at 8 o’clock tomorrow morning.
April 18
Yes, the plane must go. Weather is slightly bad. I must stay home one more day. I really feel driven to go and see where I lost so much. I cannot wonder as I fly over every mountain. I will fly always as I have no fear of death.
April 19
Up half the night-dressed for the first of many long and lonely trips. My pilots were ready, and I didn’t want a word spoken. At the end of 3 hours, we were 15 minutes away. I peered from the window, almost terrified I would spot the crash site. The deputy met me, and we drove away. Left turn out of the airport, left turn on the road to Snowmass (where we spent a fabulous Christmas with my children and mother)-then right on Cedar Brush Creek Road, up, up and around. We stopped, “just over that hill are the grim remains.” My knees did shake, but I kicked off my shoes, jerked on my boots, took a deep breath and assumed I would either throw up, faint, or experience the usual buckets of uncontrollable tears. My heart was in my throat, as I took the last step over the ridge. I actually turned to “stone”-no emotion-no tears-I asked to be alone. I kicked through the wreckage: I picked up John’s glasses, half of Richard’s glasses, Karla’s clothes were burned, and I put Davin’s black loafers together. I took goggles and underwear out of a tree, then I sat in the ashes, among the seat belts that burned from their bodies. And without a tear-I thought Oh God, Oh God, how could it be! This is a beautiful hill-a beautiful day-such a small space. Crisp cool air-fluffy clouds, and not a tear. Two deputies came for me, and not a tear. We drove to town, and I suddenly knew I didn’t want to talk with the coroner, and that was the right decision. Back to the airport without a tear, and I flew away, leaving behind something I had to see and touch. Three hours to Dallas, and I was truly frozen physically, but not mentally. Not a tear!
April 20
Consolation in knowing where-terror in not knowing why-still frozen, maybe forever. How awful that I might live 30 years. Alone, isolated! What will tomorrows be like? Such a beautiful place for a home-not death and disaster. Today the bodies cannot be identified. I have come apart in a million pieces. How will I ever put the pieces together again-must I? Can I? Do I choose to?
April 21
Such weight-a very heavy day. The tears are non-stop-I walked the block and could have floated on my tears. The doors to all homes were closed tight. In and out, up and down- where do I go? What do I do? Like warming over death-the mail came and must be opened and filed. From a simple envelope, there appeared a beautiful picture (too painful to describe). Once again my insides crumbled, and I slipped rapidly down a greased slide to that dark, cold, and very empty space. The tears would not cease, and I shook from head to toe. Peggy and Clayton came with words I don’t remember. It wasn’t until they each held my hand that I began to regain control-then the words could pour in, and the Psalms were healing.
April 22
My trip to Jacksonville, Florida was exhausting beyond belief-maybe from holding back the tears. I cannot think. I don’t want to think. Such confusion and such pain as the days go by. If it were only a dream . . .
April 23
From time to time, things become very clear to me. I know what helps. The idle chatter of well meaning people is very painful clatter to my ears. An hour of Christian conversation a day is not enough. I am worse off than a quadruple amputee-I need new arms and legs-they must not be wooden, they must be Christian arms and legs, or I will never be able to give or receive anything. Intense prayer, intense help, intense grief, intense feelings of being somewhere, anywhere would help. It is a circle with no corners of rest. I reach up and out, but my loves are beyond, and I remain.
April 24
I can feed only on the words and prayers of a Christian. The Psalms Clayton gave me help, but mostly prayer helps. I am so lost! I cannot and will not see anyone. How can 17 When I can’t respond in a civilized manner to well meaning, but trite conversation.
April 25
Reverend Gladstone Rodgers has been here every day since the 23rd! He married John and me, and I had to let him know it had been a good and beautiful marriage. Not without arguments and growing experiences! John was faithful and triumphant in so many aspects of his life. We had spent years of dedicated service and work with our children. John never ever lost faith, and I did so often. At difficult times when John was through talking with the children, he would then turn and assure me. I realize I have lost most of me! “Father Glad” brings peace and quiet blessings that I need. In Christian love, he is very special!
April 26
Reasonably rational until I looked at pictures of my family. Again the tears came and most of the day was lost. I don’t want to see or talk to anyone- later I will, but not now. I don’t know what will help, but I am desperately searching for something solid so I can stand again. Only John can be identified. Again every imaginable pain, agony and terror rips my body and soul. I am bleeding. Why can’t I die? Valerie does need me. I must help. She is the only fourth of me left!
April 27
I will never be me again! I have lived my life through and for John and my children. When threefourths of you is gone, you must grow again, but you will never be as you were before.
April 28
I must not look-how can you live and not look? No, you must look and see the good and beautiful. My life is half full, not three-quarters empty. Today, I choked on people and strangled on food, but I took the first step, and again the terrible pain and agony of loss swept over me-a luncheon passed!
April 29
A dark and heavy parallel line of ice, steel, smoke, particles, debris, glass, are boiling and swirling over my head. Can I? Do I dare? Must I7 Will I7 Oh Dear God, please be with me- I must- penetrate my vacuum-I must delight in breath-be grateful for a step-reach for a hand-learn to smile-give what’s left of me, and love the Lord.
April 30
I tread the brink of life on a thread of faith. A thread, a string, a cord, a rope. I will grow, but I need special hands and prayers to make me whole and worth Your service, Lord.
May 1
Transitory-purgatory-inventory-what’s the difference-they all change as I change. I must change, as it is so painful here. Maybe new things will change my view of life! A kaleidoscope is always interesting and different-do I have that ability? Oh God, oh God, hold me near, as I am so far, yet so near to reason, sanity and suicide.
May 2
My space is so still, silent, eerie. My footprint washes away-my hair blows away-I remain with out stretched arms as a bridge to memory that I can never touch. I love each and every one with all my heart. May I always embrace and hold dear their warm glow of life, love and faith.
May 3
I am wounded in life and missing in the trenches of my mind. Bombs bursting with memories-bullets of laughter-cannons of fun and rockets of our love, forever and ever. Death has done us apart, and memory can not keep us together. For without your touch, I will surely die, even though I remain! My heart bleeds, my body aches. My tears carry me through beautiful years of sharing each other totally, completely and absolutely. The loss of intimacy is my burden of our precious love. John Ed ward May, my darling, my love for you is incalculable and eternal.
May 4
I awoke in darkness, but I have broken the surface. God loves me- He comforts me-He is near-His everlasting peace abides within me. There is a softness about me, and I suddenly know there is light in the midst of my darkness. His hands lifted me from black emptiness, and His arms hold me. I now realize God’s love and strength in me is greater than my loss. My prayers have been answered-My God is here!
May 5
Though the wind blows, the rain comes and the lightning strikes, I will stand fast. Praise God, for without His love, I have no life.
My steps are small but sure, my head is high but weak, my eyes are wet and red, but God is with me. I am comforted and protected. I can receive the love of friends; I can extend comfort to those who suffer for me. Glory be to God! I can see the light, smell beauty, feel warmth, live with hope and smile again. I am surrounded with teeming life: my beautiful, vivacious Valerie, my strong and loving mother, and my dear and concerned brothers, John’s devoted brother, wife, and mother.
May 6
Yes, I live! For now, my vision surpasses the plane in the sky, my hearing repels the thundering explosion, my knowledge of the grim devastation (though never to be erased) seems unimportant. For beyond my tragedy, I have been blessed, immeasurably enriched, graciously endowed and genuinely loved by John Edward, Davin, Karla and Richard. It is my loss and my treasure to live with and love and to remember always.
May 7
My burden is heavy, but I don’t walk alone. My pain is unrelenting, but I thank God for every moment that He blessed me with. I pray that my life will be used to His glory, that I might carry my burden with Christian dignity, and that out of my devastation, may His kingdom become apparent to someone lost and in pain.
May 8
I close this diary, and with it goes all my known ability and capacity for love. I must climb to a different plane and search for a different life. I cannot replace or compare my loss. It is my loss. I am not strong, I am not brave. I am a Christian with a burden to carry and a message to share. I have been severely tested, but my faith has survived, and I have been strengthened in my love and devotion to the Lord. Oh, God, my life is Yours-comfort me in Your arms and direct me in my life. I have walked in hell, but now I walk with God in peace. John Edward, Davin, Karla and Richard are in God’s hands, Valerie and I are in God’s arms, and His love surrounds us.
This rose will bloom again.
Editor’s Note: We asked Dr. Bell to reflect on some of the dynamics that were present in ministering to Stephanie. He has prepared ten principles that he found himself employing which may be helpful to others who must minister in the shock of tragedy and the burden of grief.
It’s impossible to describe the emptiness I felt when the phone call came. I didn’t want to hear the news, and I didn’t want to have to break the news to Stephanie. But some things cannot be shunted off or delayed; and at such a time it’s terribly important to realize that, although I may be inadequate, God is fully adequate.
Principle One
Although God’s love and comfort come through people, comfort is still God’s work.
Although there is “one mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus,” we ministers are called to “fill in what is lacking in Christ’s suffering for his body, that is, the church” (Colossians 1:24, Williams). God alone is the God of all comfort, He is the source; we are the channels.
A number of years ago, a young woman who was not one of our church members called me for an appointment. Her husband had been recently killed. Their minister, approximately her age, was married and the father of several children. In the process of attempting to provide her with comfort, he became so emotionally involved that he over-stepped the bounds of ministerial propriety. He called on her too often (without his wife along) and attempted to give her support he had no right to offer. She had the good sense to know that something was wrong with the situation. Unfortunately, he had not dealt with the question, ‘When does a person’s comfort stop in order to let God’s comfort take over?”
A competent physician knows how to clean a wound, apply antiseptic, suture where necessary, bandage, and then wait for the natural healing process. A doctor is not a healer. He aids the healing process that God controls and has built into the forces of nature. A good doctor knows his limitations and has the patience to wait for “nature” to heal.
The same is true with the wounds of grief. God is the healer and fellow Christians (whether pastors or laypersons) can mediate his comfort. Yet they also must know how to keep their hands off to allow God to do his own healing.
Principle Two
In ministering to grieving people, be convinced of the hope that is ours in Jesus Christ.
Did Jesus Christ rise from the dead? Was he telling the truth when he said, “I go to prepare a place for you”? Does his resurrection really give us the assurance of eternal life-as when he said to Mary and Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in me though he were dead, yet shall he live; and he that liveth and believeth in me shall never die”? Is there a real existence beyond this life known as “heaven”? Does God really forgive sins and accept sinners? Do we have a hope in Christ beyond this life?
The unequivocal answer of the New Testament to all of these questions is a resounding “yes.” The minister can convey this hope on firm ground. The gospel of Jesus Christ is the bandage that binds up the wounds of grief, and the presence of the Holy Spirit is the balm that soothes and comforts raw nerves.
Principle Three
Accept the validity of the grief process.
Is it wrong for a Christian to grieve? Are tears a contradiction of faith? Or is faith supposed to eradicate tears?
The psalmists often wept during sorrow. In the New Testament, after Stephen had been stoned, we’re told “devout men carried Stephen to his burial and made great lamentations over him.” Even living that close to Christ’s resurrection, the early Christians deeply mourned Stephen’s loss. In I Thessalonians 4:13-18, we have the balanced teaching of the early church, that we “grieve, but not as others who have no hope.”
Whether grief comes from death, desertion, alienation of affection, or divorce, tears are natural. Tragically, some devoted Christians believe that grief is in appropriate for one who believes in the resurrection. The attempt to deny the reality of grief through the bravado of faith is terribly destructive. Anyone wishing to minister to those in sorrow must follow the biblical injunction to “weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15), and to endure patiently the tears of those who must face massive new vacancies in their lives.
Principle Four
Make sure someone is there when needed. The question asked by people who must call on a person during bereavement is “What shall I say?” But words are not nearly as important as being there. A simple embrace and the words “I’m sorry,” or “I love you,” may be all you have to say. It’s important for the bereaved to feel that they’re surrounded by people who care deeply and who are available.
Principle Five
Give the bereaved opportunities to talk about their lost loved ones. Kaleidoscopes of memories and emotions flash across the screens of their minds, and it’s very important to the grieving process for them to articulate these memories. The sympathetic ear is often the best tool in grief therapy.
Principle Six
Touch is important as a means of communication. Stephanie remarked to me some months after the tragedy that she didn’t hear much that I said, but when Peggy and I sat on her bed and held her hands and prayed, she received strength. During those early days when Stephanie would lie crying on her bed, Peggy would sit beside her and rub her shoulders and back, not only to relieve physical tension, but to communicate caring and emotional support.
Principle Seven
Remember special times in the bereaved’s life. During the months after the death of her family, each birthday, holiday, and anniversary became special times of crises in Stephanie’s life. A phone call, a card, or some other response from friends letting her know she was thought of and supported on those days was comforting. Each event was a poignant reminder of her loss and would reopen the wounds. It’s especially important that the bereaved be supported when such events reawaken grief.
Principle Eight
Be ready to give to those who sorrow a hand-written list of Psalms and other Scripture for daily reading and meditation. The Bible is a big book, and to find appropriate passages for comfort is difficult for some people. I say hand-written for the same reason doctors hand write prescriptions. When a person is really sick you don’t give a patent medicine/ but rather a personalized prescription for healing. Some people need the language of the psalmist to ventilate their own feelings in prayer. Others need the theology of the resurrection to undergird their hopes. Carefully evaluate how these can be blended together.
Principle Nine
A bereaved person is vulnerable; be discreet and accepting. In the agony of sorrow, things may be said, feelings vented, or secrets divulged which the one ministering must absorb and turn over to the Lord. In grief, as in any other matter of pastoral concern, a cloak of confidentiality must be thrown around the relationship.
Principle Ten
Be part of d ministering team. In my case, I’m extremely grateful to the Lord for a wife who shares my ministry with me. Peggy’s perceptions and sensitivity have been great assets in ministering. She is able to do for widows what would be inappropriate for me to do. Because the Lord has equipped her with gifts complementary to mine, I rejoice that we can share much of the ministry to bereaved people.
Others who are not able to share with their spouses this way will want to draw on wise and compassionate men and women of the church to complement what one person can do.
John tells us that in heaven “God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.” Until God does that, it’s our privilege to be channels of comfort and hope for those who grieve. It’s not easy. But it is God’s work. He gives us the magnificent opportunity to lift our eyes and the eyes of others to that one who is life, and who promises reunion and the fullest measure of joy.
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