Life in the Shadow of Death

Life in the shadow of death is a perplexing whirlwind of reflections, deliberations, and theorizations while staggering to bear the weight of a sudden collision with grief. Shock is a horrifically peculiar feeling. It’s a strange “other worldly” experience of not comprehending anything, yet understanding everything. Shock sends my otherwise steady legs tumbling, and my lungs gasping as my whole inner being is racked with uncontrollable sobs tearing through my body and resonating with the Father’s cry on Calvary. Scripture floods my memory and I cling.

My mind spins contemplating my course of action. My husband lovingly instructs me through the fog. This forty-two year old woman needed someone to tell her what to do: Get a flight. Leave to today. You need to go home. Care comes in the form of tiny hands gingerly packing my bags; while I will my mind to think coherently, and my feet to tread the necessary steps that have been dictated by a phone call. A call which I knew to expect at some point in my life- just not today. The answer, at least for one, has been given to my New Year’s Eve question which I’ve been asking myself for the last six years, “Is this the year I’ll lose one of my parents?” The answer is hollow and numbing.

I am emotionless as I make my way through the airport to board an unexpected flight. After finding my gate, I locate the women’s restroom because when your mama dies, you find a stall, put on praise music and worship your way through the pain.

Life in the shadow of death leaves you grappling with emotions from sadness to laughter and back again. The Scripture exclaims, “Where, O death, is your sting?” (1 Cor 15:55) Sitting on this side of heaven the sting is real. It’s painful. It’s pursuing and unrelenting. Life goes on, and everything has changed, yet everything is the same. The lens in which I gaze appears gray and dim, all color has been chased away. Glimmers of light, of love, and laughter seek to penetrate the shadows cast by death through constant reminders of life being lived before me.

Memories taunt me as they pass in my mind’s eye bringing joy mingled with sadness. Always a mingling of sadness for that which is no more, but the guarantee of heaven is my enduring hope. Each day mocks me, daring me to make today what will be a memory tomorrow. Memories are a double-edged sword to be cherished; while at the same time they tenaciously inflict the stinging reminder that death looms for all and suffering is no respecter of persons. After all, the One that forgave my sins and captured my heart is knowns as “A Man of Sorrows.” How then could I expect less? But, I wonder: What was Jesus’ countenance while “being acquainted with grief?” Did it show on his face? Did he lament to others? Did he hide behind a less than genuine smile? How does one “count it all joy” when one can barely think to count?

Life in the shadow of death leaves us desolate and pining for the emptiness to cease, the quiet to implode, darkness to illuminate, anxiety to quiver, and fear to hide. The deserted rooms once filled with a lively essence are now uninhabited except for the evidence of life once lived within its walls. Everything sits untouched just as she left it. My eyes take it in-do I dare touch or move anything? Her red purse is on the couch filled with that which is personal. I watch my father, tears streaming down his face, fumble through the inner pockets…questioning…lamenting. I’m inexperienced in this fate and everything seems surreal. I expect her to push her walker into the room at any moment, but the moment never comes.

Life in the shadow of death threatens with depression, and leaves me grappling for days filled with joy. This in turn racks me with guilt knowing there’s much to be thankful, and my children need their mother. But, how do I shake the immutable thoughts that relentlessly pummel my mind threatening to take me under?

When the anguish of funeral plans are made, final resting places chosen, and the finality of this life hits you by virtue of a “circus rose” laden casket; the only way to stand is to be supernaturally held by the One who stands in victory over this messy thing called death.

As I daily put one foot in front of the other, pressing on with the days I have allotted, my vision is a little clearer, my focus is a bit sharper, time has become more precious, and family is worth more than words.

Teresa Cianciotto
4/13/2017 Copyright