Being John’s wife required a playful spirit and an appreciation of boat racing. After he retired, John joined the Scream and Flyers, a group of extreme boating enthusiasts.
John’s newest acquisition was a 1992 Allison XR River Racer.
In June 2024, we met up with the Scream and Flyers group for racing fun on the Tennessee River.
The Allison on our left was flying at about 90 mph and would soon overtake us. John gave her a quick glance and then accelerated.
“Hold on!” he shouted. Our River Racer leaped like a porpoise on the straight stretch of the river. I gripped the pull bar as hard as I could. We hit 98 mph, then 100, and then 105! I did my best to keep my phone steady while videoing the race. John won. He always did.
We docked for lunch and joined the other Scream and Flyers.
John was met with back slaps and high fives.
“That was some race!” a friend commented. “Congratulations! By the way, I heard you two got married. When did you tie the knot?”
“Last month,” I answered, smiling.
The Scream and Flyers applauded.
“Now that we’re retired, we plan to enjoy life,” John said, beaming.
I was sixty-two and John was sixty-seven. We had been together for eight years. We had lots of life ahead of us, or so we thought.
John would die of a massive heart attack six months later.
John was not only my husband, he was my caregiver. I had advanced wet macular degeneration, a disease that causes blindness. The disease had robbed me of the vision in my right eye and now was affecting the left eye.
How would I manage alone in our rural farming community?
I wasn’t sure that I even wanted to. I was now a widow whose dreams and hopes were buried with John.
The next few weeks were a blur. I prayed. I cried. I continued to volunteer at my church’s food bank, but I was barely functioning.
Grief, like a boat, I learned, must run its course.
Friends called to check on me and persuaded me to attend a church luncheon after service one Sunday. It would be my first social outing without John.
I mustered what little strength I had and greeted our friends tearfully. They seemed as somber and heartbroken as I was. Their pitying gazes were too much to bear. It was time for me to leave.
As I said my goodbyes, Eva, a member of my Bible study group, asked if we could chat for a few minutes.
I nodded.
“World Outreach Church in Murfreesboro (a sprawling megachurch in Middle Tennessee) is taking a group on a pilgrimage tour to Israel in June 2025. I just signed up. Would you consider joining us?”
I stared at her. I didn’t know Eva very well. I knew she had been in the Army and that she was an expert sharpshooter and an excellent instructor. Several women from church had taken shooting lessons with her.
Her question was so unexpected, just as unexpected as John’s death two months earlier.
“That’s only four months away,” I countered. “I’m a mess, Eva.”
“I know,” she said, putting her arm around me. “But, you could honor John’s memory by joining this tour.”
I was steeped in grief. Didn’t she see it? Didn’t everyone see it?
“I don’t expect an answer today. Just think about it. I’ll call you soon.”
This is the story of how I found healing and love during a time of unrest and war. It is also a story of how grief can be transformed through faith and family.
We all have the ability to heal. We all have a God-given resilience within us. It took a war for me to learn this.
May this story bring hope and strength to anyone grieving the loss of a loved one.
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Psalm 34:18
S H E L T E R E D