A Light for My Path

It’s a cliché to say that men don’t want to talk about their emotions. But, behind every cliché is at least a smidge of truth. I know it applies to my husband. He wants to be strong and the protector of our family. He doesn’t like to see anyone get upset, frightened, or sad. Now that there’s just the two of us in our house, his protectiveness is focused mostly on me.

It’s sweet and comforting to be protected. But there are times when I find having a good cry is cathartic. If I’m having a heart-to-heart with a female friend and I tear up, usually she will hand me a tissue, and we will continue the conversation uninterrupted. She may grab one for herself. When the conversation ends, we’ll give each other a big hug and go on about our business. Neither will be worried that we hurt the other or made each other mad. In fact, we feel closer to each other’s heart and comforted emotionally. My husband doesn’t see it that way. If I cry, he has made me sad and he feels bad about it.

So, it’s rare that he talks about our younger daughter Rachel who died in a car accident eight years ago.

But being in a car together on a long drive often leads to deep conversations. Recently we were driving to Jacksonville (a two-hour trip), and he started talking about Rachel. He said he thought it was so unfair that she had just “hit her stride” as an adult. She had gotten past some of the typical things young people go through: not-so-great relationships, starter jobs that provide experience but not much in the way of salary, unreliable secondhand cars, and spotty church attendance.

She had saved enough money to buy a new car. She had met and married a wonderful man. She was deeply involved in her church. And had just started a new job that paid well and offered a promising career. Her life was on the upswing.

I began to respond to my husband’s comments when he said, “it’s just so sad and unfair and I don’t want to upset you.” I told him I was not going to cry. And, that it was okay to talk about her. In fact, I want him and others to talk about her.  No go. He changed the subject.

Hearing my daughter’s name is a gift. Reminiscing about her is bittersweet, yes, but it’s a reminder that she existed. She was a real person with a personality, ambition, faith, and love. I’m willing to risk some awkward moments, some tears, even some anger at the unfairness of losing her.

Just please. Talk about her.

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Laura