Sunday Post 114: Looking Down From Above

Stephanie and I had a date night last weekend.  We ate dinner and went to see the movie Safe Haven.

The movie is about several things, but one major component of the film is that the main character is a single dad who lost his wife to cancer.

At the end of the movie, it becomes obvious that his dead wife is helping to orchestrate their lives, working to make sure that the father and her two kids are going to be alright.

Wouldn’t it be nice to know that those who have gone before us can, in some way, help us heal and move forward?  What if they could intervene, maybe speak to us in dreams to drive us toward the good things that await us here on earth?

I’ve really struggled with that notion.  I find it hard to believe that Lisa can see us.  I think her grief would be so deep.  Seeing her in pain as she neared the end of her illness nearly killed me.  I can’t imagine her having to watch me grieve.  I can’t fathom her looking down from above watching Stephanie cry night after night after night that first year.  How sad she would have been to have missed our trip to Hawaii.  How difficult not to be there to help DJ pick out her first dress for a high school dance.

And yet, how comforting to know we’re OK.  What a relief to see us laughing, gut wrenching, on the floor guffaws.

At times I can’t convince myself that heaven has windows that can see outside.  At other times, I think she must have had a hand in, or some influence on our fate over the past three years.  There are just times that her hand seems to be on my shoulder, guiding me in my decisions.

Maybe she does help in ways we can’t yet imagine.  Maybe she is provided a daily excel spreadsheet that outlines our progress, a way of keeping up without the burden of visual impressions:

1. Washed the whites with the darks again   X

2. Joined that men’s support group  √

3.  Forgot to bake the cupcakes for special snack  X

I wouldn’t want to see her hurt any longer.  She had enough pain.  But I guess there is a part of me that hopes she thinks of us as much as we think of her.

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20 Comments

  1. I believe people who have left this planet look after us even when we don’t notice it… 😉

    Reply
  2. Beautifully written

    Reply
  3. Ac Snow

     /  April 7, 2013

    Bruce, How beautifully done it is.  What a loving tribute to Lisa.  Sometimes,  I lie awake , thinking how horrible life would be without Nancy..you may ..remember reading  how UCLA basketball coach Wooden wrote a letter every Wednesday to his deceased wife and left them on her pillow beside his. I talked to him about it once for a column and wish I could unearth it. We’ll have that coffee soon. sincerely, a.c.

    ________________________________

    Reply
    • Danny Tanner

       /  April 7, 2013

      My youngest daughter wrote Lisa on the first anniversary of her death. I’ve never read her letter, but I do have it saved. There is a lot to share.

      Reply
  4. GodCountryGolf

     /  April 7, 2013

    Beautiful! I believe they can see us. I choose to believe they do have a hand in guiding us. I think they laugh and cry with us. I find comfort in that.

    Reply
  5. Mary Ann

     /  April 7, 2013

    Perhaps it’s the Lisa that lives in your hearts that provides the daily guidance. She’s there and always will be.

    Reply
  6. Your post is so hopeful and yet so realistic….
    My best wishes to you and your family dear D.!

    Reply
  7. I believe…that their legacy really does live on in us all. As evidenced by the way your lives have progressed. If she wanted to leave a legacy of life and love….she accomplished her goal in y’all!

    Reply
  8. Todd

     /  April 7, 2013

    I lost my wife August 15th of 2012. This has been the worst year of my life. I have 2 boys 4 and 10. If it were not for my boys I would not have gotten out of bed. Well said. I know how much Kristi suffered and I like you would not want her to suffer any more. I like to think she is looking down on us and smiling.

    Reply
    • Danny Tanner

       /  April 7, 2013

      I so feel for you. My kids have gotten me through this. Without them, I really don’t know what I would have done. They are why I press on. They are why I fought to bring laughter back to our house. And through them, I’ve begun to find my own joy again. It’s a long road buddy. Let me know if I can help.

      Reply
  9. I believe that we have angels and those who pass watch over us. I know they do. If it weren’t for my angels I don’t know where I’d be. She sure is watching you all, guiding you, holding you when you feel along and guarding you and the kids from danger. One day you’ll see it, something will happen and you’ll think, wow!

    Reply
  10. I understand what you mean. I can’t imagine how hard it would be for my sister to look down and see how hard it still is for her 3 kids not to have her here. I’d like to think she’s being spared that kind of heartache now.

    Reply
    • Danny Tanner

       /  April 7, 2013

      I have such mixed feelings about this – I want her to see us. I want and do feel her presence. But I can’t figure out how she could watch without immense anguish.

      Reply
      • I had a dream about my sister once where she told me there was nothing I could have done, so I needed to stop trying to change the past, and stop longing for the past, but move on and live in the now. It was a beautiful dream. I don’t know if it was truly my sister, or if it was God, or if it was simply my brain pointing out what I couldn’t let myself believe, but I cherish that dream.

      • Danny Tanner

         /  April 8, 2013

        Sounds nice…

  11. Hebrews 11 describes many who lived lives of faith and the very next verse (12:1) says, Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us,” the picture I see I that verse is those of faith who finished their race before us in the stands cheering us on and waiting for us. I think that is a verse of great hope 🙂

    Reply

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