The Ice Storm, the Friend, and the Wardrobe
The ice storm was wicked. Had I wondered through my wardrobe? Was I in Narnia? It was two weeks before Christmas. I glanced in awe out the window. The once mellow branches of the Maple trees, fixed and frozen in ice, smacked the shingles and struck the glass windows with an astounding clatter. Winds wailed and higher branches splintered and crash landed on branches below propelling them downward. No wonder my cats, Mercy and Grace crouched under the down comforter on the bed one minute and darted under the bed the next. The electricity would surely come on soon I told them and we would be warm and comfy.
The temperature nose-dived and the birds squabbled for the last of the seed in the feeders. Walking with caution over the ice, I filled the feeders and with curiosity I gazed over the wonderland. I had to be in Narnia.
I thought of my friend, Sue. She had no zest for another winter. Her husband, Wes had died seventeen months ago. His death had set her afloat on a journey of grief.
A journey through grief can be wicked. One day your life is “normal” the next you’re floating through a wardrobe and into Narnia; where the wicked Witch freezes you into a cycle of mourning with her glacial powers. In the movie, ‘The Chronicles of Narnia, The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe,’ Lucy was playing a game of “hide-and-seek “ with her siblings when she found the world of Narnia by passing through a magical wardrobe. Like Lucy, I had played “hide-and-seek” with my own grief after my husband, Tom had died. Suddenly, I had wondered through my wardrobe and into Narnia, an unknown land of Arctic woe. I tried to hide from the grief one minute and would seek it the next.
On first arriving in Narnia, Lucy said, “Winters not all bad. There’s ice skating, snow balls and Christmas.”
It was the Christmas card that Sue had written informing me of Wes’s illness that caused me to phone her and we chattered for the first time in over twenty years. I promised myself I would phone her often. A promise unfulfilled.
When I heard of Wes’s death, I invited Sue for supper. We broke the ice and I accompanied Sue on her journey through Narnia. We rekindled our friendship. I grew to love her in so many ways. I felt special knowing her because she made me feel special. I accompanied her to grief support meetings provided by Hospice and she became an active member of the grief support group held at my house. I introduced her to everyone as my friend from the past, which I had raced through twelve years of school with. Sue shared with us a quilt that her daughter, Linda had lovingly stitched using the material of her father’s shirts. Sue’s emotions froze in her throat as a tear broke free and fell on the quilt. She attended every meeting until October.
In October, her skin turned a dark yellow. She was taken to a hospital in a far off larger city. And in December, she died of liver cancer. I loved her. I now needed others in the support group to companion me.
The purpose of our grief group is to companion others in their journey. We do this by providing head knowledge about the grief process and heart knowledge using personal experiences.
Narnia had been turned into a world of eternal winter by the white Witch. Our worlds likewise can be turned into years of eternal winters of grief without the help of others. I had shared with Sue many stories of my own grief experience. She loved the stories. Said she always knew I would have the words to make her feel better. There she was again making me feel special.
Why had Sue appeared in my life for such a short time? Was our encounter just a dream? At times, I felt like I had let her down; talked about peace and hope and finding a “new normal” life without Wes. I don’t know why God had chosen this path for Sue, but I believe she is in His hands. After the prayers at the grave-site, I knew she was. There in the sky, on a blistery December day appeared the most enchanting rainbow, a sign of God’s covenant promise.
At the end of the movie, Narnia is released from the glacial freeze and the children are crowned princes and princesses.
We all feel frozen in our grief for a while, but the ice will thaw and Sue will be remembered as the special person she was in our minds and hearts forever. I will remember her today and feed the birds, tell her story at the support group and keep her memory alive.
Sue is just on the other side of the rainbow…waiting for us all!
About the Author
In June of 2006, I was active in helping form a grief support group for the parish church I attended. I was thrilled to be given an opportunity to companion others in their walk through grief. After my husband, Tom, died in 1993, and as a way of thanking God for his presence in my “new normal” life, I volunteered at the Hospice Home of Northeast Indiana where I did a wide variety of tasks. I was also an active member of Toastmaster, International for several years. My heart’s desire is to continue to companion others in their journey through grief by facilitating at our group meetings and by writing.
