Widow's Voice

Why, God?

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I have been attending a weekly virtual community through my church for the past few months. This week I shared that I have been thinking a lot about spirituality and religion and how it is so intertwined with death. I am taking a class called Death, Dying, & Loss in my Ph.D. program, which has prompted me to think about this subject a lot more in the last few months. I will go ahead and disclose that I grew up in a relatively conservative Christian household and I have lived my entire life in the “Bible belt”, so I have been around very religious (of Christian faith) people for my entire life. In adulthood, my faith has shifted and is much more open and fluid. I find that there are many paths to God and that different faiths bring so much beauty and wisdom to my own spirituality. I definitely have a more liberal approach to faith now. 

One of my recurring thoughts is about God’s “role” in a person’s death and I wonder…does God have an active role at all? Many of us have heard phrases like, “it was God’s will” or “it was their time to go” or that it was in “God’s plan” for the person to die. Well, that just doesn’t sit well with me. It was God’s plan for Boris to have debilitating mental illness and intrusive suicidal thoughts and kill himself at 27 years old? Certainly, the creator of the universe would not think it was Boris’s “time” to go. The loving, faithful God would not “will” the suffering and struggle that Boris experienced, nor the pain that I am left with. Not the God I believe in, at least.

I also get hung up on the concept of answered prayers. When people are sick or about to have surgery, people always pray for them and people ask for prayers. When the person is healed or when the surgery goes well, we always seem to say something like, “God answered our prayers” or “God healed her”, etc. But, what about when the person does not recover? What about when the person’s illness gets worse? What about when someone dies on the operating table? Why are some people’s prayers answered and some people’s aren’t? It feels so contradictory. 

I think about the phrases and language we use and how some of them might just be words without much thought. I think about how people use words like “fighter” when talking about cancer. They say things like “she was a warrior” or “she beat cancer”. But, what does that say about people who didn’t beat cancer? They are strong too. They probably fought really hard too. What do those words mean for people who die of cancer? I think this ties back to our words about God’s role in our lives–I don’t believe that Boris died because I didn’t pray enough for him or because Boris didn’t have a strong faith. I also don’t believe it was Boris’s “time to go” or that it was in God’s plan. But, hearing those phrases and especially in the context of “good” things or “blessings” sometimes makes me upset. Why didn’t I receive a miracle? Why were the medications, counseling sessions, and hospitalizations enough to save Boris? Why was I not “blessed” with a partnership that lasts decades? Why did my partner die by suicide? Why must I live with this trauma and grief while others live happy, “blessed” lives with their spouses and kids? Why didn’t I get my happily ever after? 

I now use words like “lucky” instead of “blessed” because of the connotation that God “blessed” me with things. For instance, my parents are loving and generally supportive of me…why did I get “blessed” with loving, supportive parents but others have abusive parents? Why do some people’s parents die at a young age but mine are still alive? Maybe that is just luck, not a blessing from God. Maybe there’s no “reason” behind it.

These might be things I will always wrestle with and perhaps that is okay. Perhaps I sound cynical. I will continue to write about it, talk about it, and fill my heart with writers like Kate Bowler, who help me to realize that everything does not happen for a reason, sometimes things just happen. 

About Victoria Helmly

My love story began in 2005 and though my love is no longer physically here with me, our story has not ended. I met Boris when we were 14, but it was not until our junior and senior year of high school that we became more than friends (he was my first kiss!). We went to the same college and although our relationship was a bit rocky through our early 20s, we made it through. He was my person. Our relationship grew stronger as we matured and learned about one another more as adults. I was certain that he was my forever. We talked about the future a lot and we knew we would get married, but we did not want to rush—he was still finishing graduate school and I was just starting my first full-time job. We did not realize how little time we had left together.

In the summer of 2017, Boris was hospitalized three times for active suicidal ideation. This was a heartbreaking, exhausting, and life-changing experience. After 10 months of therapy, medication, and support groups, Boris died by suicide on April 7, 2018. My life now has two parts: the one before April 7, 2018 and the one after. My very best friend, my person was now gone.

If you were to ask how I am doing now, 2.5 years later, I would say I am okay. I am living. My world continues to spin, and I continue to move forward. However, I still carry deep sorrow and loneliness. I have struggled with PTSD, anxiety, and depression. Sometimes I still cannot believe that he is actually gone. I still feel him with me, and I know that I will never stop loving and missing him.

I am currently in school for my Ph.D. and live just outside of Atlanta with our cat, Kitty Cat (Boris is responsible for the creative name). I work as a graduate research assistant currently, but I worked for three years with our State Unit on Aging prior to going back to school. I love movies, my friends and family, long walks, and traveling.