Song in the Night

“I have considered the days of old, the years of ancient times. I call to remembrance my song in the night…” Psalm 77:5, 6a.

New Year’s Eve. The house is quiet. My son and daughter are attending an evening of fun and games with the church youth group.

As I hear the first gun shots, the first fire crackers, the barking of the neighborhood dogs, I have a wild urge to be near him. I grab my coat and a warm blanket. I will go to my husband’s grave. It is only a short walk to the cemetery, but I decide to drive. It is very dark and I always did wonder just exactly where those bullets landed.

The cemetery is shrouded in darkness; I can barely make out the outlines of the gravestones. I roll the window down and sit in silence in the car, remembering. I speak softly into the night. I tell him I don’t want to go through this year without him by my side. For a few brief moments I find myself wishing I was by his side. Yes, at times the thought of death seems easier than the thought of life without him. I remind myself God has purpose for leaving me here. I talk aloud to Him too.

I wish to go stand or kneel by John’s grave, but it is so dark. Not the moon or a star visible to lend me courage. I hear a noise. Is it footsteps? Are they coming toward me? My heart beats a little faster, but I wait silently. Finally I sense rather than see a person walking in my direction, across the unused portion of the cemetery. I think I know who it is.

“Stan,” I call softly into the darkness, “is it you?”

“Yes, it’s me.” The deep, familiar voice of our son chases away all my fear.

Strengthened by his presence, I get out of the car and we walk together to his dad’s grave. He puts his arm around my shivering shoulder and I burst into tears, sobbing long and hard. He wipes his quiet tears with the back of his hand.

We talk then, sharing memories. He tells me he remembers what he did with Dad last New Year’s Day. They helped an uncle install a silo unloader. “How was Dad on that day,” I ask, wanting very much to hear more of my son’s memories.

“He did okay. He was still strong then. We had a good time.”
Scenes from the past year flash before me—scenes of John’s battle with cancer: His muscles disappearing into the cavernous hunger of the ugly disease. His struggle to climb the stairs…then his struggle to get out of his chair and into the hospital bed. At last my memory sees this son lifting his father’s weak arms around his own strong neck, then carefully lifting him out of bed for one last sit on his favorite recliner. Yes, they had a wonderful working relationship, clear to the end. Throughout their life as father and son each seemed to sense the other’s need and help as he was able.

As the first hours of the New Year steal over the cemetery my son and I talk about his father. We also talk about the future. Life will go on. Time cannot be stopped. The last difficult year is behind us. The New Year is here. It, too, will be full of difficult adjustments to our loss. But our God will walk with us. I say a prayer for us and we walk back to the car for the short drive home.

A thought keeps quieting my heart: This was the right place for me to be on this New Year’s Eve.

~Brenda Weaver