I’m struggling with the loss of my personal identity. Now, I’m not talking about my spiritual identity. We, who are believers, are adopted children of God because of the work of Jesus on the cross. That is a given.
I’m talking about the way in which I personally identify myself. Others may identify me as their pastor, or a preacher. Some would identify me as their friend. My children would identify me as their dad.
But I’ve come to realize that for the last twenty years, my primary identity has been Carol’s husband. That is to say, because of her special needs since her stroke, she has always been at the front of my mind. Being a pastor, a counselor, or father has always taken a back seat to being Carol’s husband.
Some years ago, I went to a conference in Post Falls, Idaho. It was one of the few times I had left Carol by herself overnight, let alone for nearly a week. I was regularly calling back to see if she was okay. Sharing with one of my pastor friends, I talked about how I was constantly concerned about how Carol was doing. He acknowledged that he couldn’t identify with that. He said, “I’m always concerned about my wife too, wondering if she is out spending too much money.”
More than once, when I was out of the house, I would call and if Carol didn’t answer, I would call a neighbor or someone from church and ask them to go check on her.
When I was out playing golf, I was always concerned that maybe she had fallen. Here’s how my friend, Wayne Childers saw it: “Carol did not play golf but she liked for Ken to play because that evening he always took her out to eat. No she did not play but she was always in the cart in the form of Ken’s phone. He was always calling to check on her. It was really distracting. It was kind of mushy hearing them talk. Everyday was Valentine’s Day for Carol. I’m going to miss her on the course.”
I played golf the other day for the first time since I had Covid. It was strange, not having any concern for Carol. This is where many people, especially if you were a caregiver, struggle with guilt. It’s a false guilt for sure. But nonetheless, there can be an uncomfortable feeling about having the freedom to do things that before you felt very restricted about because of the self-imposed restraints placed on you as a caregiver.
So what am I to do with all of this free mental time as well as the actual time that was given to Carol? I must reorient my personal identity. Things that had taken a back seat can now come forward. I can give more time to my role as a pastor. I can take more time for developing personal friendships. I can focus more on my family. I can do things for me and my personal enjoyment.
I can do all of this without feeling guilty if I realize that Carol is far happier where she is without me than I am here without her. The other day I was eating at a place where Carol loved to go. My first thought was how sad it was that she could not enjoy this meal with me. Then I imagined what she would say to me. “If you think that tastes good, you ought to taste what I’m eating. This food is heavenly!”
You see, our loved ones who are now gone would want us to make a new life for ourselves. This is especially true if they died in the Lord.
