Life After Death:
Coping with the Loss of My Wife
Life After Death:
Coping with the Loss of My Wife
A Bible teacher shares his personal experience on how he deals with pain, grief, and the reality of his own death.
A Bible teacher shares his personal experience on how he deals with pain, grief, and the reality of his own death.
Sim Kay Tee
It has been some 8 years since my wife of 29 years lost her battle against cancer and returned to our Father’s house.
In this time, I have been reminded constantly that Jesus is the resurrection and the life (John 11:25), and that she is very much alive in our Lord’s presence. I have also been told many times—too many times, perhaps—that I am not to “grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13).
But knowing and understanding the truth about death and eternal life does not always remove the sting of death. There has not been a day where I don’t think of Lay Keng. She is the first person I think about in the morning, and my last thoughts for the day are of her.
In these past 8 years, I have been asked many questions, and I have asked them myself. Of these questions, three have persisted:
Life goes on. It has to. But will it ever be the same again? What is “normal” for one who grieves the absence of a loved one?
I have moved on. I now live in a new normal—a life without my beloved. Yet she is in my thoughts every day and every moment. She is gone, but she has never left me.
In my eulogy eight years ago, I referred to the brief mention of Tabitha (or Dorcas in Greek) in Acts 9:36–42. Not much is said about her, apart from the fact that her story was a sad one. But the simple description in verses 36 and 37 says a lot: “She was always doing good and helping the poor. About that time she became sick and died.”
Tabitha was a devout follower of Jesus. But, sadly, sometimes the good die too soon. It seems so tragic—wasteful, even—that a useful, beloved, kind, and untiring worker like her should fall sick and leave this life so quickly. The stark reality is that death can come unexpectedly, even in the midst of a fruitful ministry.
Tabitha’s story is my wife’s story. But there is a difference. While Tabitha was given an extended life temporarily when she was raised from the dead, my wife was gifted with eternal life permanently when she was raised up into glory.
For three years, she fought late-stage cancer bravely. After two major surgeries and many rounds of chemotherapy, she finally succumbed to the dreadful disease. But while she may have had cancer, cancer did not have her. The Lord has her!
Lay Keng’s favourite verse was 2 Timothy 4:7–8, a declaration she took as her purpose in life. It dictated how she wanted to live her life, and how she wanted to be remembered:
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful. And now the prize awaits me—the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on the day of his return. And the prize is not just for me but for all who eagerly look forward to his appearing” (NLT).
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful. And now the prize awaits me—the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on the day of his return. And the prize is not just for me but for all who eagerly look forward to his appearing” (NLT).
My wife lived her life to fulfil a simple slogan, a slogan that she now rightfully owns:
“Faithful to the end”.
“Faithful to the end”.
What has given me strength to keep going over these past 8 years is the comforting assurance that God is not unaware of my grief. David gave us a vivid picture of God’s tender mercies and grace when he wrote in
Surely, God knows all of our sorrow, pain, and grief. He sees every tear that streams down our faces. And so we can echo in confident trust, “By this I will know that God is for me” (v. 9).
Sickness and death are harsh realities we live with. They happen to people we know, to people we love. They happen to us. Sadly, for some the sickness turns terminal all too quickly. But the inevitable reality is that everyone will die eventually.
Life begins with a loud wail as we leave our mother’s womb to come into this world. We spend the rest of our lives in the shadow of death, inching our way to a tearful goodbye. Dying and death are life’s non-negotiables. It is not a question of if, but when.
How, then, can we live between these time posts—between the dates in our birth certificate and death certificate?
A Cherokee Indian proverb says:
“When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life in such a way so that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice.”
“When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life in such a way so that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice.”
This is how I want to live my life. In my musings about the transience of my life, I have often asked myself these questions: “When I die and pass on from this life, will people here cry because they truly miss me? Or will people rejoice because I am finally gone?”
Like my wife, I want to be able to say:
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful.”
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful.”
Sim Kay Tee is a Bible teacher, writer, and theological reviewer at Our Daily Bread Ministries. He writes for the Journey Through Series and is a regular contributor to the insights for Our Daily Bread. He is also the author of When Jesus Says I Am and Footprints on Calvary Road. While based in Singapore, Kay Tee has taught the Bible in various countries. He has three daughters and one granddaughter.
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