Pain, Suffering May Help Us Let Loved Ones Go

Published March 1, 1990. All of us learn a great deal about marriage from our own parents as we grow up. Our parental model for marriage is the way most of us begin our own marital relationship until we learn other ways of interacting. I learned much about married life from my own parents, Alvin and Ruth Barlow, as I grew up in Centerfield, Utah (population 600), a suburb of Gunnison in Sanpete County.

One of the greatest lessons I learned from them about marriage, however, came later in life – while my mother was dying.

The memories of my mother, Ruth Barlow, are varied and pleasant. Yes, there were the normal conflicts that mothers and sons experience as life progresses. I remember my mother mostly as a hard worker, an excellent elementary school teacher, an immaculate housekeeper, a devoted wife, a deeply religious woman, and a conscientious mother. As I recall, she tended to be fair but firm with all.

Mother enjoyed good health most of her life until her early 60s. At age 62 she was diagnosed with cancer, and it took three painful years for her to die. The death of a parent is difficult enough, but it was the pain and suffering that mother had to experience for many months that made her eventual death even more difficult to experience.

Individually, and as a family, we all asked the obvious question, “Why?” Why did mother have to endure such pain prior to her death? Others who had had similar experiences have likely asked the same question. Why do loved ones – infants, children and adults – have to endure prolonged pain before dying?

We wrestled with that question for many months as the cancer progressed. There was chemotherapy followed by a series of drugs and finally morphine. The pain was so intense toward the end of her life that even morphine seemed to do little good. The last few weeks mother tossed and turned in her bed. The pain would not allow her to sleep more than a few minutes at a time.

We continued to ask, “Why? Why the pain and the suffering?”

When Mom finally died, on Dec. 7, 1976, Susan and I were living in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Susan had given birth to our fifth child Jason just a few days before mother died. So Doug, our 9-year-old, flew to Salt Lake with me for the funeral.

During the funeral, I sat with my arm around Dad, and Doug sat with his little arm around me. Three generations of Barlows, fathers and sons, trying to console one another at the time of bereavement.

A few days after the funeral, Dad drove Doug and me to the airport for our flight back to Wisconsin. While we were waiting for the plane to depart, Dad started thinking and talking. “Perhaps Ruth’s pain and suffering were for me,” he reflected. I asked what he meant.

“When she first became ill,” Dad went on, “I wanted more than anything for her to live and get well. I prayed constantly that would happen. But then as the pain and suffering continued . . . and worsened . . . I finally got to the point where I didn’t want her to suffer any longer.”

He paused with moistened eyes and observed, “When a loved one suffers . . . perhaps their pain helps us let go.”

Our flight was announced, and Doug, Dad, and I stood up and walked to the gate. We embraced and then Doug and I boarded the plane.