Shared Sorrow is Half a Sorrow

There’s an old Swedish Proverb: “Shared joy is doubled joy. Shared sorrow is half a sorrow.”

Guys, I need your help. I’m hurting and I could really use some help trying to reduce this sorrow.  It involves two fly fishing buddies. Actually it involves their families—for whom I have such deep sorrow.

One of the men, Terry, who was a FATC member, was diagnosed a few months ago with a rare form of Lymphoma. He’s been courageously battling the cancer with Chemo and radiation treatments. For a while the doctors thought they may have beat it, but Terry remained weak. He had a difficult time eating. He continued to wither away. You really don’t need all the details. They’re kind of irrelevant now.

I’ve visited Terry, but not as much as I would have liked. It was often not allowed or ill-advised. Yesterday, I received a text from Terry’s wife of roughly 60 years that Terry was going into Hospice. The cancer had spread to his central nerves system. She said she “was trying to focus on being blessed with so many incredible years together.”

I mourn deeply for their approaching loss. Even as I write these words, they just don’t seem adequate.

Earlier this week, I found that another close friend, Bruce was put in a dementia care facility. His dementia had become so severe that his wife could no longer properly care for him at home.

What a tough decision this had to be for her and the family. How sad to live with someone you had been married to for roughly 50 years and have them not always know who you are or to no longer treat you with respect and kindness because of an ailment that is in no way their fault.

Writing this isn’t easy, but I hope it will help me get out of this funk—this one-two punch. It’s like a jab to the head followed by a hard hook to the gut.

As I lament, I’m reminded of the special bond I have with these guys. Roughly 15 years ago, I spent time weekly for two years with these guys equipping ourselves to share our faith with others. We met at 6:30am every Thursday over coffee at Mike Duffy’s Pub. We were on a mission together—The Great Commission. We had all decided to take Jesus’ command to “go and make disciples” seriously (Matthew 28:18-20).

We all had grown up in different areas of town with different backgrounds. However, we had families and we had the added bond of loving to fly fish. I admit we spent a good amount of time talking fishing and joking as guys do—but we also spent a lot of time in God’s Word and a lot of time sharing the joys and heartaches of our families. We grew both closer to God and closer to each other in the process. And I truly believe, with God’s help, we were better fathers and husbands and friends and Christ followers because of that discipleship journey.

I wouldn’t trade anything for that time together. By the way, we all three went on to take other men through discipleship journeys. We all found adventure and significance in the process. Like a band of brothers, we would share the good, the bad and the ugly of the process oftentimes as we would drive together to and from Montauk or Westover Farms.

I know where Terry and Bruce will spend eternity. I know I’ll meet them there someday. They’ll probably be waiting for me with fly rods in hand, reading to share some of their favorite spots.

I’m really happy for them, but at the same time, I’m sad for the hole they will leave in their families lives—until they can all be reunited someday in heaven.

Thanks for letting me share. Writing this has helped me get some perspective.