All my life as I’ve read the 23^rd Psalm, I’ve assumed verse four (Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me…) is referring to people who are dying or are in life-threatening situations. However, after our experiences over the past six months, it has occurred to me that the people surrounding those who are dying or have died are also walking through the valley of the shadow of death.

It’s been three months since Robb passed away so we are still in the early days of our grief and loss journey. Some days seem relatively normal, and I almost forget that I’m walking in the shadow of death. Other days, for some reason or no reason, I feel its effects—I’m weepy, tears ever near the surface. I’m told this is normal.

Recently I’ve been going through old diaries for a writing project and finding that some of the entries are bittersweet and make me very aware of the shadow I’m walking through. For example on May 11, 2020, I wrote, Robb wants me to make his birthday cake. I had given the recipe to Leslie. (We have a recipe from Donn’s side of the family that I’ve baked for family birthday cakes for years. This cake was one of Robb’s favorite things in the world—one of the things he longed for after he was unable to eat.)

 Robb often went to Mexico for his birthday so I didn’t bake him a cake every year, but in 2020, at home because of Covid 19, he wanted a birthday cake. His wife, Leslie, had asked for the recipe, and I was happy to give it to her.

However, for whatever reason, a few days before his birthday, Robb decided he wanted me to bake his cake. Leslie, one of the least possessive, jealous people I know, didn’t seem upset by his choice, so I agreed. On May 14, I wrote in my diary, “I made Robb’s birthday cake–without a stove! Zack (Robb’s son who rented a house behind ours) let me use his oven.” I don’t remember what was wrong with our stove, but I remember sitting with Robb’s three-year-old daughter, Sarah, in Zack’s yard, waiting for the timer to tell us the cake was done.

As I stared at the diary page, the realization that I would never bake Robb another birthday cake washed over me. The shadow dimmed the room as tears blurred my vision. I wept off and on throughout the day. But eventually gratitude came that I’d baked Robb one last cake for his birthday in 2020 when he still had the ability to eat. How easy it would have been to say no—because of the oven–and what regrets that memory would have brought.

On my birthday (June 5) in 2019 I wrote, Donn ordered pizza and an ice cream cake for Robb, Connor, Sarah, (Leslie was working) and us. They came at 4:00 because we had worship team practice. We had a good time.  And in 2020, A good birthday… Robb, Connor and Sarah came around noon (Leslie was working), and we went to the playground, then on to get take out at Wendy’s.

This year on Robb’s birthday, he was in Cleveland Clinic, unable to eat or drink. On my birthday, although we were at Robb’s house for awhile, the shadows were lengthening and our time wasn’t joyful. How thankful I am that I had recorded baking his cake for his birthday in 2020 and happy times with him for my last two birthdays.

I don’t believe it’s an accident that I’m working on a project just now that prompted me to read my old diaries. I believe God is using it as part of my grieving process. How grateful I am for His presence. As I walk through this journey, I’ve been asking Him what He’s teaching us and how we can use it to help others. I’ll share more about this next month as we continue our journey through the valley of the shadow.

Thank you, Father, for your promise that even while walking in the valley of the shadow of death, we need far no evil because you are with us. Amen