Author: God is in the Outcome

What Matters Most in Marriage

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June 5th, 2023

Mine and Scott’s marriage was short by comparison to some. Yet in the relatively short time we have known, dated, been engaged, and then married to each other, we had far more than some relationships or marriages have in many, many more years. More love, more understanding, more trust, more consideration for each other, more happiness.

Several people have messaged me or spoken to me and told me they’ve never felt love like that. Some have been married. Some never have. Some still are.

All I can tell you about how we had what we had entails very few sticking points. I’ll try.

1.) Things were not always perfect even though, overall, our relationship was perfect for us. We had disagreements. We got frustrated. We had tons of external pressures (blending families will do that). We had people fighting against our happiness (blending families sometimes does that, too, although I’m thankful we always had great support from the people who counted.) We suffered through emotional losses together. We had financial challenges. We had health challenges. Things weren’t “perfect,” but we were.

We made an agreement early on in our relationship that there was NO giving up. We agreed never to quit. When we married, we didn’t just say vows at a ceremony, we made a covenant with God and each other and we both took it very seriously. This takes NOT a 50/50 relationship. This takes the kind where each person gives 100% to each other. And while there were times when I was ornery and didn’t give 100, and times when he was stubborn and didn’t give 100, we always, always met in the middle. We chose each other, every day.

2.) We had complete trust. He never, ever let me doubt that he would never even entertain the idea of being with someone else, or talk inappropriately to anyone else. He also knew with absolute certainty that I would not. We both knew that if we gave our all to each other, we didn’t need anyone else. But it still had to be 100/100. I’ve told you that he bragged on the fact that I was the love of his life to everyone he met. He showed pictures of me, videos, talked about our adventures, was giddy when I was going to be coming to see him or when he was on his way home to me. That gave me a complete trust and comfort in his absolute loyalty. People who know me will tell you I loved being by his side and was smitten with him even still. He was my missing piece and I was his. But that’s because we both committed to never looking for other puzzles to fit into.

3.) Communication. Scott and I had different love languages. We showed and received love in different ways. That was a challenge to navigate in the beginning. What I did to show love didn’t necessarily come across as love to him. The same was true in reverse. This meant that I had to learn how to show love in a way he understood BUT also meant he had to learn to accept love sometimes in the way I would naturally give it. This was not a one-way street. Many discussions took place to find ways to meet in the middle on this. Many. Neither of us started off as great communicators but we grew into great ones together, with each other. We learned to love each other in the ways we each needed. This made us each feel like the very most important person in the other’s life. Adored, treasured, loved immensely.

4.) A cord of three strands. God was in the center of our relationship. We kept Him there. We prayed over our kids, over our finances, over our marriage, over each other’s difficulties, over sickness. And because God was in it, we were each convicted any time one of us was letting our human nature take over our emotions. If I was being ugly because I was tired or frustrated or sad over something, God let me know it straight up. And we apologized after things like that, with humility and remorse. Then we both forgave situations like that, without question, with understanding, and still, with great love. For love covers a multitude of sins.

I’m sure there are more “things” that go into it but mostly what I’m trying to say is that if two people make a decision to grow together, it is possible to have the “perfect relationship” together, while keeping these things in mind and committing to them. It cannot be one-sided; both must take part and live in agreement to the principles herein.

Don’t give up seeking a love like this. Seek for it in your own marriage if you are married. Work for it! If you’re not married, don’t settle for less just to be with 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 because you CAN have more and could be with THE ONE instead. ♥️ The difference isn’t magic; the difference is work, commitment, determination, and letting Jesus be in the middle of it all. ♥️

And all of this is why I miss him so, so very much. 💔

𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕖 and Worship in Loss

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June 4th, 2023

It’s Sunday. My plan was to go to church but I had nightmares all night; I remember two of the dreams, specifically, in which other people I care about died as I watched. I’m mentally and emotionally drained and fatigued as I wake. I’ve decided to watch the service of my church online this morning.

The fellowship of corporate worship (going to church) is important. We need to surround ourselves with other believers to be reminded that we are not alone in this life and in our beliefs. When our faith feels weary and dim, those who have surrounded us in worship will pray for us and lift us up in loss. They help carry us until we can resume.

I don’t only “go to church” on Sundays. That is the day of corporate worship in our faith but, because I am a part of the Body of Christ (a body of worshippers which includes even many who attend different churches but are part of the same Body), I am wrapped in their care even when I am unable to be at a church service. Sometimes my “church service”, my worship, my prayer, is held alone in my bedroom or on a walk outside. In grief, sometimes I relish being surrounded by others and sometimes I need to be alone. So it is with spending time with God.

Rest is important, too. Without rest, it is easier to fall deeper into the blackened pit of despair. When my body, even my mind, needs rest, I try to heed that call, as well. Today I will worship from home and spend some time alone.

Today, I will focus on gratitude.

My soul is weary. It’s a weariness I cannot even describe so, for today, I will not even try. Suffice it to say that I feel “like I have nothing left”. I don’t mean that in the physical sense. I have beautiful, wonderful children and a granddaughter who just may have hung the moon. I have other loving family members and I have compassionate friends. What I mean is that it feels as if I have nothing left of myself to give. Right now, they are all giving to me (which, as a mother, causes guilt but I digress.) I feel as though I am an empty vessel with nothing left to pour out.

As I was pondering this feeling of emptiness this morning, how I have nothing left to give even if I did get up and get ready for church, God poured out some wisdom over me. I never have anything fit for a King. I am just Jennifer. I am a sinner, over and over again. What do I have that would even be worth giving to the One who so lovingly created me, who knit me together in my mother’s womb?

And so, quite instantly, two “Who Am I?” songs began to play in my mind.

The first to play was this one:

“Who am I, that the Lord of all the earth
Would care to know my name, would care to feel my hurt?
Who am I, that the Bright and Morning Star
Would choose to light the way for my ever wandering heart?
Not because of who I am, but because of what You’ve done
Not because of what I’ve done, but because of who You are” (Who Am I? – Casting Crowns)

And the second song that quickly followed was this oldie-but-goodie:

“Over time You’ve healed so much in me,
And I am living proof.
That although my darkest hour had come,
Your light could still shine through.
Though at times it’s just enought to cast,
A shadow on the wall.
I am grateful that you’ve shined your light on me at all.

Who Am I,
That you would love me so gently?
Who Am I,
That you would recognize my name?
Who Am I,
That you would speak to me so softly?
Conversation with the Lord most high.
Who Am I?” (Who Am I? – Point of Grace)

And so, you see, these are both songs of gratitude because I have nothing else worthy of giving to the Lord Most High. Just gratitude. And that doesn’t have to mean I am thankful for these tragedies that have beset our lives at this time. I am not thankful today that Scott and Judah are gone from our presence while we desperately miss them. It means I am grateful for all that I have left. I am grateful that I am not Job. I am grateful because God loves me even in my darkest hour. Today, all that I have is a hallelujah.

“I’ve got one response.
I’ve got just one move.
With my arm stretched wide,
I will worship You.

So I throw up my hands
And praise You again and again
‘Cause all that I have is a hallelujah.
Hallelujah.
And I know it’s not much
But I’ve nothing else fit for a King
Except for a heart singing hallelujah.
Hallelujah.”

My mind, my soul needs rest. So I will still stay home today and God is okay with that. He just still wants to hear me worship from here. And so I will.

God, Make Me a Warrior

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June 2nd, 2023

I just received a letter from the Florida Board of Nursing about Scott.

It says they learned from the Office of Vital Statistics that Scott is deceased and so they have nullified his nursing license and moved his address of record from their database.

I want to scream “HOW DARE YOU??? He still lives here!!! And you can’t take his license!!! It is HIS; he worked hard for it AND he worked hard because of it and 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵!!!”

I’m angry. And I know that it doesn’t make ANY sense to be angry about that. No, he doesn’t actually live here anymore, even though every glance about this house 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 his memory at every moment. And no, he’ll never work as a nurse again but he lived and 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥 taking care of other people when he was here so why would you want to strip his memory of that???

And so, again, I break. This fragile house of cards that I keep building over and over again just gets blown over in one…𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩.

These are the moments I have to remind myself that God is here, in even these details. See, this isn’t all flowers and rainbows and Heavenly clouds. I’m here almost every day telling you that you have to lean on God in all of these circumstances in my writing. And that’s still true. But I’m not going to tell you that it always “comes naturally” or is easy or is second nature at all times. I have to remind myself why I know where my help comes from. I have to purposely remember times where He has absolutely been there before and how I know it was Him. This whole thing is 𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙛𝙖𝙧𝙚, all of it! Satan tries, at every turn, to scream in my ear “Where is God now? Why bother worshipping Him if you can’t even feel Him here when you need Him the most?”

Oh, but God didn’t build me into a warrior for nothing. I’ve 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 for this. I never, ever wanted to fight in this kind of battle but I’m here for it. And when I feel angry or devastated or alone, I can remind myself of who I am and whose I am. I AM THE DAUGHTER OF A KING and our victories (mine AND Scott’s) have already been won, no matter what stupid obstacles get thrown in my way.

And maybe you can tell, from this writing, what happens when I make a conscious decision whose side I’m taking in this. My power comes back. It courses through me now as strongly as the anger did before. I am still sad and angry that this happened; that’s not going to change. But I can manage the effects of it better when He covers me.

So if you are feeling helpless, alone, overwrought, like this never-ending cycle is too exhausting and too much to bear, turn. Turn around and agree with His promises that He would never leave you or forsake you. You will 𝘯𝘰𝘵 suddenly feel overjoyed. The tragedy will not reverse itself. But you will feel an ability to keep going and fight back against the oppression of despair. He’s got you. Fight to get back to Him when you get pulled away. Even if your fight comes in a whisper or a scream.

All of the Things…

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June 2nd, 2023

Finances are a big thing for anyone. They’re definitely a big thing in marriage.

When Scott and I were dating, engaged, and then married, we had both been married before. We both had children from previous marriages. We both had financial habits and had suffered financial damage from those marriages/divorces. We each had our own way of doing things as a result of those past marriages. We both were a little gun shy about letting someone else have any control over our financial situations.

I’ve said before that I was fiercely independent. I’d been raising three boys on my own for quite awhile and had found a sort of balance. I had often worked a lot of overtime to make ends meet but I had found a way to make that work. I didn’t want to rock the boat.

Scott had worked a lot of overtime just to stay afloat during his previous marriage due to overspending habits he had little control over. He was more recently divorced and he wanted to maintain his newfound control over money and he didn’t ever want to be in his previous financial condition again.

We overcame that together. Trust was a huge part of it and yet we still had hiccups trying to figure it out along the way. We both made mistakes and we solved them together. Ultimately, because of that trust, I gave over my control to him. Mind you, I still had the ability to use money anytime I wanted to but we talked about things, agreed on how to manage situations, and managed to figure it out together without causing friction.

I confess that Scott spoiled me, a lot. If he knew I wanted something, he just wanted me to have it eventually. His last large gift to me was at Christmas last year. We had a new grandbaby on the way, our first. He knew I love taking pictures and how much I love going through photos of the boys when they were little. He’d comment on what good photos they were. So when Lillian was nearing arrival, he bought me an expensive camera and many setup items to be able to take quality photos of her. (He was every bit as excited about her getting here as I was, so much so that he stood behind the curtain in Patrice’s delivery room and audio recorded Lillian’s first cry and the ensuing elation.)

So allowing him to manage most of our bill payments, frivolous spending money, and big purchases (still with my input on bigger purchases) became easier and I was comfortable letting him “take over.”

But here we are today…

Today he is no longer here to manage things. It’s not that I can’t start doing it again. I just don’t want to. I want him to be here; having to manage the bills and money again is just another reminder that he is not. There is a kind of defiance in me that wants to say “This isn’t what I wanted so I’m just not going to do the things I don’t want to do.” Not a very effective strategy for the future.

There are also issues related to income, obviously. When I say Scott retired me two years ago, I mean that I fought him on it before we got there but relented after awhile, so that’s why I say “he retired me.” He knew the mental trauma of being an empath and a nurse had taken its toll on me in my nearly thirty year career and he hated what it was doing to me. I was miserable. I still had, however, the idea that I needed to provide, too, because I had been a sole provider for so long prior to meeting him. Even though Scott went into the military straight out of high school and went to war soon thereafter, he would say “I haven’t even been a nurse for twenty years and you have been for almost thirty. It just makes sense for you to retire awhile before I do. Plus you can visit me a lot more on assignment and I miss you!” Even though he had worked just as many years as I. A compelling argument, though; I’d get to spend more time with my person. Thus I “gave in” and retired from my nursing career. And I loved it.

Yes, I struggled with “purpose” but then Lillian was on her way and I was going to be a stay-at-home Lolly (my “grandma name.”) while my son worked and finished college and my daughter-in-love started nursing school. So getting used to it wasn’t as hard as I had imagined. My life had somehow become perfect. The best husband ever, best kids ever, best new daughters ever, and the perfect new granddaughter.

It’s a tragic and devastating fall from perfect to now. I still have so many of the perfect pieces but the one that is missing means you can’t ever have the satisfaction of completing the entire puzzle.

Now, suddenly, the debt-to-income ratio feels suffocating and that makes me want to deal with it even less, despite the fact that, in the middle of grief, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰.

When your mind is at its most defenseless and distracted place, it is necessary to find a way to complete tasks that not only break your heart all over again (telling what feels like a gazillion people that my husband has passed away and hearing just as many “I’m sorry for your loss” comments) and that are important but feel impossible.

Asking for forebearances while you figure things out. Seeking ways to be creative with expenses. Cancelling unnecessary expenditures like TV streaming services, lawn maintenance service, the highest speed internet plan. Googling what probate even 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 when you really just knew that it was something that happens when someone dies before. Talking to attorneys. It all just adds up to a LOT to think about when you can’t concentrate enough to string sentences together in conversation at times.

This is not a plea for any kind of sympathy. Remember, this is part of the grief journey I’m sharing and it won’t hurt my feelings if you skip this “chapter” of it. It’s a part of my new reality. It’s just another one of the things that I hate about this “new normal” everyone keeps talking about.

“You’ve just got to find your new normal.”
“What if I liked my old normal? Can I return this one without the receipt? Do you allow exchanges?” But this wasn’t buyers remorse. I never agreed to this…it wasn’t my idea…let me speak to the manager…

So now, with a brain full of mush, I’m trying to think straight enough to do all of the things.

And I’m still going to remember that God is in the smallest details. He has a way of giving me guidance on how to proceed even when I least want to proceed and don’t even know how.

I’ve always said that I’m not good at subtlety and God is a master of it sometimes. I’m the girl who wants the neon signs (like the day I met Scott for the first time.) But I’ve also always said that I k͛n͛o͛w͛ God is speaking to me when the voice in my head says something that I would never suggest myself. Today He is saying “You can do this.” And that’s not something I would say right now at all.

Shalom. God’s Peace.

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June 1st, 2023

I constantly wonder how I’m managing this. Don’t get me wrong; I cry, get overwhelmed, lose it sometimes, and feel lonely in a crowded place. I miss him terribly. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will see him again. This is just one way-too-long travel assignment with no cell phone reception. But I’m going to miss him as long as I’m here. And loving him was 100% worth the pain of today and the rest of them.

But I do have peace. Not peace as the world gives, but Shalom, the peace of God, which transcends all human understanding, guards my heart and my mind in Jesus. Somehow, in a way that I can’t really even comprehend, I have peace even in my sadness. Did you know you can be very, very sad and still have peace?

I get very angry sometimes about some circumstances, but I still feel at peace over the anticipated outcome of that. I am grief-ridden, but I still have peace over the fact that God is carrying me in this storm and won’t ever leave me or forsake me. I worry through finances and what is going to happen in that regard, but I still actually have peace over it because, as I wait for answers and processes and paperwork, I know that God is in the waiting and that He has promised He will work all things together for my good because I love Him. That doesn’t mean it will be the “perfect” scenario (it can’t be because Scott can’t come back) but it will be one in which He’ll keep walking with me, keep giving me peace, keep making it work out in a way I can handle (with Him) until the day He calls me home to be with them, too.

Someone curious and well-meaning asked me, “do you think it’s just that your brain thinks he’s on a contract somewhere and that you’ll suddenly realize it’s real and really grieve then?” I thought about that for awhile because I sure hoped it wouldn’t get worse than this.

I’m really grieving now. I truly am. And it doesn’t matter to me what that looks like to other people. Grieving looks different from minute to minute. I may fall apart in front of you and start sobbing, having to walk away. I may have a full conversation with you and then have someone remind me later that you came to see me. (Yes, that has happened on more than one occasion.) I may look like poop in Walmart or I may have tried to put on makeup and brush my hair. Grief never looks the same even in one person, much less in different people. We all do it differently.

And I know that my brain doesn’t think he’s just off on contract again because literally almost 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 reminds me of him. His toothbrush is still by the sink. His slippers are still in my living room, where he left them. His cologne is on a pillow in the bedroom. Evidence of his various hobbies are all throughout the house. His truck is parked in my driveway. It’s on and on and on. And when I’m not home, every place I go has a memory of him there. My sister mentioned queso to my nephew yesterday; the last time I had queso was when Scott and I went to have Mexican food in Tallahassee about a week before he died. I went for a walk with my daughter-in-love and granddaughter today. I realized a few minutes in that I was constantly responding in conversation with “Scott would have said this…Scott used to…Scott would love that!” 𝘏𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦. And every reminder is one that he is not just away from home, he is gone from this Earth.

So why do I have peace that lies under this cloud of grief. Peace is synonymous with tranquility or stillness in the dictionary. It doesn’t mean I’m “happy”. It doesn’t mean I’m without concerns, emotions, or grief. But it means there is a kind of tranquility, a calmness in my spirit that is only there because of the presence of Jehovah Shalom. “I am with you always; even to the end of the age.” Matt 28:20 Shalom.

Desperately Wanting What I Cannot Have

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***Grief Trigger Warning***

Guys, this post has some pretty graphic imagery about how this season is making me feel at times. You know how sometimes you’re in the mood for a happy movie because you’re not in the mood for something sad? If today is that day, please don’t read this post right now.

If you ARE sad already and you’re trying to figure out if it’s “normal” to feel this bad, this lost, this overwhelmed, this some-kind-of-word-that-“sad”-doesn’t-do-justice, read if you’re looking for confirmation that this season messes us all up for awhile. I’ve talked to other survivors a lot lately. It’s going to get better (reminding myself AND you.) Don’t give up trying to go through it instead of sitting in it (at least not forever.)

Oh, and this one will not be in order because, even as I am trying to upload my older posts in order of their occurrence, this one I feel the need to throw out there today. I don’t know why…I just need to. So maybe I’ll post this one again when I get to the right chronological place. Okay, here goes:

July 21st, 2023

The cemetery is hard.

People tend to think you should go there a lot, “spend time” with him, maybe that will make you feel closer to him.

It doesn’t.

If anything, it does the opposite.

When I am sitting propped up on pillows in my bed at night, I can close my eyes and listen for his breathing, wait to feel the covers rustle on his side of the bed, catch a smell that reminds me of date nights because I sprayed his cologne on a little throw pillow.  It’s an elusive feeling, almost ethereal – like you can almost see him there or, if you close your eyes, turn away and turn back, maybe it never happened at all.  Sometimes, I fall asleep now trying to listen, wait, smell….  

The cemetery, though…

Everything around me screams that he is gone.  All the way gone.  No mulligan.  No do-overs.  No rewind button.  No, no, no…

I know that he is not there.  Not his spirit.  I hope today, when I was there at his grave, that he was deep-sea fishing in beautiful turquoise waters, with a sailfish (the bucket list fish he never caught here) on the end of his line in the great ocean in the sky.  I feel sure Heaven has oceans, somehow.  Since there must be beaches or us Florida people might be slightly disappointed. (I kid, I kid…)

No, I know he is not there…but I do know that his body is.  I saw him in that wretched casket that they want you to think of as having a “beautiful finish” when you’re looking for one to lay them in…so you can put them in the ground inside of it.  (Mind you, I know that these people are doing a very difficult job in the very best and kindest way that they know how.  The people I dealt with were full of compassion.  But nothing in the world would have made me think that any casket that would be “laying him to rest” was beautiful, in any way.  I think they would all understand me saying that.)  I know this is a lot of imagery.  Sorry, not sorry.  It’s stuck in my head every single day and you’re reading to find out where my head is these days or because you’re looking for answers as to whether what you see, hear, feel, smell during grief is “normal.”  Well, here it is.

As I kneel on the ground beside the place where a few random weed-looking leafy things have begun to sprout up over the dirt that still sits, too recently disrupted to contain grass (note to self:  bring grass seed and watering can next time), I know his body is approximately (if folklore is correct) six feet beneath me.  He was six feet even.  If they’d stood him up in there, he could reach me. 

The body, his body, that I used to wrap my arms around and he’d kiss my forehead then rest his chin on my head as his arms, so much physically stronger than my own, wrapped me up in a safety that made me feel as good as the forehead kiss.  The body, his body, his chest that I would lay my head on at night and his chest hair would tickle my face but I didn’t want to sit back up.  The body, his body, that was the keeper of his voice as he would tell me how much he loved me, that I was the only woman in the world to him, that I was beautiful, that I was smart, that I was talented…and all the things that I felt that day that I was not.  He always gave me back things I thought I had lost.  He also gave me things I had never even thought to have.  Some memories that I will hold like glittering treasure within me.

I don’t have to “sit there and think about” his body being beneath me in the dirt, lest you’re saying, “Try not to think about that part; think about those memories.”  As my tires crunch against the gravel when I pull into the gates by the road, these thoughts, the unbidden and unwanted ones, are already coiling around me, squeezing the breath from my lungs.  I was here in May and there was a flag laying over him…it’s in my house now.  So, as I actively try to think about good things.  About where he really is right now, about his smell, his sound, his touch, his face, his eyes….I’m trying…I’m trying…I’m trying…nope.  There’s the dirt again.  Still there when I open my eyes.

Today I had AirPods and my iPhone.  There is zero cell service where he is but I have all of the important songs downloaded so I can listen offline.  I played music and, although it made me cry, with harsh sobs that hurt my throat and squeezed my chest and weakened my knees until, there I was, down on the ground with them in the dirt beside him.  I stay there so long that my legs begin to have pins & needles from kneeling so I pull them around front and cross-cross them, always ready to leave but never ready to leave.  So more music.  More memories.  More crying. But maybe distracted from the dirt a little bit.  I look up to the sky, knowing God sees my tears and counts them, saves them.  I feel a tear slip off of my chin and watch it drop to the mound of dirt below me.  It makes me think of the movie Tangled.  It reminds me of when Flynn Rider died in the end and, as she cried, Rapunzel’s tear dripped onto his chest which began to glow as he returned to life.  I randomly think that if his chest started glowing, I couldn’t see it from up here and I wouldn’t even know…at the same time that I remember that cartoon movie are cool but the caricatures can do things we never can.  Not ever, ever.

The sobs have stopped.  The dirt is still there.  But, I feel, somehow, maybe a strangely odd bit better.  Like all of those tears, all of those rib-racking sobs, had been hidden away in a pressurized compartment which was becoming too full, the compression becoming too much for the steely outsides.  Now that they’ve been released there is room to store them up again for awhile, I guess.  I lean back with my hands on the ground behind me and haphazardly wonder whether anyone was in the cemetery witnessing my display.  When I walked from the car, I could only see one grave…now there are others all around.  I glance furtively around, not because I care if anyone saw my ugly crying, but because there may be someone else who needed their moment of depressurization.  No one.  But still, it’s time to go.

I had felt dread coming here.  I know what it means to be here.  I know how it feels to be here.  I know he’s here but he’s not here.  But now it feels as if I don’t want to leave because I’ll be leaving him again.  (Yes, I still know he is not actually here; I cannot control the inert thought pattern.  As I said, they do their own thing, coming and going as they wish and I do not own the key to the lock that would keep them out.)  When we left my sister’s house after my nephew passed away so that we could drive to a place to stay for the night while the police finished their necessary plundering, she began to cry and said “I can’t leave him here alone.”  All I could say was, “Julie, he won’t be alone. They’re going to take care of him.”  Because he wasn’t fully gone in her mind yet, and being taken care of was important. 

This makes me wonder when I will really, fully believe that he is gone.  Gone, gone.  The for real, this is it, never going to change, like it or not, imaginary breathing beside you in bed is GONE, gone.

There are times when I fall apart because I think I’ve just realized it, that this is all really real.  And then my brain throws out flares and pulls the rip cord that inflates the rescue raft and there’s some kind of chance, theoretically, that this is all just an awful dream.  *pinch*pinch*sighhhh*

Driving across the crunchy, loose gravel is just as hard going out as it was coming in.  It’s for a completely different reason but I can’t describe it.  I’ve not said one word to him while I was here.  Because he’s not here even though he’s here.  And if I want to talk to him, I’ll do it in our bedroom at home because it feels more likely that, if there were holes in the floor of Heaven, that would be the place he’d most likely hear me from.  I hope he only ever hears the “I love you”s and “I miss you so much”s, not the sobs.  I would never want him to be as sad as I am, not ever.  I guess now he never, ever has to be.

I love you, baby.  I miss you so, so much.  One way or another, we’ve got this, K?  See you later.

Postscript Edit: the photo from this post is not from today; that wouldn’t have been possible today.

The Only Woman in the World

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May 24th, 2023

Husbands: True love is not about giving your wife the world. True love is about making your wife know that she is the one and only woman in your world. – Isaac Kubvoruno

Scott and I followed Isaac Kubvoruno on Facebook. He’s basically a Christian relationship guru and when I tell you that Scott took these posts to heart, I truly mean it. Honestly, from the day I met him, he already was this man, the one described in the quote. the one who knew exactly how to make me feel like I was the only one, before during and after, and that no one else had ever been created just for him. But he read these posts and wanted to be more like them. He wanted to be the perfect husband. I told him all the time that he was but he still wanted to be more. There are no perfect people (only one ever lived) but he was 100% perfect for me and no one else. And that is how I will always remember him simply because it was true. I just wish we had been able to have more time to enjoy it. ♥️💔

Distraction

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June 1st, 2023

𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣…

I’ve forgotten to take my medicine for several days.

Scott would have gotten aggravated with me. He’d say “I don’t understand; it’s right beside your toothbrush. How do you forget all the time?” And I’d say “I was brushing my teeth and I was thinking about taking it after…but then I got distracted.” Story of my life…. I couldn’t forget for long. If he was home, he’d check my pill box with the days on it and remind me. When he was away from home, he’d call or text me from wherever he was most days.

He only got irritated by it because he wanted me healthy, he wanted me safe, he wanted me here. That’s what I wanted for him, too. And he was excellent at taking his meds on time, every single day. What an odd, diametrically opposed outcome we’ve had. Such a paradox.

His death was the very definition of a paradox to the way he lived. But that’s a story for another day.

Distracted, however, is a 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 state of mind these days. I can be trying to have a conversation with someone and then, flat out, in the middle of a sentence, it’s just gone. No clue what I was saying or going to say. This is even worse than usual for me, the queen of attention deficit disorder. It’s not a problem of inattention; it’s a constant pull by the weight of loss, the images I can’t remove from my head, the emptiness inside of me and next to me. Constant distraction.

But he was so good at purposely distracting me. From my failures and flaws, from my fears and insecurities, from doubting myself, from my past. Sometimes it was with silliness, making me laugh. Sometimes it was with exhortation, reminding me who I am, what my gifts are and from whence they came. Sometimes it was was with physical touch when words just didn’t suffice, a big, strong hug where I felt wrapped up in love, protection, safety. And sometimes it was just with “Remember? We’ve got this. Together.”

All of these, any of them, are types of distraction I desperately long for now. Minute to minute, I wish there was a distraction strong enough to hold my attention for more than mere seconds in between mental propulsive explosions of reality.

So, when I am alone and without external distractions to pull me from the strangling hands of grief, I know where my help comes from. I lift my eyes unto the hills. He’s God of the hills and valleys. I reach for worship songs. I reach into the parts of my mind that seem buried the deepest right now to find Bible verses that bring strength, courage. Many times, I only have snippets of them. Couldn’t tell you book, chapter, or verse. But the parts of worship songs or scripture that reside in those recesses are invaluable to me right now, every day.

If your life is going well right now, you have all you’ve dreamed of, don’t take that for granted and stop reading your Bible or going to church or listening to praise and worship music. Because your mind is so happy and carefree that you don’t think you need it right then, a pick-me-up.

A time may come when your brain is completely distracted, when you can’t read two consecutive sentences and understand their meaning to save your life, when there isn’t anyone else around to help distract you from your asphyxiating emotions. That is when you will need the Word that buried itself inside you. That’s when you need it to come, unbidden only because you’re too distracted to think of anything that will help. That’s when you’ll need it to pick you up and carry you to the next moment when your legs will hold you up again. The day of his funeral reminded me sharply of this.

Sitting in the foxhole, stillness in the air as you enjoy the quiet from the lack of ear-piercing gunfire, is the time to load your weapon, not when you’re under attack.

I Worship…so I will go take a shower.

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May 31st, 2023

I need to take a shower. I need to wash my hair. I need to shave my legs, it is summer now and my leggings are getting too hot. It became summer this past weekend. The first full season without you and I hate it. I hate it…I hate it…I hate it…

I need to, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to get up, get out of bed. I don’t want to face another day when you’re not here. I don’t want to cook or clean the house or feed the dogs or…or breathe if it’s not the air you’re breathing, too. I don’t want to…I don’t want to…I don’t want to…

Somehow I’m doing it. Somehow I am still breathing when you’re not here. I don’t want to leave here. I just want you here 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 me. I want to feel like anything I do matters when you’re not here to cheer me on, encourage me, remind me of my worth. I want…I want…I want…

I picked out the footplate for your grave yesterday. The military is honoring you with one. It will have your name, your war, your medals of valor listed on it. It will have your birthdate and the day you left us. It will say you were a loving husband, son, father, and a doting PopPop. I still have to pick out our headstone one day. I don’t want to…I don’t want to…I don’t want to…

I worship. God hasn’t given me a spirit of fear but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. My only comfort comes from Him. He is in the music. He is in the lyrics. He is in the pain. He is in the heartache. He eases them a little more, I’m sure a little more each day but it’s like watching the kids grow: you can’t see the changes day-by-day…only in retrospect. But I worship…I worship…I worship…

I worship. And so now I will go shower…

Dreamweaver…

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May 31st, 2023

Dreams…

I keep wishing, praying, hoping I will see you in dreams. Hear you say you love me again. Hear you say “it’s okay, we’ve still got this.”

I want to see your face again when it’s not in a still picture. Hear you laugh. Watch you take care of things…all the things: the plants, the dogs, the boys, the yard, the pool…all of the things you did because you just wanted us to be taken care of.

I remember being in the kitchen, last year, I think, looking out toward the pool from our picture window. I said “Look at how much pollen is on the window. It’s like a coating and it’s only March.” I kept doing whatever I was doing and then went in the living room, thinking you’d gone back in there. You weren’t so I thought you’d gone to the bedroom or bathroom. A few minutes later I got up to see where on earth you’d gone. Walking into the kitchen, I saw you outside, scrubbing down the window. I walked outside and said “Honey, I didn’t mean for you to do that. I was just commenting on the allergens!” You said “I know, but I wanted you to be able to see out. I know you love looking out this window. Your kitchen is the main reason we wanted to buy this house.” I never even had to ask for things like that. And you just did them for me.

Our contractor messaged me after you were gone and told me that, when he was walking around our new house with you to talk about the things we wanted to do, you told him “It’s very important to me that Jennifer feel safe and be happy in this house; whatever it takes to do that, that’s what we need to do.” 😭 That’s always who you were for me. He said he was so impressed by you and that it made him really think about things, even after he left the house. Both of those things were who you are. Someone who is just always taking care of people, especially me, and someone who makes an impact on others. You’re still making impacts today, baby; I hope somehow you know that now.

I’m still taken care of. You made an impact on our boys, too. They’re still looking back, observing who you were, and I see them being the kind of man you were in so many ways. Even when I wish they didn’t have to, they’re still picking me up after I fall apart again. And I know that will also translate into how they treat the other women in their lives. They were watching and it shows.

And God is taking care of me, too. I don’t know how I am getting out of bed every day, doing the things. If I’m being honest, I don’t want to. But even when I can’t feel Him, I know He is there, gently nudging me to move. He reminds me that I still have a purpose (even if I’m not fully aware of what that is yet.) I’m trusting that He will show me when He knows my body, my mind is ready.

I’ve tried bargaining with Him. Telling Him that if you would just come to me in dreams, I could learn what I’m supposed to be doing. That I would do a better job of going on without you here if He could just let me have “visits” with you. Even inmates get visits…why not me? But I also know that’s not how this works. This temporary separation for us is on His timeline. I told you that I was always told never to pray for patience but to pray for grace, because if you pray for patience, He’ll give you a reason to need it so you can learn it. (You use to joke that if you pray for patience, you may get more admissions…😂)

So I pray for grace. Grace in all circumstances. There’s a reason my middle name isn’t grace…I’m not very graceful. So I pray all the more.

My prayer life has been difficult lately. I have so many things I want to beg, plead, ask, and beg again. But the Bible says to praise Him in all circumstances and worship music comes with pre-written lyrics that I can feel when I listen, when I sing. So I’ve been trying to start there, even if I’m crying in the shower when I do. Salt water is good for the skin in moderate amounts, right? I’ve been thinking of buying a book with prayers in it for when you can’t pray, for prayers in times of grief and heartache and pain and loss. All of the things. Maybe that will help. It won’t be like some liturgy. I think that, if the right words are there, I’ll be able to feel them enough, like the music, to reach out to Him with my whole soul because my soul is wrapped around you right now.

I’m not praying to see you sooner (other than in dreams). Our kids and sweet grandbabies still need me here. I’m still just praying for grace, even when “God, give me grace in all circumstances. Help me to praise you in ALL of these circumstances” are the only words that make it out.

So, you see, it’s back to the dreams. Will you just come meet me there? Could you let me wake up, even one morning, with the feeling that your arms have been wrapped around me in the night? I feel like that would make all of the tomorrows more bearable. Even one last time until I see you again.

I love you more. I miss you most. ♥️

”Fly me high through starry skies

Maybe to an astral plane,

Cross the highways of fantasy,

Help me forget today’s pain.

Oh, Dreamweaver,

I believe you can get me through the night.

Ohh, Dreamweaver,

I believe we can reach the morning light.”

Dreamweaver by Gary Wright