Tag: death

How. Can. This. Be. Real. Life?

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June 22nd, 2023

I’m going to give a GRIEF TRIGGER WARNING on this one again. Stop here if you don’t want to potentially be thrown back into your own space of grief. But know you aren’t alone if that happens sometimes.

Some nights the flashbacks are bad. I can’t make them stop. The last moments, even the last hours…but especially the last moments, were bad, the stuff of nightmares. It was a nightmare…except it wasn’t.

I beg to wake up a lot. I think about how maybe I passed out in his hospital room and they had to put me on a ventilator and maybe this whole thing could just be me, tripping on propofol or fever dreams and whatever else they’re using to keep me sedated until they can extubate me. Maybe I’ll wake up as they wean me from the meds and he’ll be standing there over me, worried but thankful to see me coming out of it. He’ll be holding my hand and asking me to squeeze his so I will. And I’ll tell him about the worst and longest nightmare I’ve ever had.

And we’ll go home. Together.

I know. You don’t have to tell me because I already know. It sounds crazy. It’s a ridiculous concept but oh, what if it wasn’t? And so, on bad flashback nights (not as infrequent as you might think), I allow my mind to wander through scenarios like this; it is easier than the alternative.

I’ve started counseling and she has worked up a treatment plan based on some fun mental health diagnoses that have been precipitated by the events of that fateful May night. I have assignments to do between appointments and specific goals we’ll work toward. They feel pretty unattainable right now but God did not give me a spirit of fear but of power, and of love, and of a SOUND MIND. I am healed and whole, in Jesus name. And I’ll keep claiming that until I see the results of it.

The point of this post is this: if you are grieving a huge loss, a life-altering one where nothing will ever be the same again,

You👏🏼are👏🏼not👏🏼crazy👏🏼or👏🏼alone👏🏼

The swirling, raging, tumultuous thoughts in my brain cause physical symptoms that feel unbearable at times. It sort of feels like it’s in your stomach but sort of in your chest but sort of in your arms & legs. Your hands shake uncontrollably. There’s a wrenching ache. It’s terrifying. But it’s not crazy. Are the symptoms psychosomatic? Maybe. Maybe my brain is making me feel this way but that doesn’t mean the symptoms aren’t real. It doesn’t mean that reliving that night over and over doesn’t make you have very real, physical feelings.

And there are irrational fears of something happening to someone else that I love. Something sudden and that I personally have no control over, just like with Scott. Thoughts that are difficult to tamp down but that I also use scripture to fight. And sometimes I have to get out books to find them or Google parts of the verses to be able to read them because, in my panic, the whole scripture won’t come to me. When I find them, I read them over and over…and over and over and over…

When I do this, eventually a peace falls over me. I feel comfort around me. I get sleepy. I fall asleep. Unfortunately, I often wake with dreams plagued with the same flashbacks.

And yet some mornings I wake up in the numb place again, my mind not believing that this is all real.

How. Can. This. Be. Real. Life???

Subconsciously, my mind can still convince me that he’s on assignment at work and will be walking in the door any minute now. I’m not sure how this works because we never, ever, since we began dating, have gone a single day without talking at least twice a day. We either saw each other or were on the phone or FaceTime, at the very least, every morning and every night. How could he be coming back home if I haven’t even talked to him in over a month? But my mind seems to accept this silly charade for periods of time. Another strange mind trick. When I’m wrapped inside the numbness, I can tell myself, “Jennifer, it is really real. He is gone. He’s not coming back.” and even then I can’t FEEL it. I don’t fall apart or lose it or cry or scream or throw up then. I just don’t even feel it. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 makes you feel like you’re going crazy, too.

It’s funny how your own mind can protect you.

And then the guilt hits because it’s part of the cycle I’ve come to recognize. The guilt over not feeling it sometimes. The guilt over still being able to smile at my granddaughter or hug the kids or just be here, in this place he can’t be anymore. Guilt over not doing enough before he died. (Yes, I know, there was nothing else I could have done…but just like the numbness doesn’t make sense, the guilt isn’t something you can talk or rationalize away.)

Tomorrow will be a better day. I’ll be back in the numb place by morning. My brain will keep me wrapped in bubble wrap all day and then I’ll have no idea when the cycle will start over.

Tonight I pray for peace. I pray for comfort. I will read scripture from the anxiety and grief and depression chapters of my categorized prayer and scripture book. And then I will eventually sleep after my angels battle the enemy and take over within my warring spirit again.

This grief thing isn’t pretty. It’s brutal. It’s consuming. It’s a Cat 5 hurricane barreling through your heart over and over again, day after day. You will have to do some parts of it alone and that is okay. Just remember that you’re NOT alone. God is with you, no matter what it feels like at the time. You can also reach out to people to listen when you’re ready to talk it out again. Don’t give up.

Rainy Days & Mondays…

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June 21st, 2023

The rain changes your mood. It has definitely altered mine this last week and it looks like we’ll be seeing it every day for the next week.

On the day of Scott’s funeral, there was a chance of rain but it stayed mostly sunny. I remember thinking that it should have been a full-on thunderstorm because that is the way my heart felt. Angry lightning, terrifying and soul-crushing thunder, howling, damaging winds, and torrential, fast floods of rain from tears and sorrow. I felt like a thunderstorm of epic proportions was raging inside me and, just like weather, there was nothing I could do to quell it, and the nausea that accompanied it.

But I have prayed for rain before, too. When our grass was dry and yellowed. While I was waiting for all of the varied colors of our flowering trees to bloom and our flower beds to blossom. Rain reminds all things to grow. Rain reminds us that you cannot stop the things you cannot stop. The rain will fall. The world will turn. The seasons will change. The rainbow will come. Rainstorms are fierce, consuming, and unable to be ignored or interrupted. They have the ability to completely change the scenery.

It was disconcerting how, as I moved through the days after he died, everything just went on about me, moving at normal pace and continuing a propulsive motion that had started while he was still here. I felt like my world, everything as I knew it, had stopped on a dime. I felt like there would be no tomorrow because things weren’t as they should be. But the world kept spinning, cars kept driving by, people came in and out, and nothing else slowed down at all…only me.

There have been times when rain has felt comforting. It’s a good time to cuddle up on the couch and watch a movie with someone you love, popcorn and movie candy included; I like Reese’s Pieces with movie popcorn. Scott just loved popcorn, period. We always said that we wanted to build a screened-in patio, overlooking our pool, with a tin roof. Rain is so soothing on a tin roof with a cup of hot coffee in your hand. Something about the rhythm it plays as it drums away like a fine percussionist allows worries to float away. Rainy days are also perfect for cozy naps. Snuggling up under your covers and listening to the sounds of the storm can seem to flush the cares of the world away, if only for a time.

Rain has a way of cleansing things. It rinses away dust and pollen. It washes away children’s chalk drawings, creating a clean slate to make something new another day. The thing about washing away is that sometimes you like what was there before. And then sometimes you begin to draw and realize this new art, this new creation, has a different but astounding kind of beauty all its own. Not better, but resplendent in its own right.

Ultimately, there are two things you can always eventually count on: rain falling, and the sun coming back out. Without being too Annie-esque, the sun will come out again, maybe not tomorrow but it will. The sunshine will return. Just like today’s weather report, it doesn’t look like it will be today and maybe not even much this week, but it will return, in fits and starts. I wish we could predict the return of joy like we can predict the weather, even though weather reports can be faulty.

I have faith that my joy will one day return, probably also in fits and starts. I have a tattoo that says Romans 15:13. In The Passion Translation it reads: “Now may God, the fountain of hope, fill you to overflowing with uncontainable joy and perfect peace as you trust in him. And may the power of the Holy Spirit continually surround your life with his overwhelming abundance until you radiate with hope!”
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Somehow, some way, I will have uncontainable joy someday. I have faith that God’s promises are true. John 16:20-24 says this: “Truly, truly, I say to you, that you will weep and lament, but the world will rejoice; you will grieve, but your grief will be turned into joy. Whenever a woman is in labor she has pain, because her hour has come; but when she gives birth to the child, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy that a child has been born into the world. Therefore you too have grief now; but I will see you again, and your heart will rejoice, and no one will take your joy away from you.”
And sometimes it does feel like the world rejoices while I grieve, but though my sorrow may last for the night, joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5b). Obviously the “night” and “morning” are figurative; I wish they weren’t. But joy comes…I’m going to choose this rainy day to trust in the coming of the inevitable sunshine.

Joy Comes by Francesca Battistelli:

“… Joy comes; tears fall.
I’m learning there is beauty in it all.
It’s not hard to find it, you just have to look
Oh, God is good…”

Missing My Heartbeat

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June 19th, 2023

I went to the next town over to eat lunch with a sweet friend today and so I drove around thirty minutes home afterwards. As I was on the way home, a song I like came on. I turned it up…loud. This used to drive Scott crazy so I didn’t do it often when he was in the car but sometimes you just need to hear a song LOUD. You need to feel it inside of you.

One of the biggest selling points when I bought my vehicle was that it came with Bose speakers. There’s nothing like it. An old dirt road, sunroof open (not today, it’s rainy), and good music. Singing at the top of your lungs. It feels like freedom and sunshine and sparkles and love sometimes. All things good.

But today, as it rained, I turned it up loud and this particular song had a strong bass beat. The kind that, when you turn it up, you feel that beat in your chest. The vibration, for me, is soothing. It’s like the presence of something that you can feel but cannot see: music, rhythm, love, joy, peace, God. All of these are things you cannot see but can feel their presence.

Today, that rhythm suddenly felt like my heartbeat. And I realized it was the first time I have felt my heartbeat in over a month.

I’m not exaggerating when I say Scott still made my heart beat faster when he wrapped his arms around me and told me how much he loved me. I could physically feel what some people describe as butterflies but, for me, was the pitter-pat of my heart speeding up. I’m no young, spring chicken so some of you would think that’s something I should have had checked out but my heart is fine, physically. It just recognized his nearness.

Today, as that beat vibrated in my chest, I remembered how much I’ve missed that feeling.

We were not perfect. We weren’t the perfect couple. We fussed and argued sometimes. We got aggravated with each other. We said sorry. We got used to each other’s quirks and peculiar idiosyncrasies.

What made us perfect for each other is that we both wholeheartedly believed that this was forever. We knew we were in it and there was no backing out. There was safety and trust in our togetherness. I could be in a mood and act like a brat; he wasn’t threatening to go anywhere and I knew he wouldn’t. He could be in a mood and be negative and uncompromising; I never said I’d leave and he knew I never would. Now, we both tested those boundaries a bit early on because we’d been through some difficult relationships and situations prior to meeting each other. Long before we decided to get married, we talked at length and decided there would be no backing out. And then, neither of us took advantage of that promise by doing things to hurt the other. We took the commitment, the covenant, seriously.

There is always going to be something that you don’t like about someone. Sometimes Scott could be negative. He would say he was being a realist. I would say he was jaded by past circumstances. I’m generally an eternal optimist. I give people the benefit of the doubt too often sometimes and that bothered Scott because he didn’t want people to hurt me. His “realist” would butt heads with my “idealist” a lot of times. We decided that, rather than separate us, we would allow it to balance us. Opposites attract sometimes because you need each other. You can choose to let those things balance you or to let them tear you apart depending on whether you’re willing to meet in the middle.

Missing my heartbeat does make me sad but I’m not in a dark place today, not now anyway. I told my sister that I know that the grief won’t really shrink but that I hope that life grows bigger around it. I hope we can learn to weave it into our lives and use it to help someone else rather than trying to cut it out. Cutting it out would feel too much like forgetting the people who were so important to us. I want to use it to remind me every day that unexpected things happen. They can happen today or tomorrow. So I want to tell everyone that I love them, frequently, and I want to share the things I want them to know. I hate this thing called grief but there has to be something to salvage from it. I want to use it as fertilizer (like we use cow manure that you couldn’t use in any other way, the excrement that would otherwise be waste) to grow something worthy of being thankful for.

Unfairness

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I’ve made it through two graduations, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, and now Father’s Day.

There is something inside me that wants to sit down and count how many holidays (including birthdays) are in a year and start counting them backwards. Like, if I can get through one of each of them, it’s suddenly going to be easier. In the past I’ve heard people say that all of the firsts are the hardest. Now that I’m in this place, people who have lost husbands are telling me, “Oh, no…I feel like the second year is harder than the first…”. I want to say “NO!!! You can’t go changing the rules now! That’s not fair!” because I just want it to stop hurting so much every day.

Not fair…so much is “not fair” about this. When I was a kid and I’d complain about something being “not fair” my daddy would say “Life is not always fair and school is not always interesting; that’s just how it is.” That’s just how this is. It’s not fair.

I’ve complained to God before that it wasn’t fair for Scott to be taken away from here when there are other people on this earth whom it would have been more “fair” to have gone away. Instantly, God said “Jen, that’s all about perspective. He was good, yes. And he is in Heaven, with me. He’s happy, free, worshiping, and in no pain or emotional distress. That’s fair, right?” Me: (grumbling, begrudgingly, under my breath) “Well, I 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 if you put it that way then, yes, but from where I am seeing it, it doesn’t feel like that.” God: “Then shift your perspective.” Me: teenagery (((sigh)))

Sometimes I don’t want to shift my perspective. I want to sit in the “unfairness” of it all and be mad about it. It’s odd that I don’t want to change my perspective because I DO want to feel better. I hate this constant sadness. I don’t want to feel this way forever. But I already know that I’m going to have to work through the fact that I don’t have to feel guilty for feeling better one day. He’s not here to enjoy the things I will enjoy, that 𝘸𝘦 should have enjoyed, so how can I be happy about that? I wonder if he could be up there thinking he shouldn’t be enjoying it there because I’m not there to enjoy it with him yet? Aha…no, he’s not. There is no pain or sorrow there, so there is no guilt. He is happy. He is enjoying it. His perspective has changed.

There is a specific paradigm shift that I need to lean into. A new way of thinking is necessary. I do miss him. I miss him so much each day and in so many circumstances. And yet, I am still here. I have to shift my perspective to a place where I can see this from a different vantage point. If I had gone first, I would not have wanted him to stay sad and be unable to enjoy the rest of life. Of course, I would want him to remember me; remember the love we had, remember the smiles and the laughter and the joy we brought to each other. But I hate even thinking about how sad he would have been.

We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together.

Instead, he spent the rest of his life with me.

He gave me everything he had until his final day. He gave me all the love, all of the security, all of the protection, all of the happiness, all of the “Scott” he had left in him until the day he left this Earth. What more can you possibly give besides “the rest of your life?” We certainly never knew how short that would be but he gave me all of it, the rest of his life.

That’s a whole change in perspective, all by itself.♥️

Father Knows Best

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June 18th, 2023

My husband, Scott, was a great father. He was the kind of father who taught our boys things they needed to know. How to change a tire and your own oil, how to manage money, how to hunt and fish, survival skills, how to accept Jesus as your Savior, how to be a great husband and provider, how to love with your whole, entire heart and being, but also with boundaries that keep you safe.

Even when they didn’t know they were learning, Scott was teaching them things just by being himself. He was just someone you were proud to know, a war veteran, a fearless patient advocate and caregiver, a man with integrity and honor, a dad who loved them more than life itself, a friend who never met a stranger, a listening ear when you just needed to talk something out in order to better understand.

Today, his first Father’s Day in Heaven, he has the opportunity to celebrate his Heavenly Father. Although his dad and his children are here missing him, every day must be Father’s Day up there.

Happy Father’s Day, Scott. None of them will be the same here, going forward. I am thankful for my Dad, missing my stepdad, thankful for your Dad, who taught you to be the dad you are, and thankful for the opportunity to watch our boys be dads (now and in the future,) but I am missing you today. I’m missing watching you help them become the men they are now and your ability to keep reinforcing those lessons every day you walked the earth.

You Were a Song to Remember

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June 16th, 2023

Everything was going pretty well.

My boys asked me to come over to their house for dinner. We laughed about a few things. I got Lillian ready for bed after her bath. Then I decided to go home.

On the way home I randomly decided to shuffle a country playlist, giving no thought toward what that would mean.

If ANY of you knew my husband, you know he was a country boy. I don’t just mean that he listened to country music a lot. I mean he WAS a bonafide, tried and true, country boy, born and raised.

It’s no surprise that some songs he loved came on. Songs he “dedicated” to me. Songs he said were about us over the years we were together. Some oldies but goodies and some newer.

Snapback. My T-Shirt. Body Like a Back Road. God Blessed the Broken Road. Meant to Be. Like I’m Gonna Lose You. In Case You Didn’t Know. Made. The Day Before You. God Gave Me You. Let’s Make Love. I Can Love You Like That. I Love the Way You Love Me. I Need You. I Want Crazy. It Goes Like This. Wanted. It’s Your Love. Waitin’ On A Woman. My Person. My Best Friend. Take Me There. She’s My Kind of Rain.

Every single one is a song that, at some point or another, Scott texted me or told me saying “this song is about us” or “every time I hear this, it’s like they wrote it for me and you.”

I only heard two of them (they came on back to back) on my way home but, oh, music carries weight. It holds memories and dreams. It holds love, happiness, and promise. Some promises that we don’t have anymore. And so I began thinking of the rest of them.

They make me thankful for what we had, something that I know some people never find in a lifetime. They make me sad for what we have senselessly and suddenly lost. They make me remember and never want to forget. And I know that, anytime I hear these songs, I never will.

Please…tell somebody you love very much that you love them, very much, right now. Don’t let a moment go to waste. ♥️

How Do I Live Without You?

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June 16th, 2023

Loneliness is something I never thought I’d have to face again…or, at least, not for a long, long time. You always told me that you would go first, because of statistics for longevity of men and women, and you always said you were glad because you didn’t want to live without me ever again. I’d get aggravated with you when you talked like that because, if that were true then I would be the one left here.

And here we are…so, so, so much too soon.

I told you that if you left for Heaven first then I hoped I had dementia by then and that I’d wake up every day thinking you were still here, asking people “Have you seen my husband? He should be home from work any minute now…”

I used to teach in my Alzheimer’s & Dementia classes that you shouldn’t correct your patient when they said something like that. I taught them never to say “Don’t you remember? John died in a car accident 40 years ago.” I told them this, not just because it is the appropriate standard of practice for dementia but, most especially, because it makes people crumble. The look on someone’s face when you say this is the dawning of what must be the exact same expression they had when they opened the door to the Highway Patrol Officers on that fateful night. It pours over them like a deafening, thunderous waterfall. It is having to relive the worst moment of your life over and over again, every single day. Not telling them over and over every day is an act of sheer compassion. “I’m sure he’ll be home soon. Probably got stuck in traffic. Go have your breakfast while you wait.” (Don’t worry; they forget they’ve been waiting while they’re eating and then say something like “My husband just left for work; he’ll be home before supper.”

Fast forward to today. I wake up some mornings, for just a few seconds, feeling “normal.” I reach for you on your side of the bed before I even open my eyes and then a mad shuffle of my hands reveals only the tissue box and a pile of dried, salty tissues from the night before.

My mom brought a gigantic multi-pack of tissues from Costco the day we got home from the hospital. There must have been 14-16 full size boxes of Kleenex. I thought at the time, “Well, that’s overkill.” Turns out it wasn’t. Note to self: don’t forget to buy more Kleenex soon. Other note to self: go to Costco/Sam’s next time someone dies…it will probably be more helpful than they’ll realize.

Grief makes people uncomfortable. That’s why you wait until they’re all gone to release it. You have moments when you feel tears coming on and you vacuum them back in; your body, your heart feels like an empty vacuum anyway.

In the morning I try to fill that vacuum void with Jesus. I have praise music playing now, my self-created “Brave” playlist on Apple Music that I have created over years of things that I needed courage to face. If you are in a place where you need some and you have Apple Music, let me know and I’ll send it to you.

When I finish my musings here I will go open Jesus Calling for today’s date and will then read the next installment of “Grief Bites: A New Approach to Growing Through Grief” in my Bible App. If you’re a runner (I’m decidedly not but I have friends who are 🤷🏻‍♀️) you fuel up before a long run. You make sure your body has the energy to make it through the distance you plan to overcome. For particularly difficult races, you stop at intermittent fueling stations and give your body hydration and a few more calories to have what it takes to complete (but not so much that you vomit.)

Today is a race; every day is a long-distance triathlon now. It’s not a race where speed is the goal, but endurance. Making it through another whole day without running out of fuel is paramount to anything else I’m trying to do right now. If I don’t wake up and fuel my faith in the morning, I will wind up in a heap of misery before dusk. This isn’t to say I don’t shed tears, but that I will be able to mold the grief into something that looks, and sometimes even feels, like strength. The only way I can do that is by starting my day off with reminders that I am not in this race, on this course, alone even when no people are here.

Hebrews 12:1
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us

2 Timothy 4:7
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.

Isaiah 40:31
but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

James 1:12
Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him.

Psalm 119:31
I run in the path of your commands, for you have broadened my understanding.

Romans 5:3-4
Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.

1 Corinthians 9:24-26
Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like someone running aimlessly; I do not fight like a boxer beating the air.

Choosing Self-Care

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June 13th, 2023

Today is going to be a better day. ⛅️

I just decided.

I confess that I cannot just 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦 every day but, so far, this morning, I feel better.

I did a few clean-up, organizing tasks yesterday. All of them were admittedly fifteen minute tasks, or less, and I rested probably for an hour or so in between each one. I will try to do some more today.

Chaos makes us feel chaotic, doesn’t it?

I’m in between sizes of clothes right now so I cannot really get rid of any to “thin the herd”, so to speak. I’m was trying to lose weight, since January, and I was succeeding fairly well. Between Jan 1st and May 9th (four and a half months) I had lost 30 pounds. In the last thirty-four days I have lost a total of 15. This current “method” is not a weight loss plan I recommend, but it is overwhelmingly effective. So…getting rid of clothes isn’t really an option right now because I have no idea where things go from here.

In fact, the biggest problem I face of all is that I have no idea where anything goes from here. My weight. My future. My finances. My daily activities. My security. My secrets and woes and joys and fears and every day silly stories. My TikToks and text messages, the ones that I knew would make him laugh. More than once…more than several times…I’ve picked up my phone and then realized no one would answer back if I called or sent a message. Sometimes I send them anyway. And then I hear his phone buzz with an incoming message sound from his nightstand on the other side of my bed.

But I will not let the uncertainty and the sadness consume me today. Not today. I cannot just stop feeling sad but I can get up, first thing this morning, and go for a walk. Then I can go take a shower. Then I can do one of the organizing things. A small one. And I can keep handing over the weight of the loss to Jesus. Hour by hour. For His yoke is easy and His burden is light.

When Jesus talked about his yoke and burden in this passage, He was talking about the burden of self-righteousness and legalistic law-keeping. Because we cannot possibly keep up all of the laws that the Pharisees demanded without being (and feeling like) failures. Jesus only requires that we give Him our burdens (and sins) and He carries them for us. Today, I know He also means that He can carry the weight of my worries and fears so that I don’t have to. He carries them easily because He already knows what occurs on the other side of these challenges. When I hand them over to Him, it means I’m trusting Him with the outcome.

Okay, so, let’s be real about this…human real. I’m gonna give Him the worries and say (out loud) “Jesus, I trust You.” Out loud because my words carry power. Death and life are in the power of the tongue. Proverbs 18:21. And James 3:3-6 says that a small bit under the tongue of a large horse can make it go wherever you want it to go, a small rudder makes a huge ship turn wherever you want it to go, even when the winds are strong, and that a small spark can start a huge forest fire. Such is the power of the tongue. But I digress…(as usual.)

I’m going to say, out loud, “I trust You with this, Jesus.” And then the human part of me that wants to be sure I’ve got things “in control” is going to quietly slide it back to myself multiple times today before I reroute and give it back again. Ideally, per the “practice makes perfect” ideology, the more I give it back, the longer I’ll leave it there each time.

Few of us just drop things at the foot of the cross and leave them there, walking away whistling a happy tune. Most of us will go back multiple times (especially when God doesn’t instantly make it all better) and swipe it back (“Swiper, NO swiping!!!” – Dora the Explorer) while helplessly and fruitlessly attempting to “fix” things ourselves. But the longer we leave it and the more we do see Him “fix” it, in His timing, the more faith we gain in His process. In His omniscience. In His strength to sustain us.

Today I am focusing (as well as my brain is capable of focusing these days) on turning things over to Jesus. I’m concentrating on deliberately telling Him that I trust Him to handle all of the “I don’t knows” that are plaguing me constantly right now. I’m purposefully giving them over to Him and mentally focusing on the things I do know, the blessings I do have right now.

I am blessed and highly favored by the King of Kings. What shall man do to me when He is by my side? (The LORD is on my side; I will not fear. What can man do to me? Psalm 118:6) ♥️

Mountains & Molehills

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June 12th, 2023

If the mountain seems too big today, then climb a hill instead.

Today is an anthill kind of day. Not even the big kind with a huge underground network. A tiny one. Or a molehill.

I need to wash my hair today. But I’m not going to do it. I need to move furniture back to how it was before people started coming to give condolences about my husband. Not doing that either. I need to…I need to…I need to…to scream, but to do it somewhere that won’t cause the neighbors to call 9-1-1.

I need answers. I need peace. I need things to slow down and speed up at precisely the same time. I need…I need…I need…I need my husband back.

I almost didn’t even bother getting out of bed today but I had a counseling appointment. Thank goodness it was Telehealth and COVID taught us how to pretend to be dressed while online. Then I did do the dishes in the sink. I did tidy up the bathroom counters. I did clear away clutter from the sofa table. And then I quit, exhausted. I q-u-i-t, QUIT.

If only he’d come back, I’d clean every room, every corner, every baseboard, every nook & cranny. If only…If only…If only…

Ah, so there you are, dark, Bargaining stage of grief. What would I give up if someone could bring him back home to me? You drive a hard bargain but I’d give up anything, anything at all. I can even think of a few people I’d trade you but the worth won’t be the same as what you’d be returning to me…you could have them anyway, though, if you want…

Oops…yes, now you’ve seen it. Ugly. I don’t like Ugly. God doesn’t like Ugly. But Ugly and Angry usually show up together, often after Bargaining gives a flat-out NO on any very reasonable swaps. Angry is a real character and he appears to have a conjoined twin, attached at the hip, Ugly. Because hurt people hurt people, right?

And so, on these days, I stay alone. Angry and Ugly are typically teamed up with a whole entourage of Why’s and a gaggle of How Could’s. When all of them are together, boy, are they the perfect storm. You can scarcely breathe while being sucked into the tornadoes that spin in and out of this enormous gale. Time to batten down the hatches. Board up the windows. Sandbag the doors. Hole up in the basement, where they can’t reach you.

This is just another part of it, folks…the Grief. Not a pretty part, mind you. I don’t tell you this to excuse my awful attitude. I’m telling you so that, if you run into this storm one day after mine has passed, you can call me and I’ll either stay away or come hide in the basement with you (your choice.) But you aren’t in trouble for the fact that Ugly got a hold of you. She’s a ferocious, evil beast. (Pretty sure I’ve met her, personified, before…oh, no… See? There she is again. Ugly. Hateful thing, isn’t she?)

Listen, God made me human. He made me in His image but my emotions didn’t follow suit. I have to force myself to turn on the praise & worship music right in the middle of these stormy days. I don’t want to…I don’t want to…I don’t want to…so there.

But being a follower of Christ takes discipline. It means even when you want to slam the door and stick your tongue out, you don’t. Because it’s disrespectful. So, I turn the music on…it can just play in the background. It’s on but I don’t have to listen….

And there it is. I’m not actively listening but it is actively seeking me. “You’re a good, good Father. It’s who You are. It’s who You are. It’s who you are. And I am loved by you. It’s who I am. It’s who I am. It’s who I am. And You are perfect in all of Your ways…”

My mind (or Angry & Ugly tousling around up there) wants to scream “NONE OF THIS IS PERFECT! NONE OF IT! It wasn’t supposed to be like this! WHY???”

…”because You are perfect in all of Your ways. Lord, You are perfect in all of Your ways. Yes, You are perfect in all of Your ways to us….”

I still don’t really want to listen. I’m stubborn. I’m hurting. I’m lost. I’m so very sad. I don’t want to hear that these ashes can be turned into something beautiful.

Where is my “Strength for Fear” that You give out with the “Beauty for Ashes” combo? How about the “Peace for Despair?” Aren’t all of those a package deal? When do they turn up? Can’t I just have them now? Like a child having a tantrum when I don’t get ice cream before dinner, I want to lay down and kick my arms and legs. Because, like a child, I don’t know how to process this kind of loss, this kind of pain, this kind of anger.

But I’m not a toddler. I’m spiritually old enough to know that if He promises the ice cream after I take five more bites of the dreaded brussel sprouts…He’ll come through. Only thing is, with this part, He won’t tell me how many more bites so that I can count down backwards. Am I almost there? ‘Cause people keep saying I have a looooooong way to go. That the “ice cream” won’t be here for years.

I’m not going to “get over” losing Scott. I loved him and he will always be a part of me. But I do not have to wait to “get over” him in order to receive peace, to be given strength, to see the beauty traded for ashes. But I do have to look for them.

The longer I refuse to seek them, the longer they’ll be hidden. Praise & worship music is one way to seek. Even if I don’t want to listen, and I’m being stubborn and ugly about it, it seeps in through and around my sandbags and boarded up windows.

If I am grieving and have Ugly and Angry hanging on like Velcro, God gets it. He may not like it but He gets it. He intricately knows the emotions inside of us and He knows how Satan will try to use them against us. I’m not going to invite Guilt and Shame over for the party. I’m going to accept that these reactions are normal for humans and then I’m going to concentrate on the fact that I don’t like them and really don’t want to hang out around any of these stormy emotions.

Praise & Worship music is a vehicle. It drives me back to safety. If you find yourself stuck in the storm and need a lift, hop in. Your chariot awaits.

“Your praise will ever be on my lips…” 🎶

“I will praise the Lord at all times. I will constantly speak his praises. I will boast only in the Lord; let all who are helpless take heart. Come, let us tell of the Lord’s greatness; let us exalt his name together.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭34‬:‭1‬-‭3‬ ‭NLT‬‬

One Month Down…Forever to Go

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June 10th, 2023

Today is the 10th. Scott left me on this earth to go to his Heavenly home on the 10th. So it’s been a month today.

Today is my nephew, Judah’s, birthday. He would have turned 15 today.

And time doesn’t make any sense. My sister said this on the night Judah died and I thought I understood what she meant but I didn’t, not fully. Now I really get it.

All at once, literally at the same time, it feels like they’ve been gone for so very long and yet I cannot believe it has been this long already.

The very first day it felt like every five minutes I would look at my watch thinking hours must have passed…but no, just another five minutes. The days have felt like they took forever to pass…and then, again, at the very same time, it felt like they were speeding by as I realized how much time we had already spent here without them.

I miss my husband. I miss his smile, his laugh. I miss him making me laugh. I miss reaching across the bed and feeling him laying there. I miss I love yous and hugs and kisses. I miss being told I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever known, inside and out. I miss being told I am the one and only true love of his life. I miss adventures. I miss dinners and breakfasts and lunches together. I miss movies and snacks together. I miss…just being together, all of the time.

I’m not stronger than I thought I was. God is still as strong as as I knew He was, thankfully. I’m 100% NOT doing this on my own. I couldn’t. I’m doing it with family, friends, and the strength that comes from Jesus. I’m doing it with the Holy Spirit whispering to my heart each day that I don’t have to do it all alone.

Later today I will go see my sister in Tallahassee. We will have dinner and watch a movie together in her living room. I’m sure we will cry. Maybe we will find something to laugh about a little. We will comfort each other and we will grieve together again.

Scott and I spent two weeks with her and my brother-in-law right before we came home for Scott’s surgery, as we were all reeling from the loss of sweet Judah. Lively, colorful, noisy, wonderful Judah. There will be hard things about going there because Scott and I were so sad together then, but he held me up through my trying to hold my family up. The last time I was there, he and I were together, inseparable, as usual, and we didn’t have any idea those would be some of the last times. And it will be Judah’s birthday. Scott and I should have been going up there together to be with Julie and Mike for this day, but now we’re not.

Don’t take the memories you are making for granted, even the sad ones. They are memories worth keeping and cherishing. I’m not going to remember how sad we were as much as I will remember how he always loved and supported me. He was always there. And now he’s not. But we had so many magnificent memories I can look back at now and smile because we were together and, for that, I am thankful.

My life was enriched by the fact that he loved me, wholly and unconditionally, and just about as perfect as it could have been for as long as I knew him. I’ll never regret one moment of that perfection. And I am thankful to know that he never had any regrets either. We only always wished we had been able to meet each other sooner and love each other longer. It’s a blessing to have had that feeling. It was a blessing to have been loved, so very much and so very well, by him. ♥️ I love you, Scott. I miss you every single moment of every single day. See you later, my love. ♥️

And time still doesn’t make sense because I don’t know how much longer that will be.