Tag: depression

Dig Ditches Even if There is No Rain

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July 10th, 2023

It’s been a long and difficult day but I am moving through some changes in my spirit.

I can’t help saying again that two months feels like it’s been forever one minute then like I still can’t believe he’s gone the next. How has it even been two whole months since I saw his face or heard his voice? But how had it been only two months when it also seems like forever? I’ll never understand the way that time morphed into something different, something that doesn’t make sense, since he’s been gone.

I talked to him a lot throughout the day today, out loud because there’s no one here most of the time to hear me anyway. I’ve told him how much I love and miss him. I’ve told him I wished I was making two sandwiches instead of one. I’ve told him how much our dogs miss him because he spoiled them so much more than I do…I’m the disciplinarian (don’t feed them people food in the living room; that’s how they learn to beg. At least take it to their bowl so they know that’s where they eat.) I’ve told him my heart still hurts so much. I’ve asked him why he left me alone.

But overall there may be a season of change coming. Early this morning I listened to this Steven Furtick message and it truly, deeply spoke to me.

In the beginning he says “If it left your life, it’s not necessary for what’s next;” he said that twice. I got offended by that. like, really offended. You don’t know my story, Pastor Furtick. How do you know? Dude…he was NECESSARY for my life. I NEEDED him. I wanted to turn the video off but a whisper said not to.

The pastor kept talking. As he spoke, I heard a Word that was meant for me. He said that “whatever left your life, whether it was abandonment or whether it was just tragedy, I declare that the Holy Spirit is going to fill all of those gaps.” Okay, now, come on, Holy Spirit. Do. What. You. Do. Fill me! I’m ready! (But am I acting like I’m ready…?)

And so I continued to listen to this 15 minute message and it meant something to me. The whole thing quivered in my spirit, deep down inside of me.

God will tell you to dig ditches for water to fill when there is no rain. He will tell you to get ready for provision when there is no source in sight. He will tell you to prepare for overflow when you are fully empty and cannot remember, can’t even imagine what it would feel like for a single drop to fall on the parched earth that is now your heart.

I confess that I have heard Him say just that. And I’m not ready. My human mind, with all of it’s limitations, tells me I am not ready. How can I accept a life with overflow when my husband is not here to share it with me, to celebrate it with me? I’ve made no secret of the fact that Scott grounded me, encouraged me, was my champion, lifted me up, and supported me even when I did not feel worthy of what was before me. And now my husband is not here to bolster my defenses. Yet, God still has plans for my life, even still. He has plans for abundance. He has plans for growth. He has plans for fruitfulness. He has plans for a time of building. I literally and truly already know these things because they’ve been revealed to me and spoken over me again and again. It’s strange because even when I feel like I’m incapable of listening, He speaks. Even when I don’t want to hear because I want, somehow, to remain stuck in my brokenness, in my despair, He won’t leave me alone.

And I don’t really want to remain stuck. It hurts and it is a wretched place to live. I want to be free of this pain and anguish but what would that say about how much I loved and adored my husband? Oh, how I did, so much. And oh, how I do not want to live this life alone, without him. And yet I have been given no choice in the matter. How do I leave him here and “move on?” Well, by not leaving him here, of course. But it doesn’t feel that easy. When he is not here to go with me, it feels like if I take a step out of this spot, he won’t be beside me anymore…and yet he isn’t actually beside me now. It’s an absurd emotional paradox.

God will wait until I’m ready, however, or until I force myself to move. It’s such a conundrum because I physically have difficulty moving at times. No one tells you how much carrying the weight of this emotional pain weakens your physical body. It doesn’t even seem as if it conforms to natural logic. But if I can make myself (sometimes) go for a walk, or take a shower and wash my hair, or load the dishwasher, or walk to the mailbox, then I can make myself move on God’s intended path.

In the mornings, I already read devotionals because they are short and are enough that I can manage to get through reading them but can also still retain what I read. I read short passages of scripture. I pray even though it 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 small and ineffectual. I listen to praise music. Then I sit in the quiet, but it’s not in obedience to listening, if I’m being honest; it is in response to apathy and lethargy. These are decidedly two side effects of grief and depression. I have created these rituals because even when I cannot feel like worshiping, I know that the Word of God does not return void. I know that the decision to worship is every bit as important as, if not more than, the 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 of worship. We are not our feelings. Emotions are fickle and foolhardy. God is not.

God is preparing me to move. He is giving me space. He is letting me process things on the timeline that my mind is capable of maneuvering. I still do not feel like I can take on the world. I still don’t feel, many days, like I can walk, much less run. But He’s going to wait, and He will keep gently pushing me toward what He has planned for me because He already knows that His will, His plan, is what will eventually bring me joy. I just have to decide that I am worthy of that without my husband beside me. I’m still not sure what happened when “us” became “me” and of what I still have left coming out of that change.

Father God, Abba, lead me to the rock that is higher than I. You are my fortress and my deliverer. Only You hold the key to my salvation and to a future that will bring me joy. I don’t want to waste that, but I don’t know how to feel the strength to walk the path that ends in it. You are my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in You and you help me. My heart will leap for joy, and with my song I will praise You. In You, I am strong and courageous. I will not fear or be in dread, for it is the Lord my God who goes with me. You will not leave me nor forsake me. I can do all things through Christ, who gives me strength. For they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not get tired; they shall walk and not become weary or faint. You have not given me a spirit not of fear, but of power and of love and of self-control. I will seek You and Your strength; I will seek Your presence continually. You, Lord, are my strength and my song; You also have become my salvation; You are my God, and I will praise You. I will exalt You and seek Your face. I have peace in my heart because the Holy Spirit comforts me.
In Jesus’ name, I cry out to You. Amen

What Happens to My Story Now?

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July 10th, 2023

GRIEF TRIGGER WARNING: scroll on by now.

Today is the 10th again. The second 10th that has come along since he was last here on Earth. I don’t know if I’ll ever pass by a 10th again without remembering.

I don’t mean remembering him; I’ll obviously always remember him. I actually take comfort in the fact that, even if I end up with dementia someday, I’ll likely always remember him. If that happens, don’t remind me that he’s gone; just tell me he’s gone fishing in the Keys and he’ll be back soon…I’ll probably wonder why he didn’t take me.

No, I mean remembering 𝘪𝘵. Remembering the night he died. Remembering the events, the snapshots that make me think I should have photographic memory since they won’t go away. Remembering the absence of breath, the people with the code cart sliding into the room, the ineffectiveness, being escorted to an ICU waiting room when I would never see the ICU itself because he was never coming. I hoped, oh, I hoped against hope. But even as I prayed in cries and tears and anguish, even as I spoke life for him, I think I knew he wasn’t coming back. There were whispers in my spirit to prepare myself. Preparation didn’t come. I just already knew they were too late.

Being a nurse doesn’t make you good in a personal emergency or tragedy. It’s like someone turns off the switch during the trauma but then they save it so you can watch the replay later, like boys at football practice looking back at plays they missed in the last game. Enter the newly added grief stage of “guilt.”

I wasn’t “the nurse,” his nurse, I know. In my more concentrated moments I know that there was nothing else I could have done, personally, to save him. Still, places in my brain scream at me that should have, should have found a way, should have thought of something, should have helped him fight harder, should have stopped it from happening…somehow…

I spent ten of my nursing years in an ICU trying to pry people away from the grips of death. Trying to fight off the grim reaper like a vasopressor and vasoconstrictor-armed Navy SEAL trained with special tactics in Code Teams, calling doctors to the forefront of the mission for backup. None of that helped me in the moment because I was a wife, a “visitor,” on nursing turf that wasn’t my own and, at the moment, out of my element because he was mine.

When you’ve spent your life trying to stop people from dying, you have certain expectations of yourself. I imagine that if I were a police officer and had watched someone I love get shot in slow motion, I’d feel responsible even if there was truly nothing I could have done. If I was a paramedic arriving on scene only to find my loved one there an was obviously not going to make it, I would still feel like I should have done more to stop that from happening.

I think that is human nature. That is why guilt was added onto the grief package, like an extra amenity for your trip. We ask all the why’s and how’s and then, when all sensible answers evade us, we decide nonsensically that it must have been something we did or didn’t do.

Scott’s death 100% was not anything I could have stopped. (You are now speaking to the day shift manager of my brain who is inordinately more logical than the creepy night shift guy who is always such a Debbie Downer.) The end of Scott’s story was told by other narrators because otherwise, if I had told it, it would have been a fairytale like our life together always was.

God is still in the story, though. What happened to my husband in a hospital room is not the end of the book. It’s the end of a chapter. In this saga, the last chapter is already written and there, inevitably and irrevocably, the good guys will emerge victorious. The Bible already says so. The epitome of a good book has intrigue, a love story, dramatic climaxes, terrifying chapter-end cliffhangers, soaring victories, and a hero who changed it all. Jesus already did that and takes the cake for all heroes ever.

I’m still going to cry over this scene even though I’ve already read the book-become-script-for-a-blockbuster-movie (all the good ones do.) I’ve read the ending already. Good wins over evil. Period.

I know how it goes but I’m still going to cry over the tragic middle pages. I still cry every time I read OR watch The Notebook when they break up, even though I know it ends beautifully. (Yes, yes, they both die in the end but they get to be together; don’t rain on my allegory. The point is that even sad stories can have endings that aren’t exactly what you hoped for but are beautiful nonetheless.)

The story of Jesus is like that, too. Adventure, surprises, love, pain, and tragedy…but with victory three days later. The ending justifies the heartache. When I watch The Chosen (an interpretative telling of the story of Jesus), I cry then, too, while already knowing how the story is going to end.

Today, yet another milestone on this journey I’m forced to walk, I will cry a little. Then I’m picking myself up by the bootstraps and reminding myself that the ending has already been written and who knows what the chapters will look like between now and then? There may be mystery, intrigue, joy, laughter, and heart-warming anecdotes revolving around family and friends. Reading the first page of the next chapter doesn’t mean leaving the last one behind because, as you read an entire book, the whole story has to pull together as one big part to fulfill the overall plot.

Whatever chapter I read now, he’s already an integral part of everything I’ll read going forward.

A few quotes from The Notebook bring it all together:

“The best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds, and that’s what you’ve given me.”

“I am nothing special; just a common man with common thoughts, and I’ve led a common life…But in one respect I have succeeded as gloriously as anyone who’s ever lived: I’ve loved another with all my heart and soul; and to me, this has always been enough.”

“It wasn’t over. It still isn’t over.”

A Whirlwind of Chaos

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July 9th, 2023

Grief is messy.

It makes your future messy. It makes your heart messy. It makes emotions (super) messy. It makes your makeup messy (if you bother to put any on at some point.) It makes families messy. It makes finances messy. It makes plans, dreams, hopes, desires, all of it…just messy.

It is like a whirlwind of chaos, a tornado, sweeping through anything and everything in its path. It doesn’t discriminate. It does not care if you have to go out in public or are staying home. It doesn’t care whether you have the strength to deal with it today or not. It does not care at all, about anything. It just likes to blow everything over in its way.

One person will tell you that there are five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. Another fella came along and added Guilt (an apt addition) and Reconstruction. Then someone else decided that hope goes with acceptance and shock and isolation go along with denial. I have discovered that shock and isolation last through all of the other stages for a long time and that hope may or may not be present with Bargaining, as well. Finally, they’ve added in “Complicated Grief” (but isn’t all grief complicated?) also known as “Prolonged Grief Disorder.” Think of this whole grief thing as a multi-course meal and, if you eat all of your vegetables then you get dessert…Complicated.

What they don’t like to tell you up front, kind of like a car salesman with the add on fees that magically appear at the end of your contract and don’t make any sense whatsoever, is that these “stages” not only do not arrive in any particular order or with any sensible notice, but also that you will revisit each one over…and over…and over…ad nauseam.

Do not leave home; grief is behind the wheel. Do not make plans; grief is in charge of the calendar. Do not expect to sleep; grief dictates the schedule of the sandman. If you do sleep, do not expect to experience rest; grief decides what movie will be showing that night. Do not go grocery shopping; grief throws a party on whatever aisle he wants to. Basically, if you’re grieving, the safest thing to do is nothing…nothing at all.

But who is grief? A thief in the night? (The thief comes only to steal, kill, and destroy; John 10:10) A roaring lion? (Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. 1 Peter 5:8) A snake in the grass? (…that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray…was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him. Revelation 12:9) A liar? A murderer? (…He was a murderer from the beginning and does not stand in the truth because there is no truth in him…for he is a liar and the father of lies. John 8:44)

But God is only good. (Give thanks unto the Lord; for he is good. Psalm 136:1)

Trust me when I tell you that grief is a daily, nightly, constant attack. It is like being in a battle for your life every moment, all the time. It is a fight to save your own life as you are blanketed in despair over the loss of someone else’s. It is flaming arrows, armor piercing bullets, canons, and air to ground missiles. It is constantly running away from the next potential ambush which could end up being in exactly the direction you are speeding toward. It’s exhausting. It’s incessant. It’s unfair…because who ever said war was fair?

And grief is confusing. You’ve been trained to be in battle. You’re a soldier. You know all about the armor of God, what each piece is for, how to get dressed. You’ve been briefed on what tactics the enemy will use to get to you. Nevertheless, you find yourself confounded, as if you have been slipped a mickey and suddenly your thoughts are warped. Time, itself, is bending and twisting out of shape. You feel yourself moving in slow motion and yet you see the world flying by at warp speed just by looking out the window. Without warning, nothing makes sense anymore.

But every once in a while, you are able to pull yourself together enough to remember appropriate tactics for victory. Sometimes your thoughts come together, as if the enemy forgot to dose you in time. On occasion, you recognize the sound of help charging across the horizon and you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that rescue is imminent. If only you could leave enemy territory before grief catches up to you again.

God has a way of reaching out for you, always. He remains steadfast in times of uncertainty, loss, fear, devastation, mutiny, disregard, and disobedience. When He reaches, you have to reach back.

Prayer, scripture, quiet moments of listening for the whispers, the messages of wise counsel, music, worship, gratitude, and praise are all at your disposal at all times. If you are unable to access one, reach for another.

As always, I am creating reminders for myself, but maybe you hear my battle cry from the prison where you are locked up. From one prisoner of grief to another, I’m shouting to you to let you know how you can reach the key to your cell in order to free yourself.

While you start reaching for yours, I’ll be over here working on getting out myself. I know of someone who definitely wants me to find my way out.

See that victory sign?

Logic is not Lord…Jesus Cried When Lazarus Died

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July 8th, 2023

It may take me awhile to write this one because I can feel some truths rumbling around up inside my head but they’re swirling and dodging. I can’t get a hold on how I’m supposed to put them together. There have been whisperings all morning trying to get a point across to me and I can’t latch on to it. Maybe writing will pull it all together for me…and maybe make sense to some of you.

I don’t have much focus these days. I’ve said that before. Well, let me rephrase that. My focus is on loss. And I’m going to preface this whole thing with saying that it is normal to focus on loss after experiencing it. When a person filled huge spaces of time in your life and then they’re gone, you have all of those moments to figure out how to reframe life to work in a way you can manage.

It’s like being an artist and painting a lot with your favorite color, but then they discontinue that color. It would take awhile to figure out what your art was going to look like, how to put the other colors on the canvas to fill in the areas where that color was no longer an option.

But, yes, my focus is on loss but also on that reframing. And I admit, I still have no idea how to do it. Most of my life will never look the same but I have to find a way to live in the parts that are still here. It’s scary to not know what not only tomorrow will look like but all of the tomorrows. And I think that it is ALL of the tomorrows that are tripping me up. It’s overwhelming.

Satan has a way of dragging your focus into lack. He wants you to stay honed in on everything that you don’t have. If you do that, then he might be able to convince you that God is not good. He is The Father of Lies, after all.

I cannot live like logic is Lord.

Logically, there are a lot of empty spaces in my life. Logically, there is no one to be my confidant, my best friend, my late night conversationalist, my bed partner, my confidence booster, my reminder of all things good, my comforter, my….my so-many-things. Logically, I can never financially afford to live the life we created together without him here in the long term. Or if I do manage to, I still don’t know what that will look like or how it is possible yet.

God never looked at my situation and said, “Well, once Scott gets up here with me, there’s not much I can do with you. It won’t work because you don’t have enough.” Enough love, enough peace, enough money, enough confidence, enough good, enough “Scott.” He never, ever looks at our situation and says “I’d like you to do this but you don’t have enough.”

God is the giver of enough. “God doesn’t call the qualified; He qualifies the called.” is a common phrase to hear in Christian circles. I may not be able to predict how I’m going to have enough. I may not have enough right now. But He is already holding enough in His hands, waiting for the right time to place it in front of me.

Why did Jesus only do ministry for three years before he died. Didn’t he say “God, you’re only giving me three years? How do you expect me to save the world in three years? It’s not enough.” Nope. Wouldn’t he have said “I’m going to need more followers than this. We need more witnesses to tell everyone this salvation was a real thing. That I am who I say I am. Twelve disciples will never be enough.” Nope.

And why DIDN’T God give him more time here? Because He didn’t need it. He can do what He needs to do in any time frame He wants to do it. (All of this without mentioning that Jesus is God but is also the Son, so of course he already knew all of this, but the way the Holy Trinity works is another talk for another day.)

Why did Jesus choose Judas to be a disciple, when he only had 12 disciples? Why not choose someone worthy? Because he already had a plan. Why did God choose David, who was a murderer (by proxy) and an adulterer, to name as the man after His own heart? Why did He choose Moses, a man with a speech impediment, to speak to the king asking for the release of the Israelites? Why pick Paul, who persecuted Christians mercilessly to help lead people to Christianity? Why choose a child to fight a lion and a giant? 𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘏𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴.

If you were holding interviews, reading these résumés for a particular job, these would NOT have been the people you would have chosen.

But God does the undoable. He makes the impossible possible. He chooses the unchoosable (yes, I just made that word up.) He chooses situations that seem humanly impossible to show His glory and His omnipotence, to show that, with God, all things are possible.

I want to be able to live wrapped inside a bubble of faith. I want to be able to know that, come what may, it will be okay. I will be okay. Everything is possible. But there are warring forces that both desire my attention. Hard as I try, I still let the evil ones win sometimes. Especially in loss, fear, depression and despair because those things make us weaker. Those things make it a lot more difficult to “take every thought captive to make it obedient to Christ.” (2 Corinthians 10:5)

When there are days that I feel as if I don’t have the physical energy to take off pajamas and put daytime clothes on, when doing so seems like it has no purpose, when taking a shower feels like a feat of great willpower, taking thoughts captive when they are invading every moment does feel very overwhelming.

So I pray for my faith bubble. I pray for protection from the lies of the enemy. I pray to be able to recognize the glimmers of hope that may punctuate my day.

My days often feel impossible right now. And you can rest assured that the devil is in my ear constantly telling me that it is exactly that…just impossible, all of it.

I know Scott was not God. Maybe it sounds to you like I worship him when I say how wonderful he was and tell you all of the things that he was to me. But I have always just adored the fact that He was God’s gift given to me. I have praised God so many times for sending him. He was the embodiment of so many of God’s principles. He wasn’t sinless or faultless at all, but he was a wonderful reminder of God’s goodness to me.

Just because he is no longer here doesn’t mean that God’s goodness is gone. I just have to look a little harder to see it for right now, while I’m living in the loss of him.

I think the key may be in remembering to look at every today. Everyone says to just keep putting one foot in front of the other, which sounds easy if you’re not the one who feels as if you don’t have the strength to walk another step. Grief doesn’t just affect your mind. It affects your whole body.

Looking at one day, however, makes it difficult to imagine getting through some of those days but not impossible. Right now, as I sit here and write, I know that I can make it to bedtime tonight and that, eventually, I will be able to fall asleep.

What feels impossible is not knowing how long this pain will be chewing up my heart from the inside out. Not knowing how many years I have to last living without my soulmate by my side. Not knowing how I will manage to work and keep the bills all paid. Not knowing what the future looks like and FEELS like. That part is shattering and staggering and devastating and overcoming and paralyzing. That part is impossible.

While I feel like I need a plan, a map, a checklist for this journey, there is not one…that I am able see. But God is holding onto it. I want to know what my future looks like. I even want to know if there is more unexpected loss ahead (that part can bring me to my knees in an instant, just pondering it or assuming it because of what my family has been through lately.)

Look, one point of what I’m trying to say is that being in the place where I am, desperately grieving and cannot seem to find which way is up on some days, that’s okay. Crying and bemoaning this loss that changes my whole life in the most difficult of ways, that’s a HUMAN thing to do, even though I believe that God will turn it for good somehow. Jesus wept when Lazarus died. He cried. He knew it wasn’t forever but He was human as well as God. Sadness was an emotion he felt. And He knew God is good, because He is God. But He also knew the pain caused by death and so he responded to those feelings with what humans do…we cry, we mourn, we have to LEARN to put the pieces back together.

God only knows how I’m going to do that eventually. Today is the day (and every day afterwards) that I’m going to remind myself to put my trust pants on. Not my smarty pants, fancy pants, sassy pants, or bossy pants…my trust pants. You’re welcome for that visual of what each of those pants may look like.

I can only get up every SINGLE day, one at a time, and make a decision to trust Him. And then get through that day. I cannot get bogged down by the unknowns of ALL of the days ahead, just one at a time. And even on the days when I can’t imagine how I am going to continue to do this life alone, I still trust Him…because I still do know that He knows already. And He’s not going to leave me alone in the thick of it, no matter how alone I may feel.

For today, I know God’s got me, come what may. Just for today, I have to step out of the boat and start walking on the water toward Him.

And then tomorrow will be another today and I start all over not knowing whether I’ll sink or swim before the day is through.

I Lied and Said I was Busy

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July 7th, 2023

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦.

In The Before, it’s not that my Friday nights were a raging, exciting party. Quite the opposite, in fact. Friday nights were quiet. We would say “Have fun. Be safe. Wear your seat belt. Make good choices.” to the kids as we either spoke to them on the phone or they were leaving the house. Then we picked one of our favorite shows or an old or new movie on Netflix, Hulu, Prime Video, and snuggled into the living room with a bowl of popcorn and some Reese’s Pieces. Friday nights were perfect.

Sure, occasionally we would go out to dinner, or do something fun like take a mosaic class or pottery painting. We both enjoyed doing things like that. But most Friday nights were just a time to be homebodies. They were just time spent together. We’d have a running commentary on whatever was on TV, talk about silly memes on Facebook or TikTok videos, laugh until we were nearly crying over some of the most ridiculous things. I remember a couple of them vividly and some I can’t even remember what we laughed at now. But Friday nights were perfect.

Now, it’s The After. I don’t know what to do with myself on these nights now. I cannot watch our favorite shows. The new season of Lincoln Lawyer just came out and I started to put it on and then realized I couldn’t push “play.” I actually have to be very careful about what I watch because those grief ambushes are around every corner but especially when you don’t know what scenes will play on TV. Just about anything with a husband and wife hits hard.

Surfing Facebook is a gamble because the algorithm has “Suggested For You” grief pages every third post now. Thanks, social media, for figuring out exactly what will reduce me to tears. Well done.

And if it isn’t grief stuff then I’m bound to come across something I wish I could forward to him. I’d sit here next to him, copy the post to a text message, hit send, then wait for his screen to light up. He’d pick it up, read the text, roll his eyes and say “really?” and we’d laugh about it. I can still see the face he’d make when he knew I was being silly.

Browsing Amazon Prime means seeing all of the things he put in the grandbaby wish list. Sitting in our bedroom instead of the living room means his empty spot is right beside me. His phone, still on his charger on the nightstand, still lights up with every notification. Walking in or out of the bathroom means passing by his still-full dresser every time.

And yet I cannot bear to change any of these things. I cannot do anything that would “erase” him. I’m terrified of forgetting what all of the faces he made would look like. Of forgetting his laugh. Of forgetting what it sounded like when he told me that he didn’t know how he had managed to live life before me but now that he had me, he’d never ever live it without me. Turns out he was right.

This new way of life without him here isn’t even like the way of life before I met him. I had no idea what I was missing then. I’d given up on the fantasy, fairytale idea that men like him existed. There was no longing in that life. This life is nothing but. Every minute of every day, just a desperate longing for every minute of every day I had when he was here with me.

There’s a saying (and a song by the old band Cinderella) that goes “You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.” Oh, but I knew. I read the Facebook Memories posts that I’ve written over the last ten years and, over and over again, I’m reminded that I knew 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 what I had from the moment we met. And so now I know exactly what I’m missing.

Did we fuss and argue sometimes? Get on each other’s nerves sometimes? If you’ve been following my grief chronicles then you’ve already read that, yes, we did. But that was part of the beauty of it! Even when we were aggravated, there was never any fear in that.

Neither of us ever wondered if the other would get tired of it and just give up. 𝘞𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. There was something about the connection we had as soon as we met that said “This is it; this is 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙊𝙉𝙀.”

We talked a lot about that in our first days. Neither of us ever wanted to suffer through the heartache of divorce ever again. And we didn’t. And we DID wonder how much worse this would be, one day when one of us went first. We DIDN’T have a clue it would be this soon. It was never supposed to be this soon.

We had talked about screening in the patio just so that we could put a porch swing and rocking chairs out there. So that when we were old and gray (well, older and grayER) we could sit out there and watch the grandkids play. We said we’d say things like “Well, back in my day…” and “You don’t know how easy you have it…” You know, about walking to school barefoot in the snow, uphill both ways. We were going to be the quintessential old folks together, holding hands and still kissin’ to gross the kids out. That’s what we thought. That’s what we dreamed about.

So now, I don’t know what to do with all of that. And I don’t know what to do without it. Scott made me believe that knights in shining armor really did exist, and he was mine on more than one occasion…so many occasions. I’m thankful for every day that I had him and yet there is a tiny part that knows that if he’d never shown me to believe in that life, today would be easier…if I had only not known.

Wouldn’t trade a single day for the world, though. Not one day. Because once I met him, I definitely didn’t want a world without him.

And now…what do I do with that?

Let me end on a note like this: yes, I am a Christian. Yes, I believe that God has the power to turn my world right again. It will never be the same but I know one day He will allow me to feel happy again, to experience fullness of joy. That does 𝘯𝘰𝘵 mean that I cannot be sad today. God gave me a HUGE gift in my husband; He gave me something truly 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 missing. My sadness is a tribute to how wonderful of a gift Scott was to my life because grief IS the cost of really loving someone.

And just like God can handle my anger, my failures, my flaws, my repentance, He can also walk in my sadness with me and know that each tear I cry draws me near to Him as I press in for His strength. Sadness is not sin. I am sad; I am not faithless. I know God will lift me out but today I’m in a pit of loss. I am still thankful for the immense gift of each day with my husband, but I can also be sad for each day that I will live on missing him, and for all that he will miss here, too.

For this Friday night, I am busy…

Grief Has No Timetable

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July 3rd, 2023

Not being able to think of words to pray when I want to reach out to God for help in this season has been hard. I have started to pray, many times, and have fallen into tears because what I really want to ask is something that won’t happen this side of Heaven. Consequently, I can’t even think of words for anything else. I often just pray “I trust you, Jesus” because I know He will deliver me through this darkness. Other than that, few words have come on their own.

The Bible has many prayers and reminders tucked within its pages. But reading is difficult, too. When I try to read any book, it feels like I’m reading something written in a foreign language. It’s like I can pronounce the words but few of them are making sense or I cannot retain the words that are strung together in a sentence long enough to obtain comprehension.

The thing about reading my Bible, though, as opposed to a novel, is that I know what the Bible says about things we go through in life. It says to trust Him, to obey His Word. I can sit down with my Bible and read aloud and know that I am praying His will into my life. If you were to ask me what I just read/prayed, I may say that I’m not even sure, or I may be able to tell you what book and chapter I was reading from but not give you much context at this point. The important thing is that I am speaking His Word, and out loud because His Word holds power on my tongue.

Grief has no timetable. There is no agenda or list of tasks I can mark off. There is no foreseeable end date. There is no future date I can look forward to or count down towards when it will “get easier” because grief does it’s own thing inside each of us and there are many variables. The only thing I have to cling to is the Word of God which tells me He is faithful. From the history of my own life, I can pull specific passages of time that speak to His goodness, His faithfulness, His comfort, and His strength given over to me. By this I know that I will have endurance through this passage of time because He won’t leave me in it alone.

Today, these are just a few of the passages that I have pulled strength from.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”
‭‭Philippians‬ ‭4‬:‭6‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”
‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭31‬:‭6‬, ‭8‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“Hear me, Lord, and answer me, for I am poor and needy. Guard my life, for I am faithful to you; save your servant who trusts in you. You are my God; have mercy on me, Lord, for I call to you all day long. Bring joy to your servant, Lord, for I put my trust in you. You, Lord, are forgiving and good, abounding in love to all who call to you. Hear my prayer, Lord; listen to my cry for mercy. When I am in distress, I call to you, because you answer me. Among the gods there is none like you, Lord; no deeds can compare with yours. All the nations you have made will come and worship before you, Lord; they will bring glory to your name. For you are great and do marvelous deeds; you alone are God. Teach me your way, Lord, that I may rely on your faithfulness; give me an undivided heart, that I may fear your name. I will praise you, Lord my God, with all my heart; I will glorify your name forever. For great is your love toward me; you have delivered me from the depths, from the realm of the dead.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭86‬:‭1-13

This photo of Scott, in a Google Photos slideshow, just popped up this morning right as I was finishing reading in Psalms. I noticed something in the clouds today that I had never seen before in this photo. It reminded me that Scott was also not alone when he left that night. And he knew he wasn’t leaving me alone, either. He wasn’t afraid to go because he knew he would see me soon (in his current understanding of the passage of time) and that He was leaving me with the greatest source of love, protection, strength, and comfort until that time. He knew I’d be held until he could hold me, when we would worship together again. Until then, my love. ♥️🌅

Battery Drain

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June 26th, 2023

I don’t want to go anywhere. I literally just want to sit in this house.

A friend of mine posted this today and I discovered that I am 93% on the side that sucks your energy (overworking is not a problem since I’m not working yet.)

So…lightbulb moment, I guess. I felt like grief, itself, was sucking my energy. Turns out I may be depleting my own by avoiding 87.5% of the energy givers” (Prayer/meditation/mini-devotions and deep breaths are about as far as I get on that list.)

I’m trying to find a way to do better, to feel better. Mind you, this is not a “turn lemons into lemonade” situation. I could squeeze them but there’s no sugar to add so that would be some mighty sour lemonade. Maybe doing some of these things could be baby steps to learning how to move, how to breathe, how to live again.

Maybe you’re grieving, too. Or maybe you’re suffering from depression for a different reason. Is this an eye-opener for you, too?

I’m going to try to do 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 one thing from the Givers list tomorrow. I’ll do my best to do at least three of them but I’m going to call it success if I can do one more than I’ve done today and almost all of the other days. If you are living on the Energy Takers side right now for one reason or another, will you try to add some from the other list tomorrow, too? Then let me know tomorrow if you succeeded?

I’m still having to take this thing one day at a time…honestly, a lot of days one hour at a time. But I will find my way. I know I’m not the only one surviving so I’m not alone and neither are you, even on the days when it feels like it.

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

When “We” Became “Me”

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Three weeks ago today, I drove you to the hospital. We waited for three hours in the waiting room and complained about how ridiculous it was that they told us to be there at 8:30 when they weren’t taking you back until 11:30. Oh, how I would love to have those three hours back again.

How has it been three weeks? It seems like you’ve been gone forever but, at literally the same time, it feels like I was holding your hand yesterday, alive and well, the only worry on your mind: getting this surgery out of the way so that you could go home with me and then get back to work soon. Back to feeling like yourself. Back to “normal.”

It should have been soon…if we’d have had the surgery on the original date, April 19th, things would have been so different. You’d be getting to take the neck brace off tomorrow and you would have been so excited to be free of it. The original surgery date was six weeks ago.

Instead, you were free of it much earlier but in a way none of us ever even imagined, never wanted…couldn’t stop. And now I look over at your side of the bed every night and say I love you and I miss you so much, to a blank space.

You’ve always filled in my blank spaces before. I didn’t want to ever get married again; you filled in a blank space I was trying to delete. I felt alone and worthless, ruined and a failure; you reminded me who I am and what I was worth, to you, to the kids, to God, and to the world. I didn’t know what my purpose was after kids graduating and retiring from nursing; you made me excited for all of the things that would now live in that blank space. There were no blank spaces when you were here. No matter what the challenge, the worry, the task at hand, you always said “We’ve got this, baby. Together, we’ve got this.” And then I always believed you. Simply because we were together. So…what happens now that “we” became a “me”?

All in all, the highs were worth the pain. You were worth it. We were worth it. I don’t know how “I’ve got this” without you but I do know that we always believed and knew that God was part of that we. It was never just us because, although it is obvious now how a strand of three cords can be frayed, it cannot be broken. And we cannot be broken because I’ll see you one day in Paradise.

I just didn’t think that would be the very next time I’d see you, three weeks ago today.