Tag: heartbroken

What Kind of “Vert” Am I?

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June 24th, 2023

My whole life, I’ve wondered what kind of “vert” I am. Just stay with me for a minute…

Growing up, I always felt like an introvert but had to act like an extrovert if I wanted to ever have friends; I was an Air Force brat and we moved every 2-3 years. I needed to be able to make friends.

Once I get to know someone, they’ll tell you I could talk their ear off. Someone who is excessively loquacious (hush, it sounds better than “chatterbox” or “too talkative” and I’ve been called all of them) instantly makes people think extrovert. But that’s not who I am until I feel comfortable around you. If I talk a lot around you, consider yourself lucky…just kidding; some would say that’s a curse.

So I guess I thought I must be an extrovert most of my life because that’s what everyone else assumed I was.

People think introverted people can’t get on a stage and sing because they don’t like attention. But I don’t have to really talk to anyone to do that.

They think that leadership skills makes you an extrovert. (Don’t tell your little girls they’re bossy; they have leadership skills.) Maybe it does. I don’t always want to be a leader but I get frustrated if no one is leading and keeping things moving properly so I will step up and handle things if I need to. I don’t know what that trait makes me.

What I was getting to, I guess, is that right now I don’t just feel like an introvert. I feel like a hermit. The counselor called it social anxiety disorder. It is likely temporary but it makes life difficult.

I wish Walmart was open all night like before C*VID because I would go at midnight to avoid seeing people and having to talk to them. People text me and want to call or come over but I stress out over what I’m going to say to them. How silly is that?

But everyone says “So, how are you doing?” And that is ABSOLUTELY a normal thing to ask. There is NOTHING wrong with that! But I don’t know how to answer it. Do I say “I’m okay.” Because I’m not okay. I don’t feel “okay” at all. I feel like my world was ripped apart and no one has the glue to repair it…but I can’t tell people that.

Grief is uncomfortable for people. When it’s not your grief, it’s uncomfortable because of two things.

A.) What if it was your grief??? What if this happened to you??? Oh, dear God, what if it was you? How would you live through this? How is it survivable? (Trust me, I felt this exact same way when my sister lost her son just barely over two weeks earlier!)

B.) What do you say? How can you help? Nothing is going to make it better so how can you just not make it worse??? What phrases are “off limits” because they WILL make it worse? (We understand. You’re right; nothing will make it better and words can’t help. And we also understand our own sensitivity to words and phrases you may say. The thing is, nothing actually makes it 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 either. It’s just 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 all by itself. Everything just feels “worse” right now.)

So, no, I don’t want to say that I’m not okay to anyone. They feel better if I just say “I’m doing okay.” And I’m alive and breathing so it’s not like I’m technically lying. “Hey…I’m okay over here. I’m good. I’ve got this…”

And listen, I’m going to survive this. I haven’t “got this,” but somehow I know I’ll survive it. It SUCKS, but I’m going to survive it. Don’t call for a welfare check. But just because I’m surviving doesn’t mean I just feel all hunky dory.

It’s OKAY that your life keeps moving and things go back to normal for you; he wasn’t your person. I totally get it. It’s okay. YOU’RE okay. And that’s good.

But please don’t just expect mine to go “back to normal.” There is NOTHING normal about this life over here. Nada. Nix. Nuh-uh.

And that whole “new normal” that everyone keeps talking about is a bunch of hogwash. I get it that you want me to find a “new normal” but I HATE what that is theoretically supposed to look like. 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. I don’t want to just build a new normal around the idea that he is not here. Around the idea that he will NEVER be here. How am I just supposed to make everything normal without him in my picture. It was its own version of “normal” before I knew him but it will never be the same now that he is gone.

I’m guessing that, at some point, I’ll just make a new picture. The thing about that picture is that I see it like one of those photos where someone is still there but kind of faded, like when people make them sort of transparent for the photo because they’re gone? You know? Because I do want to be able to be happy, truly happy, again one day. I HATE FEELING LIKE THIS BUT I CAN’T JUST STOP. Who I am will always have a piece of Scott. I truly am who I am today because he became an integral part of me.

I believe in true love because of him. I believe in soulmates because of him. I believe in real men existing because of him. I believe in grace existing in people and not just in God because of him. I believe in chivalry still being alive and well because of him. 𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮. That’s a lot, right? You probably didn’t know that part.

So…

Maybe being an introvert or an extrovert is fluid. Maybe you’re not born one or the other but you become who you are, how you are, what you are, because of what you’re going through. Maybe being an “ambivert” who can go back and forth isn’t such a foreign concept, after all.

And I’m still going to say that, whoever I am, through it all, God knew before I was “a twinkle in my daddy’s eye” that I would be exactly that person at precisely that time. He was prepared to be with me and walk me through it. I go through periods of time when I feel 100% alone (and even want to be) but I know 100% that I am not. He is with me withersoever I goest. He’s here. I’m more grateful for that than I can express in words…imagine that for an “extrovert.”

I may be lonely and still not even want to be around people, but I am not actually alone.

Reality is an Evil Houseguest

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June 22nd, 2023

I thought I was figuring this thing out.

I thought that I was really trying to get myself to see the truth. That it is real and that he’s actually gone. Forever, from this world. I thought this because, in the numb place that I often seem to live, I would say to myself “Jen, this is real life. He isn’t coming back. He won’t just walk in the door. This isn’t just a dream.”

How can someone who was so ALIVE and so consistent, and so steadfast just be GONE? Disappear. How?

As if truly believing it would check off some box in a list of necessary chores in order to reach ultimate healing, I tried to persevere in my quest to find “healing” from these wretched battle wounds. As if it meant I had risen one more rung on the ladder that would lead to my being capable of living again.

I was wrong.

There is no ladder, no list. They tell you about the stages of grief but they’re not sequential and they’re not one trip only. They’re just willy-nilly, all over the place and there is no structure to them at ALL!

But the strangest part is that, although I consciously thought I was trying to figure it all out, to definitively make progress, it was all a ruse. My brain was somehow playing a double agent. What a crock.

Apparently, my subconscious has other plans for a surprise reveal all on its own. I feel like I am on one of those makeover shows. “Here comes the new you! Hope you like it! But if you don’t, TOO BAD. What’s done is done! Enjoy! Annnnnd, heeeeere’s Jennifer!”

For the last couple of days, I can’t really explain it properly in words, but I have been feeling The Truth about my life and my future trying to break the door down. It’s like certain smells (especially), music, things I’ve seen are trying to push through and devastate me with some big news. It feels like standing at the precipice of a giant cliff, leaning back as far as I can, and swirling my arms madly, backwards and in circular motion, to keep from going over the edge. It feels like a knobby, old, gray hand with long, ragged fingernails is flexing around a slightly open door and trying to push inwards as I lean, with all of my strength, against the door to keep it closed.

STOP!!! No!!! I don’t want to know! Don’t tell me! I like this numb, fantasy world better! STAY OUT!!!

And yet I thought I was trying to “make progress” by letting it in…

…

I know that, at some point, The Truth will cross that threshold and it won’t be gently. It will be in spectacular fashion, crushing me beneath the heavy door and the door frame as it crashes and pummels its way in. It will be far from painless. It will be devastating.

Somehow I know that the sadness and loss I have felt so far is minuscule, insignificant, microscopic compared to what The Truth will bring as it breaches my consciousness.

As I now fight off the entering darkness, it is a strange feeling. I thought I wanted “progress” in this grief journey, to move ahead toward healing and some sensation of “normality”.

What it is instead resembles a severe burn patient who knows that the time for debridement is coming nigh and that this is the only way forward but is a treacherous, painful, horrific pathway to submit to just for “healing”. What scars will I be left with when it’s over? Will people even know it’s still me? Can I survive the onslaught of misery that comes with it?

There is another Truth that is alive and well, though. It is the Truth that matters and Scott is already viewing His countenance.

The Way. The Truth. The Life.

No other truth surpasses the importance of this Truth. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

So, again, I turn to the only place my help comes from. Hear my cry, O God; listen to my prayer. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I, for you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy (Ps 61:1-3). He brought me up out of a horrible pit [of tumult and of destruction], out of the miry clay and He set my feet upon a rock, steadying my footsteps and establishing my path. (Ps 40:2)

This song is an old one, from when we lived in Saudi Arabia and had private worship in people’s homes, when we weren’t allowed to have church. It still sticks with me when I need it.

“Oh, Lord, in the morning, will I direct my prayer unto Thee and will look up.”

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!”
‭‭
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?

Published on by God is in the OutcomeLeave a comment

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

Published on by God is in the Outcome2 Comments

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) ♥️