Tag: Heaven

Anniversaries are Supposed to be Happy Occasions…right?

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I didn’t make a post yesterday because I needed, for my own sanity and ability to put one foot in front of the other, to essentially pretend that it was another, everyday kind of day. None of my days will ever be the kind of normal I want them to be again; yesterday was certainly anything but “normal.”

May 10th. One year. A whole year. The longest year of my life and yet…wasn’t he just here yesterday? I will continue to say that I really don’t understand how time works after all of this. Or how it can be that my brain knows he is gone but my heart…my heart still thinks he’ll walk in the door any minute. My heart still jumps when I see his location on my phone and it says he’s home. For a split second, every time, I want to get up and go find him. And then after the split second comes the sinking feeling that he cannot be at our home because he has a new one with Jesus.

Tornados hitting the county, a tree falling and crushing my new baby almond tree, my patio furniture being slung all over the place, and no power most of the day while Lillian was with me kept my thoughts busy in the early morning. We hid in the hallway and played with flashlights with all of the curtains, shutters, and doors in the house closed until the danger had passed, then walked window to window to survey what damage we could see from inside. Soon after, a sweet friend took time out of her own busy, kid-filled schedule to just come sit in our powerless house and talk with me for a couple of hours. We talked about a myriad of things but really didn’t focus on Scott. Oh, I thought about him all day long..he’s in most of my thoughts every day…but I couldn’t really talk about him yesterday. I had wanted to spend the day celebrating who he was but then realized I could not talk about him much at all on this “anniversary day” or I would lose what composure I was managing to maintain, a slim cord wrapped around the bulging chaos of grief that wanted to spill out. So I just kept pretending.

A little later my kids started showing up to hang out while we all waited for power to return at our respective homes. We all laughed at Lillian’s antics, which tend to amp up when there are so many of her favorite people there to watch, and everyone tiptoed around what day it was…or more accurately, around what this day looked like, felt like last year. With no power, no TV or music or phones for distraction, it was a blessing to be occupied by casual conversation with others the whole day.

Luke and Patrice asked me to eat supper with them but Austin and Taylor had already invited me to go out to dinner with them at the beautiful 406 restaurant. They took me with them to their anniversary dinner and then insisted on paying for my dinner and theirs. I didn’t realize last year that it happened on their anniversary. I’ve found, along the way, that there is a LOT I don’t remember at all about those days.

Our power was restored and, thankfully, I was able to get some sleep with the A/C on. Much needed sleep because, although I’ve been dreading the arrival of this date for awhile, what I didn’t anticipate was the 9th being much worse than the 10th this time around.

The 9th, throughout the day, was a replay of what we were doing this time last year. Waiting for him to be called to pre-op. Kissing him goodbye in the pre-op area before they took him back. Telling him I loved him and he was going to be fine; I’d see him when he woke up. Sitting with his parents in the waiting room while he was in surgery. Saying goodbye to them while I was waiting for him to be taken up to a room. Seeing him at 7:00 p.m. And then it got really hard. You see, I never saw him on the 10th. Well, I did. I laid in the bed with him but he was already gone. Re-living, again, the hours from 7 p.m. to 11:43 p.m. was brutal. And then remembering the time from then until 12:45 a.m., frantically pacing a waiting room I had been shuffled to and left alone in, trying to get a hold of people I needed, until doctors came to tell me it was over…life, as I knew it and loved it, was over. And the feeling of the cold wall against my back and my shoulder as I slid to the floor, unable to hold my own weight. No. No. No.

That film has played in my head many times during sleep over the last year but usually, while awake, I’ve been able to redirect myself. There are too many whys, what ifs, why didn’t I’s, why didn’t theys, and the ever present “what else could I have done; what should I have done differently to make them save him.” I don’t have a choice when I’m asleep, until I wake in sweat, but in the daytime I can usually waylay the thoughts, except for this time. It’s like when you think about the Challenger explosion, or 9/11, or the Oklahoma City bombing, and you not only remember exactly where you were and what you were doing at that moment but you can feel the shock and devastation you experienced then. This time I was unable to let go of it until I had walked through much of those hours again. The last hours. I’m sure “anniversaries” are different for everyone but I now know that the anniversary of the day before will always be harder than the day they officially called off the code and delivered news to me. By then, he was at peace…and I was desperately clinging to strands of faith that one day I’d find peace here before I go to be with him again.

Looking back, this year has been a picture of God’s hand at work after tragedy. Friends I’m blessed with rallied around and poured love over our family. Some of those same friends have been very steadfast throughout this whole year, understanding that this wasn’t a pain that would disappear after the visitors and meals stopped coming, after the funeral was done. Financially I shouldn’t have been able to maintain what I have been able to thus far. Many times I thought I may be forced to break mine and Scott’s promise to the kids that I would stay home to keep Lillian at least until her mama finished nursing school…but God. Every time I prayed I could keep the promises that Scott and I had made, every single time, God made a way. While I will have to return to work soon, it won’t be before what we committed to. I’m not sure what that work will be but God has given me a year to heal and learn how to manage my grief before needing to concentrate on whatever my new job will entail. I do not even have words to express how thankful I am for this time.

And Lillian, my beautiful, sweet granddaughter. God knew, long before we did, how much she was going to be needed in our family, the light she would bring in darkest sorrows, the joy she would spread even when sadness seemed to reign over everything, the hope she would sprinkle over grown ups, not even knowing that she was doing it.

I haven’t posted much online lately but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing about him. This last month, especially, has given me much to write. Now, though, for the most part, I am saving my words for print. I still have a lot to learn about publishing and a lot of choices to make about how to do this, but if everything goes well, and I believe God is in it so it will happen, I will have a book out sometime this year. I always thought my novel would be the first (and really only) book I would write but this book has written itself in my words but by God’s voice of hope intermingled with my trauma. I’ve decided to finally tell about what happened to my husband and how he died…why he died. I have also decided to add in some other very sensitive subjects about loss, widowhood, and being left behind, that I have written over the last year but decided were not social media material. They’ll be in my book. I’m saying this now because Scott really wanted me to publish my novel. He was proud of my writing, even when I felt like I couldn’t get it right, sounding like I wanted. He believed in me so much more than I ever have. He encouraged me endlessly to do this thing I never felt worthy or capable of doing with any success. I do not care, though, about success in an author’s terms. The success is in completing another thing we had planned to do together. This first book won’t be my Christian fiction novel, although I hope to one day finish the other half of it, too, but this book was born of pain and healing, of loss and still living, of devastation clinging to hope. And it is filled with him.

Today is the 11th. This year has been like a marathon (and I 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 running) with those little tents throughout the race where you stop to drink or fuel up before continuing on. My stops weren’t fuel ups, though. They were days I had to get through. Instead of marking my progress by how many fueling stations I had passed (I don’t even really know what marathoners call them) my progress was marked from one day I made it through to another. Holidays, birthdays, probate dates, and tasks completed. The thing about this marathon, though, is that when I finally felt my chest hit the ribbon at the elusive finish line…it wasn’t the finish line at all. It was yet another starting line and I cannot leave until I finish. But when I finish this one, there’s still only another start again. Every marathon, every year that passes, flows into the next and the next with no end, like some ride that you cannot step off of because it never stops moving so, so fast. I’ve gotten through all of the “firsts.” Now I have to learn how live without just surviving each day. So starts a new year…and God will still be in the outcome.

Even If…

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Written December 3, 2023

You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good. He brought me to this position so I could save the lives of many people. Genesis 50:20

I’m trying to ascertain where this is going to fit into my life, my situation, and my grief.

The enemy was alive and well in that hospital when my husband died. He thwarted possibilities for recovery over and over by using the actions (and inaction) of people. He stopped every action that would have turned it around. I cannot count the number of times, the number of decisions, that could have turned this all around and let me drive home together with my husband. I know each and every one of them but they are many. A tidal wave of failures, one right after the other. An indefensible path to an outcome that we can never return from.

I remember praying in the room with him, when he was having trouble breathing, more and more so. Praying “God help him.” Praying with a security guard in the ICU waiting room while they were coding him. For this stranger, I will always be grateful because he spoke words that refused to be plucked from the whirling dervish of panicked thoughts inside my head. When he left to go back to his work post, I remember texting and asking my Daddy to pray and then saying “Jesus, please, help him. Please bring him back. I need him.” Something like those words over and over and over again. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”

I do not believe that God chose this path for my husband. I believe He knew it would happen because He is omniscient. I believe He could have stopped it because He is omnipotent. I believe He was with me in that waiting room, with my husband in his hospital room for every terrifying second he was still within his earthly body, and with my mother-in-law as she traveled to be with me, because He is omnipresent.

So why didn’t we get our miracle?

Because God gave humans freedom of choice. He could have forced Adam & Eve to worship him. Made them bow to Him and serve Him. But humans would have then been slaves. If a man or woman tries to force you to love them and stay with them, how much more likely are you to try to get away, to end up hating them? No, He gave us free will.

Part of Joshua 24:15 says “Choose this day whom you will serve…” That day, some people chose wrong. I’m not calling anyone a Satanist. We all choose wrong sometimes. When you have an attitude or are being prideful, you’re choosing wrong. When you are arrogant. When you gossip. When you snap at someone because you’re hangry. We’re all guilty of choosing wrong. Some do more often than others.

For some, even kindness and compassion are difficult to display. And then, mixed in with bad decisions, there are probably just some plain accidents and some ignorance of what to do sometimes…and this time, with us, unfortunately an egregious amount of outright negligence when it came to people, trained and licensed, to whom we entrusted his safety.

There are myriad reasons why he’s not here anymore but it all comes down to the fact that sometimes the enemy wins a battle, already knowing he will never win the war. He (the enemy) knows what the Bible says. He believes in God because, to put it gently, they’ve met. Satan knows Him. He’s just always trying to see if he can sway more people to his side while he’s still got the chance.

For some people, loss does cause a sway. Some people cannot imagine how there could be a good God if people who don’t deserve to die, do. The thing is, God doesn’t cause those things. Satan made sickness, not God. And sometimes faithful people don’t get their healing this side of Heaven. I’m not going to pretend to know what God sees that He allows it to happen. But I do know that what we see is like looking through an old-fashioned keyhole. Our vision is so very limited, just what you can see by putting your eye up to that little keyhole. God can already see the whole world of things on the other side of the door. The full panoramic view. I trust that He loves me even when I don’t understand. I trust that He is for me when all else seems to be against me.

My granddaughter is going to the doctor for shots today; one of her parents will have to help hold her still while she receives them. When my children were young, I took them to the doctor for vaccinations, too. I remember the look on my sons’ faces when they were little. That “I thought you loved me; why did you help them do that to me? You didn’t protect me” look. But I was protecting them. From chicken pox and pertussis and polio. I knew something they didn’t. I knew it would be a moment of pain for a lifetime of protection. I could see what they couldn’t.

As for my husband, glory to God, he is enjoying himself now. There is no pain, no heartache, no loss, no weeping, no disappointment. He went through so much of that in his life and I’m so thankful that he’s free of it all now. That doesn’t change how much I selfishly wish he was here with me.

As for me and my house, we will still serve the Lord. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednago (in the beginning chapters of the book of Daniel) were going to be thrown into the fiery furnace. They told the king that God would save them but then said even if He doesn’t, we won’t worship your idols. We’re still going to worship only God.

God not stopping the tidal wave of events that caused my husband’s demise does not make me hate him any more than my kids, knowing I loved them and cared for them, stayed angry at me after shots. They immediately held onto me afterwards because, even if I allowed something that hurt them, they still knew I was their best protector, biggest fan, and first love.

God still loves me just as he loved my sweet husband. I don’t know why He allowed him to be taken away so young and left me here. I don’t know what plans He still has for me or what purpose He wants me to fulfill but Here am I, Lord. Send me.

I’m always, always going to wish that things had turned out differently. I’m always going to dream about our plans to grow old together, travel, play with grandbabies, and all the things. But even still, I trust that one day I will be okay. I trust that one day He will bring joy and purpose back into my life.

By the time you’re reading this, it will have been a while since it was written. I write because I need you to know that, even when there was wrong done that caused the death of my husband, even though I run a race against anger every day, trying to head him off at the pass with forgiveness, I am still about my Father’s business.

Choose, this day, whom you will serve. I’m still choosing You, Abba God. I’m still choosing You.

One is the Loneliest Number

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May 28th, 2023

GRIEF TRIGGER WARNING (If you’re not in the mood for sadness this holiday weekend, continue to scroll, please.)

Loneliness is an odd sensation.

It can be ubiquitous and unwelcome while in a room full of people who are charming and kind. One can strongly desire to be rid of the feeling, but also have an aversion to speaking to anyone. It is not that you wish to hold onto it, but that you are unwilling, perhaps unable, to engage in the task that would alleviate it.

I don’t even actually know if this is truly loneliness or just an extension of the long arm of grief, a missing piece, a dark shadow. I feel as though I am alone, however, it may just be that the other half of me is absent, the part that made me complete.

Sometimes I think I feel “okay,” which is followed by intense guilt. It hasn’t been a month yet. How dare I almost feel “okay?” But then I realize it’s not actually okay, it’s that the numbness has returned, a quick-footed, protective guard in impenetrable armor who speeds in to the rescue when the dark gets…too dark. And then it feels a bit lighter again. That’s the “okay”.

Scott has been my best friend and partner for so long that my gait feels unsteady without him here. I’ve lived without him here, in this house, for periods of time. But this time I mean without him existing here with me in the same “realm”, on the same “plane of existence”…on Earth. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven… I wish you could still be here on earth as you are in Heaven. But after experiencing what it is like there, I’d never bring you back here, even if I could. It would be cruel to make you suffer the pain in this world after you’ve been there. But, oh, how it hurts for me, for all of us.

I know you’d hate it that we are sad. I know you’d be worried about me, your mom, the boys. So, I’m still glad there is no sickness, no sorrow, no pain where you are. That eases my mind when I think of it.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. (Philippians 4:8)

I keep trying to redirect my thoughts in this manner but the days are long and most times the nights are longer. And my heart can still feel that you are…missing. People keep saying you are with me, you live on in my heart, your spirit surrounds me, you’re watching over me. As much as I appreciate the attempts at kindness and compassion, such people have likely not experienced the gravity of such a loss as this. You do live on in my memories of you. Memories are of the past. They keep popping up in Facebook so you’ll keep being there, too, until some other social media overtakes the world’s attention.

But my heart knows you are no longer here. We cannot dream of the future together anymore. We cannot go together on the belated “honeymoon” we have already reserved for next year. We cannot plan out the wonderland our back yard was going to be for all of our grandchildren. I can feel your absence there, right in my heart. The fact that I love you is there but it feels like a balloon that has deflated and is devoid of air, of oxygen. It feels there, yet empty, barren, unoccupied, desolate.

Love is also an interesting thing. I remember wondering, when I was pregnant with Luke, how I would ever have room to love a child as much as I did Austin. By the time I was pregnant with Owen, I had it all figured out; you just grow more. And more again when you begin to love daughters-in-love and grandchildren. So, now I just need to figure out how my heart can be so full of so many and yet feel so destitute, so bewildered, so uninhabited, at the same time. I feel like an emotional amputee, learning how to function again in “normal” circumstances. And yet there is a part of me that just doesn’t even want to function. And there certainly is no normal.

I will. I will figure it out. I’m not a quitter. I’ve had to live much of my life as a warrior in one battle or another. The sound of swords clashing in spiritual warfare is not foreign to me. And make no mistake, this is spiritual warfare…all of it. I am mighty only because my God is. He lets me rest on the journey…or perhaps wallow…for awhile and then He always rouses me to my feet…from His arms.

I know where my help comes from. My help comes from the Lord, the maker of Heaven and Earth. Today seems like a good time to wave my white flag (to Him, not the enemy, ever.) I give up. I can’t do this alone. I’m terrible at it. Fight for me, Abba. You fight the shadows. And I will fight beside you, under the shelter of your wing.

Gift from Heaven, First Class Mail…

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May 26th, 2023

I lost it today. Fully lost it.

The mail came. I got a notification that a package had been delivered and I didn’t order anything. But I’ve gotten a couple of things that someone has sent from Amazon in kindness over the last couple of weeks so I figured that’s what it was.

You’re guessing what happened because you’ve seen it in some movie somewhere. Because this kind of thing only happens on the Hallmark Channel. But it did.

He sent me a gift. 😭💔

I opened the package and there was an envelope inside. I opened it and that’s when it happened. The floodgates opened but so did the ache in my heart explode.

It said, “Love, Scott”

I can’t explain the plethora of feelings that overtook me then. I started hard, ugly-cry, sobbing, folding over into myself. This is it, the last gift ever. The last surprise. The last…the last…the last…. When I tell you I cried, I mean that it was a hurricane of emotion pouring out, felt like my soul was shaking, felt like an emptying of my spirit…felt like…loss. And beauty, all at one time. It was tumultuous.

Scott used to randomly go on Amazon and pick something out of my “saved for later” queue and have it sent to me. Sometimes he would be home when it came. Sometimes he would be in Miami or New Hampshire, or North Carolina. A cute pair of sandals. Earrings. Something I’d been wanting to get for Lillian before she was even here. A dress. An air fryer. There would be no occasion. He just wanted to literally spoil me. He just wanted to give to me. He just wanted to love me and make sure I knew it, all the time. And this is the last.

There was a cute wooden box inside. I had trouble opening it. Luke & Patrice were here so Luke had his arms wrapped around me as I tried to reel it in, the tidal wave of emotion that was drowning me. Patrice cried, holding Lillian, in the other chair. When I did get it open, a silver chain and charm were inside. The side I saw first was his fingerprint. He left a piece of himself for me. The flip side was engraved: “I love you more. 3/21/17,” our marriage anniversary.

I know it was from him. Not some well-meaning family member or friend. I know a lot of people say I love you more but it came from China or Thailand or something. That stuff always takes weeks and weeks to get here. No way someone ordered it a week ago. We didn’t even get his body back to the funeral home until last Saturday so there was no time for someone to get his fingerprint and have it sent. It was 100% from him.

I love that he was thinking of me. I love that he was so thoughtful in his choice of gifts, as he always was. He was always very sentimental. This present just shows exactly who Scott was. Exactly how he treated me and loved me. But, oh, how it still hurts. It hurts so much because it was the last one and my life will never be the same. I will find a way to pick up and carry on for my family but a part of my life is irrevocably changed in a way that I hate. I want him back so badly. He should be HERE, with ME. He should be here. And that just hurts. 💔💔💔

I swear my life with Scott WAS just like a movie on the Hallmark Channel, although now it feels like it should be on Lifetime. I always said we had our very own fairytale.