Tag: marriage

It’s Just Who He Was

Published on by God is in the Outcome1 Comment

June 25th, 2023

I love this photo. We had just found out that we were going to have a granddaughter and since our children are all boys, we were excited about the prospect of having a little girl around (which we would soon find out would be two granddaughters coming within less than a year.)

But as I came across this photo again today, you know what stood out to me?

He was carrying his big, bulky wallet in the pocket of his sport shorts. I had tried to get him to take some stuff out so it wouldn’t be so bulky but he always said he had already “thinned it out” and that anything still in there he just might need. 😆

He hated carrying it in his pocket when he was wearing elastic-waisted sport shorts because, since it was heavy, it kept wanting to pull them down. 😳

BUT, I hated carrying my heavy (also-having-too-much-stuff-in-it) purse around. So when we got out of the truck, he’d always say “You don’t have to carry your purse, baby. I’ve got my wallet.” And I would say, “I can carry your wallet IN my purse if you need it but it’s going to pull your pants down if you carry it.”

He would never agree. He just knew I didn’t like toting my purse around and so he’d argue and take his wallet anyway. Ultimately, I’d just leave the purse in the end. I remember even telling him on this particular store trip “I’m not going to buy anything; we’re just going to look at stuff today anyway.” And he said “I know but I’ll still bring it just in case.”

Spoiler alert: we bought a few things.

Spoiler alert addendum: Scott actually picked out what we got because “She needs this.” And today I don’t even remember what we got that time but I remember that part.

He was always saying “she needs this” but it would be a tiny fishing pole or an entire swing set and I would say, “Baby, we can get it but she won’t need that for a long time…”

He sure did love being a PopPop. I hate it more than I can express that he never got to meet Emory Rose, our grandbaby who is coming later this year. Scott was excited to see the kind of daddy that Jonathan is going to be.

But what I was saying is that THAT’S the kind of man he was for me. I know that carrying his wallet so I didn’t have to carry my purse sounds trivial but he was 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 in so many ways. He was selfless. He was loving. He always put the care and comfort of others before himself. And he just loved and was loyal with his whole heart.

So, maybe in an odd way to anyone else, that lump in his right pocket, pulling the side of his shorts down, reminds me of him a lot. It reminds me of one of the very many reasons that I loved him like I did. And he wasn’t afraid to look like he was wearing a big princess crown. 🥰

Joy Isn’t the Same as Happiness

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June 25th, 2023

I used to love to read.

I’d get caught up in a story and my amazing husband would get aggravated with me because he would want to do something in real life while I was caught up in something fictional and I’d be like “Okay, yes, I know…but just let me finish this chapter, please…I CAN’T stop here…”

I really loved to read.

And now I just can’t love it.

I’ve changed books multiple times. I’ve looked up “books you’ll love if you enjoyed _ (insert name of other book that had captivated me here.)” I’ve started and stopped and started and stopped. Nothing works.

Food is like that, too. I’ve found it somewhat amusing (I guess maybe that’s the word for it) that many of the things that have caused me to nearly have full-on breakdowns have been various food items. Scott and I were definitely foodies so meals took up a good bit of our thoughts and conversations. When we traveled, we used to look up “Diners, Drive Ins, and Dives” to see if they had featured any restaurants in the area where we were visiting and try to go there. My #1 favorite place to go in Miami was Atelier Monnier French Bakery. I’d get an almond croissant (it doesn’t just have almonds on it and in it, it’s a whole experience all its own) and Scott would get a chocolate covered one.

Now food doesn’t taste the same. I don’t long to try fun and exciting cuisine like I used to. My mouth doesn’t water just thinking about…well, anything. I have to force myself to eat a piece of bread with peanut butter just to throw down some protein so that I won’t feel faint…usually after I start feeling faint. And that’s just because I literally don’t think about food until then.

It often feels like the “life” has gone out of life.

I’ve wanted to go to Heaven for a long time. I wasn’t in a rush to get there or anything. I enjoyed being here most times and was (and am) thankful for all that I have here. But I knew that was where I wanted to be after all of this. Before Scott came along, my boys were my Heaven on Earth. They were what tethered me here. Once Scott showed up, he was a big part of that thing that almost felt like Heaven here. I know real Heaven will be so much greater but it’s the closest I could imagine with my human mind. In fact, he made me feel like he’d been what was missing all along. My Missing Piece (a’la Shel Silverstein…if you haven’t read it, you should.)

As I felt the boys doing what we teach kids to do, becoming independent of me, Scott showed me that I was still going to be okay here when they all learned to fly from my cozy nest. I always knew I’d still have my baby boys but I also knew how different life was going to be without the continuity of raising them. Without the busyness of parenthood. Scott got me excited about what the future looked like. We were LOVING having a granddaughter and looking forward to the next one coming. We had BIG plans for what grandparenting would look like but also big plans for so many other things.

There is still a payment plan sitting around waiting for funds to be added again for our belated honeymoon next year. We were going on an all-inclusive vacation out of the country and we were counting down to it. I haven’t even asked yet if they’ll return the money we’ve already sent. I just can’t. That will mean it’s really cancelled. And I don’t want to go but I can’t bring myself to call and cancel it either.

So many of the things I used to want to do, they just don’t hold any spark anymore. They don’t hold joy. I still love being a Lolly (a grandmother) but it is bittersweet so often because he should have been here doing it with me. Lillian and Emory will never even remember him.

God intends for all of us to live abundant lives. John 10:10 says “The thief comes only in order to steal and kill and destroy. I [Jesus] came that they may have and enjoy life, and have it in abundance (to the full, till it overflows.)” The thief is the enemy. And he did steal, kill, and destroy successfully. All of it.

But God is still here. He is successful, always, in His own endeavors. Revelation 1:8 says “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End,” says the Lord, “who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty One.” He was, and is, and is to come. He was here when I was happy. He is here while I mourn. He will be here, with me, until it is time for me to go to Him and worship Him “in person,” and then the bonus plan is that I can see Scott, too.

But God’s desire for me 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 is that my joy may be complete. “I have told you these things, that My joy and delight may be in you, and that your joy and gladness may be of full measure and complete and overflowing.” (John 15:11)

Scott isn’t here anymore, but that doesn’t mean that my joy cannot be complete. (Side note: I worship Jesus; I do not worship Scott as my husband…although I was extremely fond of him. Jesus makes my joy complete. What I mean here is that, without following the plan that God had for my life, my joy would not have been complete, lest anyone misconstrue my intent.) If I had never met Scott (as God designed) then my joy would not have been complete. He was part of God’s plan for my life. I cannot imagine the last ten years of my life without him and, even through the pain of losing him, I’d never want to. Even if I’d known I’d lose him, I would never want to have missed out on what he brought into my life. But even now that he is gone, I will still have joy.

Ephesians 3:20 says “Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us,” God has a plan to give us exceedingly abundantly MORE than we ask or think…and, before I met him, I had given up on finding anyone like Scott in my life. God brought me that joy anyway. (And understand that you can have JOY while not actually feeling happy…but that’s another story for another day. And that’s why I say it’s still possible without Scott here.)

For today…it’s after midnight so it is already Sunday, the Lord’s day…I will be grateful for my joy. Our children are part of my joy. Our grandchildren are part of my joy. Scott was part of my joy. And somehow, although I cannot see a glimmer of it yet, my future on this Earth is part of my joy.

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.

How. Can. This. Be. Real. Life?

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June 22nd, 2023

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

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

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

And we’ll go home. Together.

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

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

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

You👏🏼are👏🏼not👏🏼crazy👏🏼or👏🏼alone👏🏼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rainy Days & Mondays…

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June 21st, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joy Comes by Francesca Battistelli:

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

Missing My Heartbeat

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June 19th, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfairness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Father Knows Best

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June 18th, 2023

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

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

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

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

You Were a Song to Remember

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June 16th, 2023

Everything was going pretty well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How Do I Live Without You?

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June 16th, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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