Tag: spouse

Forge Ahead: Forward Motion

Published on by God is in the OutcomeLeave a comment

July 15th, 2023

FORWARD MOTION…

You’re used to my posts being long so I don’t really feel like I need to tell you…but it is long, so…

I’ve been quiet on the grief front for a couple of days. If you can get past the first two paragraphs, this one is a little different than most of them have been, at least lately.

Many of you are probably saying, “thank goodness…that stuff was heavy and sad.” That’s why I often post grief trigger warnings when I know it’s a particularly rough day with darkness in my thoughts. If you need to steer clear of other people’s trauma, you’ll be forewarned (that’s not what today is about, though.)

Others may be thinking, “Good, maybe she’s finally able to get past it, move along, now…” Oh, how I wish there were a sign that I would ever be a “past it, “ or at least an end in sight to the gnawing heartache that seems to be my constant companion from now on.

But I’m writing about something new today. A couple of days ago, I felt a searching in my spirit as I pondered at least the previous week’s worth of writing. Where was the hope? What was the purpose? I use writing to cleanse my own thoughts and spirit, to relinquish some of the weight that sits like an albatross around my neck throughout the days and nights.

Laying it all out on paper or, these days, inside a Word document journal that I sometimes copy to Facebook, seems to take the chaos, the scrambled thoughts, each one warring for top billing in my head, and bring them outside where it is easier to sort them, like various colored Post-It notes that I can move around, cross out and re-write, or scrunch up with a quiet rustle and toss in the wastebasket, swish! Writing allows me temporary respite from the swirling tornado of thoughts by calming the winds down enough to let me try to make sense of some of them.

So as I meandered through some of my earlier posts and then through the last week, I noticed a stark difference, as I’m sure many of you reading them have, as well. My hope was failing. The farther and farther away I seem to unwittingly and unwantingly drift from the days when Scott was here with me, the deeper it has felt like the cave I was sitting in became. It’s a dark cavern without a light source or company, a cold, damp, uncomfortable place with only jagged rocks to rest upon and no visible way to feed my soul; I must feel my way through everything in the dark. I didn’t want to stay there but seemed to have lost the map to leave since I can never go out through the same entrance I came in. I have to find another way out. There has to be another way.

Here’s a short detour but I promise it will all come together; bear with me.

Many have mentioned, either in comments, private messages, or telephone conversation, that I should use my grief to write a book. That sometimes my writing seems to make enough sense to some of them that they can come closer to feeling what I describe on this journey.

What most of you don’t know is that, for several years now, since Scott first encouraged me to retire from nursing, he had been trying to inspire me to write a book. He’d actually said, “you should be a writer, seriously” before that but when I retired, he told me he felt like it was something I was supposed to do. Like it was something God had called me to but I had never followed through.

I had started a few novels throughout the years before but would get a chapter or two in, or even only a prologue, and then just not know where to go with it. I also had various pages of writing that didn’t start as any kind of book but that I wondered what they were supposed to be, where they were supposed to go from there.

Part of the reason was courage (or lack thereof) and, if I’m being brutally honest with myself, lack of faith. If I truly am called to write an entire book, then God is going to be the one who formulates the direction, the idea bank, the path to completion, and then anoint me to receive the words He pours out over me. I was trying to find faith in myself, in my own abilities, and doing it that way just gave me complete writer’s block Every. Single. Time. And from there it just felt pointless to continue.

I started praying a couple of nights ago, at 2:00 in the morning, actually, for clarity regarding specifically this endeavor. Am I called to do it? Would it be any good? Would anyone ever want to read it? Would I even be able to figure out how to send it to a publisher or make a wise and well-informed decision about whether self-publishing would be the best route to take to gain any readership at all? I don’t care about notoriety; I would just really like people to actually enjoy reading it and be able to feel immersed in it if I’m going to write it.

I don’t know much about marketing. I don’t know much about book editing, cover art, catchy titles, or even if my ideas are really in a niché that would catch anyone’s attention. Actually, the first novel I began, several years ago, falls into two potentially conflicting categories, areas that some people who read one might be offended by the other and vice versa. But for me, they fit together, hand in hand.

I know that’s cryptic but I’m not really ready to divulge any more about the actual book just yet. Just imagine it being like the way that there are Pharisee-like Christians who believe that dirty, lost, unsaved people are too unscrupulous and far-gone to be welcomed in God’s house. But they’re not. Jesus says they’re never too far gone to come to him, period…even on the cross. Anyway, let’s just say it falls somewhere along those lines…sort of. A conflict of alternate beliefs, in a way.

It started when I was sitting in Miami after leaving my nursing job. I was down there to stay with Scott for a week and, although we had five days to spend together, he had to work two shifts in the middle of my stay. I had kept myself busy; there is a lot to do in Miami and I won’t deny taking a couple of trips to my favorite pastry and coffee place for almond croissants, Cuban coffee, and spinach empanadas.

But during one of those days, I was sitting alone in the sweet AirBNB where Scott had been staying during this contract, and truly just out-of-the-blue, something popped into my head that I knew I needed to get down on paper. I grabbed my iPad (which is more like a laptop, with a keyboard), opened a Word Document, and just started to type words that flowed from somewhere I couldn’t describe.

It wasn’t like I was thinking through phrasing, metaphors, context, or plot development. It was like what some people I know call a “download” from God. Some may disagree, and that’s okay and I 100% love and respect every single one of you, too. But I knew that, although there are similarities to some events in my life (they say you write best when you write what you know), most of it just came from what seemed like a whisper.

I typed furiously because the words, the story, were coming faster than I could keep up. It was only a couple of pages long but took me just minutes to write. It felt like a prologue, a middle of the story piece that then flashes back to how it all started. I showed Scott when he got back from work. I eventually showed a handful of friends because I wanted to know if it was intriguing to them, if it drew them in. All responses were, and vehemently, “You have to finish this; you have to write the rest of it. Can I read it when you’re done?”

I’m not tooting my own horn because, in a way, I feel like I didn’t even write it. It was inspired from a seemingly intangible source (maybe intangible l, but known to me). But several times following this, I tried to sit down and figure out where the story was supposed to go from this one little blurb. I didn’t know how to flesh it out.

Despite feeling like I didn’t write the first part, I felt responsible for figuring out the rest and that felt really big, overwhelming. Everything I contemplated felt like something others would think was dumb or boring or trying too hard or (insert any number of negative remarks here). Every time, I walked away from the dining room table defeated. Man…that enemy is a smooth talker, eh? Sucks you right into his vortex where you feel ill-equipped to muscle your way back out of the centrifuge.

After that 2:00 in the morning prayer session this week, I woke up at around 6:00 the next (well, the same) morning and, before even brushing my teeth, getting coffee, or making breakfast for my baby boy, I grabbed my iPad and the mini “desk” I use when I’m writing from bed, and located that very first prologue I had written, hidden in my iCloud files.

Instead of trying to just pick up the story and run with whatever popped in my head or getting stuck because nothing did, I prayed again and then scribbled out an outline. The entire book. Rising tension, climactic discovery, resolving conflict, all of it. There are 24 chapters unless I add or take away during the rest of the writing process. Each of those chapters already has a plan, a road map like I wish I had for this part of my life.

Somehow, knowing that I would be finishing something that my adoring husband always encouraged me to do feels like it needs to be done. He would have been so proud of me if he had been here to see me finish; I’ll regret that one day when it’s done, that I didn’t do it when he was still here to see it, but I will have done something he felt was important and assured me would be successful. And even if I finish writing it but it never goes anywhere, that will be a success. I’ll know I did it.

Maybe it will be successful (by the world’s standards) or maybe it won’t. Maybe I’m called to do it or maybe I’m doing it because it feels good to be doing something for Scott, in a weird way, at least something he had always wanted for me.

I say all the time that I try to tell God that I am not good with subtlety. I pray for neon signs because the more faint arrows pointing which direction I should go seem to go unnoticed too easily for me. I know I probably talk too much and listen too little (quiet in the peanut gallery, please.) I’m not going to try to pretend to know, for sure, if this is His purpose for my life now or if I’m called to write this book because there are people who will like it or even because there is someone out there who needs to hear it…maybe it’s only one person but that one person can glean something from it that they really need in their life.

I’m writing it, though. In the last two days, as I’ve been radio silent here on Facebook (and in my own journal), I have written a complete outline and almost five chapters. I tend to write rough drafts of each chapter then go back and tweak them rather than doing the whole thing and starting over. I have the rough draft of Chapter 5 and am about halfway through the rewrite of it. I’m sure I’ll reread it again when it’s finished and do the same thing with the whole book when it’s complete, but I’m finishing up Chapter five out of 24 today.

Who knows, I may get a second wind (my energy levels still leave a lot to be desired) and start on six.

After it’s finished, I have NO idea where to go with it or what to do next but I’ve decided not to get bogged down and discouraged by that part just now. For today, I am thankful I spent time in prayer and petition two nights ago. I’m thankful for an early morning answer that sparked me to begin doing something that is making me feel productive and, like Scott, would be, proud that I’m doing it.

I know I’m still going to have rough days. Like my dear, wise friend told me, “Grief isn’t a choice; grief just is.” But today I’m able to lift my head and choose gratitude and forward motion in at least one plane of my life. I’m not moving on from Scott, but I’m moving forward, at least for today.

P.S. Look at my handsome hubby. We always had a different kind of smiles when we were together. Life was always good when we were side by side. ♥️

Emergency Contact?

Published on by God is in the OutcomeLeave a comment

July 12th, 2023

𝘎𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, again.

Emergency Contact…

I went into the settings on my iPhone and, as is typical for me, went down a rabbit trail that somehow ended up in the part where it lists your emergency contact…surprise…guess who? And here we go, down Alice’s rabbit hole…

I had to change my emergency contact to one of the boys. There is a fear that comes with losing my husband so suddenly and unexpectedly, especially after losing my nephew two weeks earlier in a different but also abrupt and unforeseen way. Many times I’ve thought, since then, about how disruptive and undecided life is. One minute everything is coming up roses; the next minute it smells like rotten garbage and someone tells you that this garbage dump is your new home. Welcome home and, by the way, this is the station where you get off. Have a nice, long stay.

I think a lot now about how I don’t want my boys to have to go through any of the tribulations I’m walking in now. Scott was only 49. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He didn’t have a will. He had a high-paying job and I was, theoretically, retired from nursing so that we could spend more time together. So there are bumps that feel more like jagged mountains in this rocky road I’m walking on…shoeless. I don’t want all of my kids walking this road, not this way. I at least want to get them thick-soled shoes first and try to smooth out some of those big hills and valleys.

So a will is on the agenda for sometime after probate gets handled, which could take forever but I know God will hold my hand while I’m walking. He’s already picked me up and carried me more than a few times until I got my will-to-keep-going and strength back.

Scott would never have intentionally left things undone. We just didn’t know. You never know, right? And people who go through tragedy tell you that, but I think we always tend to think that really bad things like that only happen to 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 people…not us. Or maybe it’s that some part of us thinks that if we don’t talk about it, it won’t happen, like an ostrich hiding it’s head in the sand. If I can’t see you, you can’t see me…

But this is where we are now and it did happen; it happened when we were unprepared. Out of all of the people who read this, most of you won’t go do anything differently after reading it. You’ll be like we were, if you’re young. I know I’m 50 now but we were still SO YOUNG.

If you don’t do it for any other reason, do it for your spouse and/or for your kids. Please.

Things like emergency contacts trip you up in grief. It sounds like a simple thing: hit the delete button for each letter of their name and then just type in a new one. No biggie, right? And yet every single time you have to hit that button, it is like a stabbing, gut-wrenching wound opening back up the place that you just got clotted off and were hoping against hope that it would stay that way. Now you’re bleeding all over the floor again. Another mess to clean up and you still have to figure out whose name to type in this stupid box to replace his.

R͛E͛P͛L͛A͛C͛E͛. It feels like you’re slowly chipping away at pieces of your person, the one you loved…the one you still love despite immeasurable distance. You’re purposely not packing away the clothes and all the things because you want them to know that you still want them HERE, not gone. But it isn’t the clothes that force your hand. It’s things like the words “emergency contact.” Just in case anything happens to me, I need an emergency contact who will answer the phone. Scott’s phone would just ring and ring on his nightstand. Yep, he still has a phone and his number. Well, I have it. Can’t cancel that either. Not yet.

Yes, logically I know that changing something like my emergency contact and other paperwork that has to be done isn’t erasing 𝘩𝘪𝘮. I know, I know. Say it loud for the people in the back but it still won’t change how it feels…to me. The figurative language that opens its mouth during the reaping of his name, one sharp slash of the scythe at a time, has a deafening, slicing sound. With each swish, the word echoes in your mind: gone. gone. gone.

I know you can see by now that today was a rough day. One bright spot was that I did get to have lunch with a wonderful woman who understands the pain I’m going through and who is so good at making very valid points about grief.

Let me tell you about some of her wise words today. I asked her a question. I told her that something has been plaguing me, worrying me about whether I’m “doing this right.” I know God didn’t promise us the rose garden and He even said there would be trouble. But while thinking of my instruction manual (Bible) I got this: If you want to follow Him, you will have to die to self daily, and by dying, you actually live. Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live.” (John 11:25) Die to self; live for Christ. Got it…I think…?

Yet I feel SLAP FULL of self these days. I’m not 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 to have a pity party. I’m 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 to find a way to bust out of this prison cell I’m in called grief. I promise. But all I can think about is how SAD I am, all the time. It’s immersive. It’s intrusive. The missing him is incessant.

People keep saying “You need to get out of the house; get your mind off of things.” They mean well. They’d do anything to help. They just want to relieve the burden, take some of the pain away. What they likely don’t realize is that nothing “gets my mind off of things.”

That’s why lunch today was good for me. She doesn’t expect me to put my mind in places that intend for me to concentrate on not only the thing that never leaves my thoughts but also some other conversation that is difficult to follow when I cannot concentrate, not properly. We talked about Scott. We talked about her husband. We talked about grief. And that’s okay. It didn’t hurt worse. It helps because the things my brain is tormenting me with are things she went through, too. She doesn’t make me feel like she is uncomfortable if I talk about him.

That is why, while it’s happening, while I’m feeling all of the pain that I feel right now, I’m writing it down and I tell you about it. One day someone will be feeling what I am now and they’ll see themselves deep in the mud that I describe in these pages. They’ll know there’s a hand to reach for. I’m right here…just reach…I can almost touch your fingers…!

Sorry, I digress, as usual. Back to the “dying to self” scripture. So I was feeling like, if I cannot stop thinking about how sad I am and how miserable this life is going to be without him, then I’m clearly not doing a good job of dying to self and living for Christ. I should be spending my time pointing people to Jesus, not wasting the beauty that God can make from these ashes of my life. I should be taking every thought captive and focusing on love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control. ALL of the Fruits of the Spirit. Instead, the ashes from the incinerating burn of my life are just going to blow away on the next breeze that comes through.

You know what my beautiful, wise friend said? I’m paraphrasing because I can’t remember the exact words but here is the takeaway: you aren’t making a decision to grieve. Grieving just is. It just is what it is. God gave me my husband and he gave you yours. They were treasures to behold and now they’re just gone. Grieving the loss of that gift is just something that happens; you don’t “decide” to do it. IT JUST IS. God created us with emotions and He knows and understands what they do to us. He lived on this earth as one of us! How worthy was that love of a grief so deep?

Jesus wept when Lazarus died. He already knew that he was going to wake him. He knew he would bring him back to life to show the glory of God’s power. But he wept. He cried for the pain he was seeing on the faces of those he loved. He didn’t choose to weep or not to weep. It was a normal, human reaction to deep empathy for those he strongly cared about. Grief wasn’t a choice, it was a human reaction.

I’m grieving the loss of my primary emergency contact. It may sound silly but it just is what it is. It is an ugly, messy, disconcerting, discombobulating, disastrous, painful grief. And I can’t stop doing it because it just is. And, truthfully, I feel better about that.

No one is “doing it wrong.” No one “isn’t moving on like they should.” No one is going overboard and no one isn’t grieving enough. Some people have a pretty good talent for keeping their mask attached firmly at all times public. Others fall prey to tears with each trigger that jumps out dramatically from every possible hiding spot. We’re all doing it 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. We’re processing. Sometimes we’re stuffing it away to deal with later. We’re doing the very best we know how to do in order to survive each new onslaught, every single day.

Eventually, I’m going to boss this grief. Not every single day, and not right now, because I’m learning how to combat the evil tactics it throws at me. But one day, I’m going to be the overcomer, eventually, that I was created to be. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 it won’t be like this. I think.

The Pride of a Loved One Goeth Before Success

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July 12th, 2023

Scott, my husband who looooved fishing and was quite good at it, wasn’t even irritated about this. He was so proud that I got a good one. On this particular day, everything had been fairly small, as ocean fishing goes so I know it’s not huge by that standard, but Scott glowing with pride as I reeled it in (several of them, actually) was enormous because he was always like that, about everything. He was always proud of what I did and how I did it. He watched me do really hard things and was still proud of how I walked in it and encouraged me consistently.

I really miss that, but it’s a good memory to have inside my heart. ♥️

I really miss it because, although I know there are people who are proud of me for various reasons, my family, friends, other widows, etc., who will be HERE to be proud of me now. Who is my day-to-day? How will I know if I’m doing it right? Who will encourage me to keep going?

And so the questions about how to survive just keep rolling on in.

A Whirlwind of Chaos

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July 9th, 2023

Grief is messy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See that victory sign?

Logic is not Lord…Jesus Cried When Lazarus Died

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July 8th, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

I cannot live like logic is Lord.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Best Friend

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June 29th, 2023

My husband was, wholly and completely, truly and honestly, my very best friend in the whole wide world.

Some of you may think that is “co-dependence.” Some may think it’s “a little much.” Others might say I’m exaggerating. If you’re one of these, I’m so sorry (for you) that you don’t understand.

I think that’s how it should be. If something made me happy, he’s the one I would call. If something made me sad, he was the one I’d call. Excited? Him. Lonely? Him. Frustrated. Him. Overjoyed? Him. You get the picture.

I think that is one of the hardest parts. I literally want to call him every single day. Several times. I want to text him. I want to FaceTime him. I want him 𝘵𝘰. 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦. 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦.

I don’t know how to reconcile the healthy, smiling, happy, loving, kind person he was with the one who is 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬. How is this even real life??? We should be sitting on the patio, watching the dogs play and talking about Lillian swimming in the pool. We should have eaten dinner together tonight. We should be deciding what to watch on TV before bed. We should just BOTH be here.

Moments like this are really, exceptionally hard to redirect and they attack out of thin air, just materializing with no forewarning. This whole week has been difficult, if I’m being honest. We’re 2/3 into the second month he’s been gone and instead of getting any “easier,” it’s getting more and more REAL.

I don’t want to do this. I wasn’t supposed to be doing any of this, this life, without him. I’m older than him. He was in his FORTIES. What makes that fair or right or okay? Nothing. And nothing ever will.

So here, for tonight, this is my reminder. It is a song by Casting Crowns and this song is what fills my head as I type this. “You’re not alone…” because God speaks when my heart is weary and hurting.

If I listen, He will always speak.

(Link to the song is below the lyrics if you would like to hear it. Play it loud just for me.)

“Oh, my soul.
Oh, how you worry,
Oh, how you’re weary, from fearing you’ve lost control.
𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘚 𝘞𝘈𝘚 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘖𝘕𝘌 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘋𝘐𝘋𝘕´𝘛 𝘚𝘌𝘌 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘎
And no one would blame you, though,
If you cried in private,
If you tried to hide it away, so no one knows…
No one will see, if you stop believing.

Oh, my soul,
You are not alone.
There’s a place where fear has to face the God you know.
One more day. He will make a way.
Let Him show you how, you can lay this down.
‘Cause you’re not alone.

Here and now,
You can be honest;
I won’t try to promise that someday it all works out,
‘Cause this is the valley
And even now, He is breathing on your dry bones.
And there will be dancing.
There will be beauty where beauty was ash and stone.
This much I know.

Oh, my soul,
You are not alone.
There’s a place where fear has to face the God you know.
One more day…He will make a way.
Let Him show you how, you can lay this down.

I’m not strong enough! I can’t take anymore!
(You can lay it down. You can lay it down.)
And my shipwrecked faith will never get me to shore.
(You can lay it down. You can lay it down.)
Can He find me here?
Can He keep me from going under?

Oh, my soul,
You are not alone.
There’s a place where fear has to face the God you know.
One more day, He will make a way.
Let Him show you how you can lay this down.

‘Cause you’re not alone.
Oh, my soul, you’re not alone”

One Month Down…Forever to Go

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June 10th, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Desperately Wanting What I Cannot Have

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***Grief Trigger Warning***

Guys, this post has some pretty graphic imagery about how this season is making me feel at times. You know how sometimes you’re in the mood for a happy movie because you’re not in the mood for something sad? If today is that day, please don’t read this post right now.

If you ARE sad already and you’re trying to figure out if it’s “normal” to feel this bad, this lost, this overwhelmed, this some-kind-of-word-that-“sad”-doesn’t-do-justice, read if you’re looking for confirmation that this season messes us all up for awhile. I’ve talked to other survivors a lot lately. It’s going to get better (reminding myself AND you.) Don’t give up trying to go through it instead of sitting in it (at least not forever.)

Oh, and this one will not be in order because, even as I am trying to upload my older posts in order of their occurrence, this one I feel the need to throw out there today. I don’t know why…I just need to. So maybe I’ll post this one again when I get to the right chronological place. Okay, here goes:

July 21st, 2023

The cemetery is hard.

People tend to think you should go there a lot, “spend time” with him, maybe that will make you feel closer to him.

It doesn’t.

If anything, it does the opposite.

When I am sitting propped up on pillows in my bed at night, I can close my eyes and listen for his breathing, wait to feel the covers rustle on his side of the bed, catch a smell that reminds me of date nights because I sprayed his cologne on a little throw pillow.  It’s an elusive feeling, almost ethereal – like you can almost see him there or, if you close your eyes, turn away and turn back, maybe it never happened at all.  Sometimes, I fall asleep now trying to listen, wait, smell….  

The cemetery, though…

Everything around me screams that he is gone.  All the way gone.  No mulligan.  No do-overs.  No rewind button.  No, no, no…

I know that he is not there.  Not his spirit.  I hope today, when I was there at his grave, that he was deep-sea fishing in beautiful turquoise waters, with a sailfish (the bucket list fish he never caught here) on the end of his line in the great ocean in the sky.  I feel sure Heaven has oceans, somehow.  Since there must be beaches or us Florida people might be slightly disappointed. (I kid, I kid…)

No, I know he is not there…but I do know that his body is.  I saw him in that wretched casket that they want you to think of as having a “beautiful finish” when you’re looking for one to lay them in…so you can put them in the ground inside of it.  (Mind you, I know that these people are doing a very difficult job in the very best and kindest way that they know how.  The people I dealt with were full of compassion.  But nothing in the world would have made me think that any casket that would be “laying him to rest” was beautiful, in any way.  I think they would all understand me saying that.)  I know this is a lot of imagery.  Sorry, not sorry.  It’s stuck in my head every single day and you’re reading to find out where my head is these days or because you’re looking for answers as to whether what you see, hear, feel, smell during grief is “normal.”  Well, here it is.

As I kneel on the ground beside the place where a few random weed-looking leafy things have begun to sprout up over the dirt that still sits, too recently disrupted to contain grass (note to self:  bring grass seed and watering can next time), I know his body is approximately (if folklore is correct) six feet beneath me.  He was six feet even.  If they’d stood him up in there, he could reach me. 

The body, his body, that I used to wrap my arms around and he’d kiss my forehead then rest his chin on my head as his arms, so much physically stronger than my own, wrapped me up in a safety that made me feel as good as the forehead kiss.  The body, his body, his chest that I would lay my head on at night and his chest hair would tickle my face but I didn’t want to sit back up.  The body, his body, that was the keeper of his voice as he would tell me how much he loved me, that I was the only woman in the world to him, that I was beautiful, that I was smart, that I was talented…and all the things that I felt that day that I was not.  He always gave me back things I thought I had lost.  He also gave me things I had never even thought to have.  Some memories that I will hold like glittering treasure within me.

I don’t have to “sit there and think about” his body being beneath me in the dirt, lest you’re saying, “Try not to think about that part; think about those memories.”  As my tires crunch against the gravel when I pull into the gates by the road, these thoughts, the unbidden and unwanted ones, are already coiling around me, squeezing the breath from my lungs.  I was here in May and there was a flag laying over him…it’s in my house now.  So, as I actively try to think about good things.  About where he really is right now, about his smell, his sound, his touch, his face, his eyes….I’m trying…I’m trying…I’m trying…nope.  There’s the dirt again.  Still there when I open my eyes.

Today I had AirPods and my iPhone.  There is zero cell service where he is but I have all of the important songs downloaded so I can listen offline.  I played music and, although it made me cry, with harsh sobs that hurt my throat and squeezed my chest and weakened my knees until, there I was, down on the ground with them in the dirt beside him.  I stay there so long that my legs begin to have pins & needles from kneeling so I pull them around front and cross-cross them, always ready to leave but never ready to leave.  So more music.  More memories.  More crying. But maybe distracted from the dirt a little bit.  I look up to the sky, knowing God sees my tears and counts them, saves them.  I feel a tear slip off of my chin and watch it drop to the mound of dirt below me.  It makes me think of the movie Tangled.  It reminds me of when Flynn Rider died in the end and, as she cried, Rapunzel’s tear dripped onto his chest which began to glow as he returned to life.  I randomly think that if his chest started glowing, I couldn’t see it from up here and I wouldn’t even know…at the same time that I remember that cartoon movie are cool but the caricatures can do things we never can.  Not ever, ever.

The sobs have stopped.  The dirt is still there.  But, I feel, somehow, maybe a strangely odd bit better.  Like all of those tears, all of those rib-racking sobs, had been hidden away in a pressurized compartment which was becoming too full, the compression becoming too much for the steely outsides.  Now that they’ve been released there is room to store them up again for awhile, I guess.  I lean back with my hands on the ground behind me and haphazardly wonder whether anyone was in the cemetery witnessing my display.  When I walked from the car, I could only see one grave…now there are others all around.  I glance furtively around, not because I care if anyone saw my ugly crying, but because there may be someone else who needed their moment of depressurization.  No one.  But still, it’s time to go.

I had felt dread coming here.  I know what it means to be here.  I know how it feels to be here.  I know he’s here but he’s not here.  But now it feels as if I don’t want to leave because I’ll be leaving him again.  (Yes, I still know he is not actually here; I cannot control the inert thought pattern.  As I said, they do their own thing, coming and going as they wish and I do not own the key to the lock that would keep them out.)  When we left my sister’s house after my nephew passed away so that we could drive to a place to stay for the night while the police finished their necessary plundering, she began to cry and said “I can’t leave him here alone.”  All I could say was, “Julie, he won’t be alone. They’re going to take care of him.”  Because he wasn’t fully gone in her mind yet, and being taken care of was important. 

This makes me wonder when I will really, fully believe that he is gone.  Gone, gone.  The for real, this is it, never going to change, like it or not, imaginary breathing beside you in bed is GONE, gone.

There are times when I fall apart because I think I’ve just realized it, that this is all really real.  And then my brain throws out flares and pulls the rip cord that inflates the rescue raft and there’s some kind of chance, theoretically, that this is all just an awful dream.  *pinch*pinch*sighhhh*

Driving across the crunchy, loose gravel is just as hard going out as it was coming in.  It’s for a completely different reason but I can’t describe it.  I’ve not said one word to him while I was here.  Because he’s not here even though he’s here.  And if I want to talk to him, I’ll do it in our bedroom at home because it feels more likely that, if there were holes in the floor of Heaven, that would be the place he’d most likely hear me from.  I hope he only ever hears the “I love you”s and “I miss you so much”s, not the sobs.  I would never want him to be as sad as I am, not ever.  I guess now he never, ever has to be.

I love you, baby.  I miss you so, so much.  One way or another, we’ve got this, K?  See you later.

Postscript Edit: the photo from this post is not from today; that wouldn’t have been possible today.

Be A Wildflower

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May 28th, 2023

Two years ago, I got this tattoo when I was in Miami with Scott on one of many visits while he was on contract there. The simple things, like seeing this tattoo and knowing he was sitting right by me when I was inked, those things make me so sad now and then tears come out of nowhere. It makes me scared to go out in public because I don’t want to be a reason for people to stare, especially right now. And I don’t need pity. I just need him back.

Today I’m going to try to go back to church for the first time since…well, you know.

Scott had been looking forward to getting his surgery done so that he could go to church with us again. The last two and a half months, he had been in too much pain from his injury to get ready and then to sit in straight-backed chairs for a whole service.

I don’t know if I’ll make it through a whole service today. I’m going to try. I’ve looked up what series they’re doing now and it’s not on anything like marriage so I’m hoping to make it through.

Most days I’ve gotten out of bed. Most days I’ve gotten dressed. Today I brushed my hair and put on tinted moisturizer and just a little waterproof mascara because I know I have to learn to do the normal things again without him here. Most of the time, it feels pointless since he’s not here but I can’t let my feelings determine the worth of what’s left of my life. I’m still here so God says it’s worth it. He says there is purpose in it. And because he loves me, He says that one day there will be joy and not only darkness.

There have been times I have felt worthless, as a person, but God said different. Today, I’m giving God the opportunity to say different about what time is left in my life, even if it’s a whisper. Today, I am a wildflower warrior.

***EDIT TO UPDATE: Today we sang “There’s Another in the Fire” as part of the worship music. “There’s a grace when the heart is under fire,
Another way when the walls are closing in.
And when I look at the space between
Where I used to be and this reckoning,
I know I will never be alone.

There is another in the fire
Standing next to me
There was another in the waters
Holding back the seas
And should I ever need reminding
Of how I’ve been set free
There is a cross that bears the burden
Where another died for me”

I cried. I raised my hands to praise Him in this storm. “You are who You are, no matter where I am. And every tear I cry, you hold in your hands. You’ve never left my side, and though my heart is torn, I will praise You in this storm.”

I cannot pray right now. No matter what I do, the words won’t come. But I will sing.

And I still want to just be a wildflower…actually, I guess I’ve been one for awhile.

And, just so you know a little bit about what’s “behind” the tattoo:

May 28th, 2021

I got a new tattoo.

It’s wildflowers.

Wildflowers aren’t planned; they aren’t even meant to be there.

But they still have a purpose, even if they are weeds. They are still beautiful despite what people may think because God created them just as they are.

They were already a part of His plan. And despite the struggle, they keep coming back. No matter what mows them down or plucks them up, they rise again, reaching for Heaven. Wildflowers are warriors.

Be a wildflower.

Nothing is without meaning and purpose.

May God, the source of all hope, fill you with all JOY and PEACE, by means of your FAITH in Him, so that your hope will continue to GROW by the POWER of the Holy Spirit.
~ 𝓡𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓼 15:13

Forever was Fleeting

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May 23, 2023

I never imagined that grief could feel like this.

I was sad when I lost my Granny. Very sad. I could tell myself that she lived a long life. She wasn’t sick anymore.

I was really sad when my stepdad died. So sad. He had been suffering from Parkinson’s for years and I could tell myself he was better off now, could picture how well he was in Heaven.

When my nephew died, I was heartbroken. I cannot explain the sad because he was healthy and way too young and full of life and beauty and color and noise. And the heartbreak of my sister and brother-in-law took my breath away. Scott was there to walk through it with me, to hold me when I sobbed. To take me to be with them. To join me in every small measure of help we could muster.

I still never imagined grief could feel like this. People keep saying “I can only imagine what this must be like for you.” I know you’re trying to imagine it but you can’t. As hard as you might try, you just can’t. A very precious few friends who have already walked in my shoes can feel it, I imagine all over again, by watching me go through it because they have lost soulmates. They have been where I am today.

I described it to someone as having been given a paralytic before surgery but someone forgets to give you the actual general anesthesia. Someone starts cutting, opens up your body and starts taking parts out, and you can’t even scream or move to tell them you’re feeling all of it. And since you can’t really imagine that in a way that you can feel it, I’m thankful most cannot feel this either.

My sister and I are close but we cannot really comfort each other now. We’ve texted but have only spoken on the phone a few times since it happened. The rawness of my pain and of hers intermingle and pour over us like white hot lava, but a mysterious kind that doesn’t consume anything in its path; it just solidifies and burns continuously, taking your breath once over and over. How did sixteen days steal so much from our family?

My mother-in-law is the strongest person I know right now. She has lost both of her children in less than a year and a half but still finds a way to comfort me and hold me up when my knees no longer want to. And we do not grieve as those who have no hope but, dear God, I don’t know how to wait on that day right now.

Today we do what they call “laying him to rest” but there is no rest for me and he has already been resting for almost two weeks. I doubt I have consumed what would normally be one day’s calories in two weeks and have slept three hours or less per night except one when I miraculously made it to almost five. Everyone keeps telling me to eat and sleep. But even when I eat it returns and sleeping brings no rest. I’m thankful Scott is not in any pain, that his heart doesn’t hurt like mine, but it doesn’t change the fact that my pain is so deep that I feel I cannot breathe. There are literally times when I feel like I have to think to take a breath, like my body doesn’t know how to do it on its own anymore without him.

All of our children and our granddaughter are what keeps me tethered here. Without our boys and our girls, I don’t think I’d bother getting out of our bed…it’s such a huge bed now. Scott’s body was always like a furnace; I used to tell him that he could keep me alive in a desert tundra just by staying/sleeping near me. I imagined yesterday that I would be comforted by being able to put my hands on his face one more time. It wasn’t comforting at all.

I don’t know how to walk through this day. Or all of the tomorrows. Why does this day feel like such a final goodbye when I already know he’s been gone for so long…how is it only two weeks? There will be people there who try to comfort me, people who want nothing more than to ease my suffering. I wish I could make them all feel better by acting like I do…but the life sentence of living without him beside me reaches so distantly into the future.

I will be okay one day; I know that I will although it doesn’t feel like it is possible right now. Like everything else in life, God will give beauty for ashes even in this, as unfathomable as that seems right now. He’ll find a way to use this thing He didn’t cause to bring cause for me to walk a dark path with someone else who hurts. And then He’ll give me the strength to do it.

But today feels like an ending, all over again.

I love you, Scott. I miss you insurmountably.
I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with you. But I realize now that you spent the rest of your life with me and I know that you loved me with your whole heart until the moment you had to go.
Until we meet again, my heart. ♥️