November, 2024 Life has been a little different lately. There have been some changes that some people close to me are aware of, but I haven’t been ready to talk to all of you about… More
A Love Worth Living For
May 11th, 2023
Scott and I had the most beautiful love story.
I had been a single mom for years. I had given up on dating. People who worked with me then could tell you that I had decided I would be happy to live the rest of my life just taking care of my boys and reading books. I was done – stick a fork in me. Being in love cost too much and I wasn’t a rich woman anymore. I was drained. I didn’t know then that there was someone God was wrapping His arms around right then who was done, too. And God already knew that He could blow those theories out of the water with what he had planned for Scott and I. We couldn’t have even imagined how good it was gonna get.
I had become fiercely independent in the years I was on my own with my boys. I could do it all. I could change my own tire and my own oil. I could rip out the insides of the back of my toilet and replace them (with the help of my baby sister and a bottle of red for amusement…we didn’t even need the wine because we were pretty amused and amusing). I could work like a boss and could mom like one, too. I was trying to prove that if Superwoman existed, here I was. I didn’t need a man. So there.
Scott was the quintessential southern gentleman. Chivalrous, kind, thoughtful, and he literally put everyone before himself. How anyone would ever have let him go was always beyond me but, when I found him, I truly thanked God for the broken roads. He still opened car and rooms doors ahead of me, pulled out chairs, wouldn’t let me walk on the outside of the sidewalk…all things I had been teaching my boys already hoping they would one day turn into the kind of man he was (spoiler alert: they did, and they all saw him doing these things as a man’s example and not their just their mama reminding them).
We met in a little tiny office outside of the emergency room at the hospital where I already worked and where Scott had recently been hired. I don’t even know what it was. I was staunchly opposed to ever being in a relationship again and in walks this man who didn’t do or say anything outlandish but to whom, I swear to you, I was instantly conjoined in a way I couldn’t explain. A friend who was in the room teased me afterwards for making googly eyes at Scott and I told him he was crazy because I didn’t do that. But I was somehow instantly twitterpated (my beautiful mother-in-law’s words soon after we met). For the next two weeks I could scarcely think of anything else. I sought reasons to go to the ER when he was working and flirt with him shamelessly. Scott would later tell me he already felt the same connection but, being much more recently divorced than I and still very haunted, he thought he was just imagining that I kept showing up to see and talk to him, that I was just being nice to the new guy (who didn’t even work in my department). We were both jaded but God was putting the pressure on because we were straight-up already connected in a way I will never be able to fully explain. I can tell you that, if you don’t believe in love-at-first-sight, you’re wrong. We both felt it.
I often joked in the following years that I had to chase him for two whole weeks before he’d even give me the time of day and ask me out on a date. He would staunchly deny that and tell me that he thought about it constantly, too, but just knew “someone like me” would turn him down. Someone like me…he always made me feel that way, like someone he couldn’t believe he had. But he had my whole heart and soul. I was the lucky one.
Our first date was dinner at the Brown Lantern and then a walk through Lowe’s to find a ceiling fan he needed at home. We each didn’t want to go home so we went to my house and watched a movie on my couch. When he left, I remember asking God what He was doing because I didn’t want to hurt again and I knew that was what love does but somehow this felt different. It felt like…right. It felt like a gift. It felt like the rest of my life. God, I wish it had been the rest of my life. But I know that he wouldn’t have wanted to be here without me either.
About two weeks of random bouquets of flowers and dates, and Scott stealing my car keys while I worked, taking it to completely detail it and leave flowers inside and on top of it before putting them back right before I left work, later…he told me he loved me. And I didn’t say it back. I panicked. I thought, we’ve dated for two weeks, this is too fast, this is crazy. And then I called him and told him I loved him back – not because I felt pressured by his words but because I admittedly couldn’t explain how they were true but our hearts were already sewn together by a thread that we would turn into marriage one day.
We met each others kids, five boys between us, and started having dates with all of us together sometimes. It wasn’t seamless because blending has its own drama but we were so in love that we just became more and more tightly knit with every obstacle. And there were plenty. We always persevered. Our song was I Want Crazy by Hunter Hayes.
“But I don’t want “good” and I don’t want “good enough”
I want “can’t sleep, can’t breathe without your love”
Front porch and one more kiss
It doesn’t make sense to anybody else
Who cares if you’re all I think about?
I’ve searched the world and I know now
It ain’t right if you ain’t lost your mind
Yeah, I don’t want easy, I want crazy”
And we had crazy. We had all of the above. Every bit of it. We had a fairytale.
But fairytales always have scary parts where the wicked witch gets you to take a bite of the apple. We had that, too. We both had lived through so much trauma and that doesn’t just disappear. Although mine and Scott’s love never faltered, life kept on trying to intervene and mess things up. I can tell you with 100% accuracy that Scott has loved me at my best and he has loved me at and through my worst. And his bests and worsts were different than mine, because we weren’t the same person but just shared the same heart, but I loved him wholeheartedly through all of his. Yes, we had fights. We ranted at each other sometimes over what seem like the silliest things now. Sometimes we even let the sun go down on our anger but it never lasted long. We never spent a day not loving each other. Not a single one.
Scott always made me feel like he didn’t deserve me. I always knew it was the other way around. He loved me unyieldingly, unshakeably, tremendously. He loved everyone. Scott didn’t just make friends everywhere he went – he made family. He was the most magnificent nurse because he worked tirelessly and endlessly to not only care for his patients with a fervor that made others tired just watching, but he cared for his coworkers, helping anyone in need at the drop of a hat. Every travel assignment begged him to renew his contract. They knew what they’d be missing when he left. And I don’t think I’ve ever met a nurse with whom he worked who didn’t tell me that he talked about me, all the time, and how much he loved me. I joked with him about the percentage of female nurses on these travel assignments and to watch out for their womanly wiles but it was all in jest because I knew. He always made sure I knew from him and everyone else. And before twenty years of nursing, he was a very proud member of the United States Air Force, a war veteran of Desert Storm having served two tours during the Gulf War. Scott’s entire life was devoted to service of others. I have been so very blessed to have him in mine.
He always wanted me to need him and I fought him for a good while because of my independence. It used to aggravate him that I wanted to do everything myself and he just wanted to help. The funny thing is that I don’t even really know when that stopped because he listened to me, understood the reasons behind my hard-won independence, and slowly moved brick by brick to tear my wall down. It was like, as he moved the bricks off of my wall, he laid them in a stack next to me so i would always know they were there if I needed to take them back…and then I never wanted to again. I knew I was safe with him. My heart was safe, I was safe, our family was safe. I know that I got comfortable needing him a long time ago but I can’t tell you when because he helped me into it with a gentleness that made me not feel insecure or weak for doing it. He loved me right into it.
When my beautiful husband left this earthly plane yesterday, my heart shattered into millions and millions of tiny pieces. I’ve lost my balance because he was the other side of it. I’ve lost so much that the only way I know how to give it words was to tell you what we were together. Even then, it doesn’t do us or the loss any justice. Everyone keeps saying “there are no words” and you’re right. There were no words grand enough, big enough, sweet enough, kind enough, amazing enough, to describe the man my husband was. And there are not enough words to describe who we were together. We won together and we lost together. And now I am lost alone. And each minute that passes (that feels like an hour) keeps shouting at me that there is no resolution to this. I’ve missed him when he was travel nursing but we always, every single day, talked on the phone, texted constantly, and there were visits – him to home and me to him. Today I don’t know how I will fill my time. We didn’t hang out with other people much. We had friends and we loved a lot of people but we were always content to just be together. We were always together even when we were forced to be physically apart. My soul feels the emptiness where his left this world yesterday. It feels so very dark. I’m so thankful for every single moment that we had to spend together, loving each other.
Scott was a man saved by grace. He is undoubtedly singing praises at the foot of the King of Kings. His neck and back don’t hurt anymore. His PTSD demons don’t haunt him any longer. There is no fear or anguish or pain for him anymore. I’m thankful for that. And I know how hurt and lost he would have been without me if I had gone first so I’m glad he doesn’t have to feel what I’m feeling now.
I have the most beautiful, wonderful children to walk with me. It hurts me to see how hurt they are right now and also that seeing me hurt is hurting them. But I want them all to know that I would never have given up the opportunity to have a love so very BIG, to forego the loss I am feeling so very much now.
My message to you: Love is worth the risk. If you ever have the chance to love this big, take it. It’s gonna feel messy sometimes. You’re going to feel mad, sad, frustrated, irritated sometimes. Being so close that you can’t tell your own heart from that of someone else makes those kinds of feelings inevitable. Take those things with a grain of salt and forgive. And forgive again. And again. Don’t take it for granted. Don’t waste it. Savor it.
I feel like we both knew what we had. We savored it.
Jonathan Scott Raulerson – 1/22/74 – 5/10/23
The Last Day and the First Day
May 10th, 2023
In the early hours of this morning, my beautiful, wonderful, husband, the soulmate God sent to me, the man who would do anything for me, any of our children, or someone he just met, went to be with my Jesus. I don’t want to discuss details, please. He had a scheduled surgery and he passed away afterwards.
Many of you were family to us, some were part of families we created together, some of you who are very far away and some near. Scott made family everywhere he went. He was friendly, goofy in the most endearing way, so very lovable, and so very giving. He changed my life from the actual day I met him. I knew the day I met him that God had just flipped the script in my life in the most magnificent way. He taught a very headstrong, independent woman that it’s okay to depend on someone else. I didn’t want to “need” a man but after I met Scott I knew that I did and now, he’s gone and I still do. I was his and he was mine from the very start. Some of you watched this happen right on the sidelines and teased us about it unmercifully, but we stuck out our tongues and didn’t even mind.
I keep saying that I can’t believe this is my life now. I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep doing life without him but we have five boys and two granddaughters so I’m going to figure it out because of all of them. I just don’t know how to yet.
If you have messaged or texted me, thank you. I’m trying to get through them a little at a time. I’m not ignoring you; I’m just living in some kind of fog.
There aren’t enough words for me to tell you who Scott was. He was truly one in a million and life will never be the same.
𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙇𝙞𝙛𝙚
September 9th, 2024
It’s possible this has turned into the longest post I’ve ever made (I know, shocking, right?) Just know you’ll need to set a few minutes aside if you choose to read on but this has some important themes regarding understanding anyone you know who is experiencing grief and depression.
I have taken some time away from writing recently, but not because it doesn’t live in me almost all of the time. I have written for myself, for my own thought processing and healing, but not for public consumption because I have been concerned over the reactions, just as I feared what this phase in my life would mean for me, personally. Notice I said I was 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙙 over what my readers would think (which is often different from what they will actually 𝙨𝙖𝙮) but was fearful only of what it means for me personally. The former, you have to consider in your own spirit and, as a recovering people pleaser, I hope you’ll find compassion and understanding in your heart as opposed to judgement. The latter, I took up with God and, as always, He has been walking me through how to manage the feelings that go with this. I’ve heard Him speak to my heart over it on a regular basis the last couple of months as I’ve been thoughtfully scrutinizing all of the cogs and wheels that are constantly rotating in my brain to produce thoughts, both negative and positive…and what choices will rid me of the negativity.
So here goes nothin’…
I’ve spent the better part of sixteen months sitting inside my house…”the better part” meaning 95% of the time. I had someone else grocery shopping, began working from home, had almost any food I ate (that I didn’t cook myself) delivered, and spent many, many days just sitting in my own bed…all day, in my pajamas. Somewhere around January the grief poured over me in a fresh, hot wave (Scott’s birthday is in January and he will never, ever spend any of them here, with us, again) and I found myself in a very scary place; it’s a place I’ve been only once before in my life and, both times, I had to constantly (𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙮) remind myself, over and over throughout the day, of every single reason I had to be here. And yet God continually reminded me that He didn’t leave me here, living, just for me to make alternate plans.
It’s important for anyone who has never experienced major depressive disorder to know that I love my family, quite literally, more than whether or not I take my my next breath. When you’re in this phase of a depressive cycle, you battle irrational thoughts every minute of every day and many nights (all night.) It is 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 that the value of your family, your blessings, your faith, is LESS THAN the value of peace. It is that the pain of those days makes you wish for anything that will stop it and you’ve tried everything on Earth that you can think of to do so. And you also know, in the pit of your stomach, that despite how happy you try to appear, or at least how “okay” you attempt to seem, it hurts your family to see you the way you are. This makes it a struggle, an overwhelmingly vicious spiritual warfare, not to believe they’d be able to move on and would ultimately be better off if they didn’t have to watch you do this anymore. This time, though, I knew exactly how much grief costs and had learned some valuable coping mechanisms from the last time. Also, I’d like to say that experiencing depression doesn’t automatically mean that you have less faith; on the contrary, it means you have to lean on that faith all the more just to survive and, ultimately, relearn how to thrive.
I realize that not everyone who has lost someone they dearly love goes through this specific battle. Grieving is different for everyone and not everyone faces a chemical disorder that causes this particular brand of despair. I’m not telling you this so that anyone “feels sorry for” me. 𝘿𝙤𝙣’𝙩 feel sorry for me; I am winning. I’m telling you this because 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀 people do live in this place and, if no one tells you, it will likely never cross your mind to truly think about what it is like for someone walking that path.
I spent a lot of time crying to my best friend, actually telling her that I was having to fight to stay here. I talked to my sister (who lives this battle daily since last year) and to others to whom I’m very close. I 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 share this specific part of the battle with some people I love exactly because I didn’t want them afraid, because I have beat this before and I had every intention of doing it again. You see, this time I 𝘿𝙄𝘿 talk about it and that kept me from making other choices that poor coping mechanisms allowed me to choose in it before. 𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙖, 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩…𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚.
Our society teaches us to be ashamed of weakness and to look at depression as just that. It teaches us to suck it up and just keep swimming. But would you tell a man with no legs to just get up and walk? No, someone would try to help make him new legs then take him to physical and occupational therapy to learn how again. In clinical major depressive disorder, you have no tools, no prostheses, except the ones others help you use until you’re back on your feet again. If no one tries to understand that we are literally missing parts then they simply cannot fathom the degree of difficulty in the circumstances; dopamine, monoamine oxidase A, seratonin, and norepinephrine levels are askew and it makes you feel “crazy” because that’s a word that society has come up with for anyone who isn’t “in their right mind.” And, just for the record and from my extensive research of a topic that affects me directly, research indicates that people with ADHD are significantly more likely to experience major depressive disorder compared to those without ADHD; studies show individuals with ADHD can be up to six times more likely to develop depression, suggesting a strong connection between the two conditions. In fact, all neurodivergents are at higher risk.
All of that wasn’t even supposed to be part of this writing when I started, but I’m often led in a direction that needs to be heard anyway. I guess today was one of those times. Excuse my temporary digression but please consider it carefully in how you react and respond to someone in the trenches of this war.
Moving on, around March I began to resurface from what often felt like drowning; many of you have read my descriptions over the past year and you may remember that being underwater or buried in a pit of mud and mire was a common theme. I was still lost in grief (some days I feel I still am but my “muscle memory” to lift out is getting better at responding sooner) but was facing the rest of the first year. It doesn’t get “easier” after the first year, by the way; it just gets different. There is a realization that, although you’ve checked off holidays and memorable events that you’ll never experience with someone ever again, now the realization hits that they’re not really checked off at all. Every year forever will be filled with the same days and every year forever they won’t be here. It felt like acknowledging surviving those days the first year was a way to feel like you accomplished something as you managed to get through them, and you did! But there will be plenty more of those unwelcome challenges to overcome. It’s like saying, Oh, HOORAY! I made it through mile 1 of a triathalon!!!” when everyone knows that’s only a drop in the bucket. You now settle in to trying to figure out what life looks like in the long haul.
One of the things I began to struggle with was how it felt as though my future, the one Scott and I dreamed of together, was just gone. Gone altogether. Poof!
While pondering this (again and again and again) and trying to see if there was any path that didn’t include daily devastation, I began to consider what ways it might look different. The vacations and trips we had planned, for example, I still wanted to do those bucket list things. I had to cancel our belated honeymoon (as we called it because we were in the throes of raising five teenagers when we married) which should have been this past summer. We were actually supposed to leave June 1st of 2023 but had postponed it to the following summer when Scott was injured in March. I didn’t want to cancel all of the rest of the dreams and plans because I’m still here and he’s already enjoying the ultimate paradise where he is now. The first task to face was thinking about how I didn’t want to do them without him and coming to terms, once again, with the fact that it is simply impossible to change that part of it.
Over a period of weeks and even months of contemplation, I got to a point where I said “I can still do those things; I can still try to enjoy doing fun things and see how that goes.” And yet I still don’t want to do them alone. So, my best friend, Kelly, and I planned a trip to Houston to see my daddy and to just have a little getaway. I knew I’d enjoy getting to see my dad and stepmom but had no idea how much I would actually be able to enjoy just living again. You may have seen our pictures. We did Escape Rooms and indoor rock climbing and theater (live & movies) and dinners. We acted ridiculous at times (iykyk) and laughed until our bellies and cheeks hurt. I honestly think it was the first time I fully realized that I’m not just alive…I’m still 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜. What a purely shocking revelation.
Coming home from that trip or maybe shortly thereafter, I told Kelly that I need to LIVE more. I think I was really surprised to know that I could leave my house and actually experience joy and laughter and fun. Be assured that there was a guilt aspect of this that I had to wrestle with, but I saw my husband looking at me with a facial expression like “what are you 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩?” and saying “Jennifer, baby, really??? Stop it.” He would have hated seeing me walk through the last almost year and a half because he loved seeing me happy. And so then I began to think (and to talk to both him and God) about my next question.
Before we left for Texas, Kelly already had a travel nursing contract planned in Kentucky. There was a part of me that felt like she was my life jacket, I think. I’m capable of being alone (clearly, ugh) but even though I can enjoy a day by my pool alone or reading a book or whatever, I can do little more than an “LOL” alone (which we all know doesn’t actually mean the person is laughing “out loud” but maybe more of a quick release of breath through their nose and a smile. Let’s be real here.) I have a handful of other close friends but, at this stage of life, most of them have husbands, families, are on their own adventures. I had to start thinking about what would happen to my plan to keep on “actually living” without my friends being the primary supporting actors in this dramatic movie that is my life.
You’ve probably guessed where this is going by now. And both God and my husband know, not only where it’s going, but exactly what it will look like. We’ve talked. A LOT.
I’ve made the decision to begin dating. Well, to begin seeking to meet people with whom I have commonalities in faith (first), importance of family, hobbies and/or enjoyable activities, and who are capable of understanding that I still love, will always love, Scott. Someone who wants to develop a friendship and then let God show us if it is intended to be any more than just that. And someone to just enjoy life with. It feels like a tall order but won’t God do it? I believe that He has held my hand and led me through deep waters and dark places to get here. I also believe that when He puts a desire in my heart (and if He puts it there then it’s one that is not out of line with His Word) it is because He has a plan. He has a purpose in it. And I’ve known through this whole last 16 months (tomorrow) that He has always still had a plan for me.
I’m almost 52. Dating is not something I thought I’d ever be doing at my age. Wouldn’t have wanted to. But my God brings beauty from ashes, and I have full faith in that. I might live until tomorrow or I might be 104 when I die. Maybe I’m actually middle-aged right now. And I do not want to spend this life alone.
I’ve learned to look at it like this:
When I was pregnant with my second child, I remember thinking “I already love Austin (my oldest) more than it should be humanly possible to love another person. HOW am I going to love another baby on that scale when Austin holds 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 of my heart. Of course, when Luke Reilly was born, and then Christian Owen, I learned that love never, ever gets divided; it grows exponentially to accommodate all of those whom you grow to love. I did not have to love my boys less to fall hopelessly in love with Scott and I do not ever have to love Scott less in order to, potentially, love someone else. I’ll just always love him. It seems like as simple a fact as 2+2=4.
I said this recently to another sweet girl who lost her person:
“I’m just getting to a place where I can try to look forward without looking back…and what I mean by that is that I’ve realized I don’t have to look back because he’s always just here. No matter whether I stay “in the pit” or try to move out of it, he’s going with me wherever that is. The memory of him is everywhere, in practically everything I do and everywhere I go so I’m not leaving him behind, because he became so much a part of who I am. I am who I am today because of who he was and how he loved me. That’s not just going to disappear because it’s fully engrained in the person I am today.
I guess what I’m saying is that it’s going to get easier to navigate eventually. For awhile there, I wasn’t sure that it ever would. It felt impossible. I’m not saying that grief is “gone;” I think I’m just saying that I’m learning to accept that it’s a part of who I am and may rear its head occasionally but it is not going to define me. I believe that part will come for you, too.”
I’m choosing to live by my own words. And to live my life on my own terms (as opposed to people pleasing) as long as I’m in line with God in it. I know, as surely as I know the sun will continue to rise each day, that some people will hold harsh criticism for this choice; they may not choose to say it to me, but it’ll be there in some people’s hearts. Some will think it is “too soon” or that it somehow means that I didn’t love Scott as much as I’ve said. And I’m okay with that because I look for my wisdom elsewhere.
The fact of the matter is that I have held open discussions about this with those who matter the most in this decision (in addition to God & Scott): all of my children, and my mother-in-law. My kids want me to find my inner happy again, although Luke said that anyone I decide to date better know two things: 1.) that I have three grown sons who will 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 he respects me and treats me well and will be there to answer accordingly if he doesn’t (boy moms, you already know) 2.) he has very big shoes to fill. My response to this part was that no one will be filling Scott’s shoes; anyone new will have his own shoes and will be responsible for filling those. My mother-in-law reminded me, ever so sweetly, that Scott would not want me to spend my life lonely and that she supports me, trusts my decisions, and that they are still my family, always. 💕 I could not have asked God for more beautiful family than those with whom He has blessed me and who are all so dear to my heart.
So…now you know. I love you all and wanted you to know my heart, as always. 🫶🏼❤️🩹
Perspective is Everything (E
A couple of months ago, God changed my perspective and today a sweet friend sent a Tauren Wells video reaffirming it. It gives me peace. I know that the Bible says relationships in Heaven are different than here but I have peace in the fact that I will see him and he is in my future, not just my past. Ten or twenty years before I met Scott, if I had known the kind of man he was and known that he was in my future, it would have been exciting anticipating the day we would get to meet. So, that’s how I look at it now. It’s like knowing that one day, after you haven’t seen them for a long time, you get to see your best friend again and hug them and sit down and talk about all of the things that have gone on since you saw them last, catch up, feel like it was just yesterday the last time you hung out. So, I’m okay with that. I still miss him and wish he could be here to enjoy life with me but I’m still going to make it a point to enjoy it because every day is a very precious gift not afforded to everyone. I’m not going to stop living like it feels I have over the past year, in some ways. I know there will be some rough days still ahead. Grief has taught me that it pops up whenever it wants to and I cannot fight against it; I have to absorb it. Those feelings are a part of who I am now, but now they don’t feel as much like grieving. They feel like missing. They don’t always even feel as much like sadness as they do like waiting to see him one day.
God left me here for a reason. And He promised me fullness of joy, that my joy may be complete. Part of that joy will be in seeing Scott again one day, and part of it is in whatever joy still inhabits this life on Earth before I go. I’m not going to waste that.
Polarized
It’s the strangest things. The tiny things no one would even think about. This is why grief just seems to ambush you over and over out of nowhere…and everywhere.
Every single time I put on polarized sunglasses I think of him. One day we were fishing in the Florida Keys, both wearing sunglasses, and he said “Look at all of those fish under the water.” I couldn’t see anything but the glare of the sun off the top of the water. He said “You can’t see all of those fish? Oh, wait…here…try these” and he handed me his polarized sunglasses. Suddenly I could see fish teeming just beneath the surface and I was kind of shocked that I’d been missing so much. Sounds silly, I’m sure, but I had never really known the difference. I’ve never bought a pair of sunglasses since then that were not polarized. And I’ve never not thought of him when I put them on and see the world so much more clearly than I had before him.
And now my life is polarized. Two entirely different lives…before and after. But the vision of it is no longer polarized because the glare of grief is too strong to see a darn thing.
Anniversaries are Supposed to be Happy Occasions…right?
I didn’t make a post yesterday because I needed, for my own sanity and ability to put one foot in front of the other, to essentially pretend that it was another, everyday kind of day. None of my days will ever be the kind of normal I want them to be again; yesterday was certainly anything but “normal.”
May 10th. One year. A whole year. The longest year of my life and yet…wasn’t he just here yesterday? I will continue to say that I really don’t understand how time works after all of this. Or how it can be that my brain knows he is gone but my heart…my heart still thinks he’ll walk in the door any minute. My heart still jumps when I see his location on my phone and it says he’s home. For a split second, every time, I want to get up and go find him. And then after the split second comes the sinking feeling that he cannot be at our home because he has a new one with Jesus.
Tornados hitting the county, a tree falling and crushing my new baby almond tree, my patio furniture being slung all over the place, and no power most of the day while Lillian was with me kept my thoughts busy in the early morning. We hid in the hallway and played with flashlights with all of the curtains, shutters, and doors in the house closed until the danger had passed, then walked window to window to survey what damage we could see from inside. Soon after, a sweet friend took time out of her own busy, kid-filled schedule to just come sit in our powerless house and talk with me for a couple of hours. We talked about a myriad of things but really didn’t focus on Scott. Oh, I thought about him all day long..he’s in most of my thoughts every day…but I couldn’t really talk about him yesterday. I had wanted to spend the day celebrating who he was but then realized I could not talk about him much at all on this “anniversary day” or I would lose what composure I was managing to maintain, a slim cord wrapped around the bulging chaos of grief that wanted to spill out. So I just kept pretending.
A little later my kids started showing up to hang out while we all waited for power to return at our respective homes. We all laughed at Lillian’s antics, which tend to amp up when there are so many of her favorite people there to watch, and everyone tiptoed around what day it was…or more accurately, around what this day looked like, felt like last year. With no power, no TV or music or phones for distraction, it was a blessing to be occupied by casual conversation with others the whole day.
Luke and Patrice asked me to eat supper with them but Austin and Taylor had already invited me to go out to dinner with them at the beautiful 406 restaurant. They took me with them to their anniversary dinner and then insisted on paying for my dinner and theirs. I didn’t realize last year that it happened on their anniversary. I’ve found, along the way, that there is a LOT I don’t remember at all about those days.
Our power was restored and, thankfully, I was able to get some sleep with the A/C on. Much needed sleep because, although I’ve been dreading the arrival of this date for awhile, what I didn’t anticipate was the 9th being much worse than the 10th this time around.
The 9th, throughout the day, was a replay of what we were doing this time last year. Waiting for him to be called to pre-op. Kissing him goodbye in the pre-op area before they took him back. Telling him I loved him and he was going to be fine; I’d see him when he woke up. Sitting with his parents in the waiting room while he was in surgery. Saying goodbye to them while I was waiting for him to be taken up to a room. Seeing him at 7:00 p.m. And then it got really hard. You see, I never saw him on the 10th. Well, I did. I laid in the bed with him but he was already gone. Re-living, again, the hours from 7 p.m. to 11:43 p.m. was brutal. And then remembering the time from then until 12:45 a.m., frantically pacing a waiting room I had been shuffled to and left alone in, trying to get a hold of people I needed, until doctors came to tell me it was over…life, as I knew it and loved it, was over. And the feeling of the cold wall against my back and my shoulder as I slid to the floor, unable to hold my own weight. No. No. No.
That film has played in my head many times during sleep over the last year but usually, while awake, I’ve been able to redirect myself. There are too many whys, what ifs, why didn’t I’s, why didn’t theys, and the ever present “what else could I have done; what should I have done differently to make them save him.” I don’t have a choice when I’m asleep, until I wake in sweat, but in the daytime I can usually waylay the thoughts, except for this time. It’s like when you think about the Challenger explosion, or 9/11, or the Oklahoma City bombing, and you not only remember exactly where you were and what you were doing at that moment but you can feel the shock and devastation you experienced then. This time I was unable to let go of it until I had walked through much of those hours again. The last hours. I’m sure “anniversaries” are different for everyone but I now know that the anniversary of the day before will always be harder than the day they officially called off the code and delivered news to me. By then, he was at peace…and I was desperately clinging to strands of faith that one day I’d find peace here before I go to be with him again.
Looking back, this year has been a picture of God’s hand at work after tragedy. Friends I’m blessed with rallied around and poured love over our family. Some of those same friends have been very steadfast throughout this whole year, understanding that this wasn’t a pain that would disappear after the visitors and meals stopped coming, after the funeral was done. Financially I shouldn’t have been able to maintain what I have been able to thus far. Many times I thought I may be forced to break mine and Scott’s promise to the kids that I would stay home to keep Lillian at least until her mama finished nursing school…but God. Every time I prayed I could keep the promises that Scott and I had made, every single time, God made a way. While I will have to return to work soon, it won’t be before what we committed to. I’m not sure what that work will be but God has given me a year to heal and learn how to manage my grief before needing to concentrate on whatever my new job will entail. I do not even have words to express how thankful I am for this time.
And Lillian, my beautiful, sweet granddaughter. God knew, long before we did, how much she was going to be needed in our family, the light she would bring in darkest sorrows, the joy she would spread even when sadness seemed to reign over everything, the hope she would sprinkle over grown ups, not even knowing that she was doing it.
I haven’t posted much online lately but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing about him. This last month, especially, has given me much to write. Now, though, for the most part, I am saving my words for print. I still have a lot to learn about publishing and a lot of choices to make about how to do this, but if everything goes well, and I believe God is in it so it will happen, I will have a book out sometime this year. I always thought my novel would be the first (and really only) book I would write but this book has written itself in my words but by God’s voice of hope intermingled with my trauma. I’ve decided to finally tell about what happened to my husband and how he died…why he died. I have also decided to add in some other very sensitive subjects about loss, widowhood, and being left behind, that I have written over the last year but decided were not social media material. They’ll be in my book. I’m saying this now because Scott really wanted me to publish my novel. He was proud of my writing, even when I felt like I couldn’t get it right, sounding like I wanted. He believed in me so much more than I ever have. He encouraged me endlessly to do this thing I never felt worthy or capable of doing with any success. I do not care, though, about success in an author’s terms. The success is in completing another thing we had planned to do together. This first book won’t be my Christian fiction novel, although I hope to one day finish the other half of it, too, but this book was born of pain and healing, of loss and still living, of devastation clinging to hope. And it is filled with him.
Today is the 11th. This year has been like a marathon (and I 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 running) with those little tents throughout the race where you stop to drink or fuel up before continuing on. My stops weren’t fuel ups, though. They were days I had to get through. Instead of marking my progress by how many fueling stations I had passed (I don’t even really know what marathoners call them) my progress was marked from one day I made it through to another. Holidays, birthdays, probate dates, and tasks completed. The thing about this marathon, though, is that when I finally felt my chest hit the ribbon at the elusive finish line…it wasn’t the finish line at all. It was yet another starting line and I cannot leave until I finish. But when I finish this one, there’s still only another start again. Every marathon, every year that passes, flows into the next and the next with no end, like some ride that you cannot step off of because it never stops moving so, so fast. I’ve gotten through all of the “firsts.” Now I have to learn how live without just surviving each day. So starts a new year…and God will still be in the outcome.
Talk, Talk, Talk…
I talk to myself more than I used to. And I don’t just mean in my bedroom before bed at night, having the conversations we used to have and telling him how much I love him and miss him. I mean in the grocery store, at the DMV, in my back yard. Doesn’t matter if other people are there, apparently, because I realized this was occurring while in Walmart when a lady looked at me like I was schizophrenic as I had a discussion with myself about which vegetable would go better with the supper I was planning. Yes, it’s like that.
I’ve decided that it’s safer to leave the house with my granddaughter in tow because at least then people will assume I’m talking to her. And I don’t really even know WHO I’m actually talking to (which may be even more scary.) Is this some leftover habit of talking things through with my husband? I don’t know because we didn’t really always discuss what vegetable to have. I’m excusing myself when I burp at home and, just being honest, I didn’t always do that anymore with him either.
On one hand, I’m home with a toddler most of the day every day and have very little adult interaction overall. Maybe it’s just that I have a quota of words that I need to spend each day (if you know me in person then you already know that’s typically a high number) and I’m just fulfilling the minimum requirement to relieve the pressure of holding it in all the time. I think I drive my boys (autocorrect just changed ‘boys’ to ‘joys’ and that’s true, too) crazy wanting to talk forever when I do see them because I have to fit it all in somewhere.
Loneliness has a way of creeping up on you, too, though. My person isn’t here. When I talk to my mother-in-law (love) we can talk for long periods because the loss is a hole too deep to ever fill but maybe talking eases it some. Maybe talking to air is some strange way of placating the monster of loneliness. I just don’t know. I also haven’t talked to another widow about this (yet) so I don’t know if this is…common. I won’t say “normal” because that’s only a setting on the washing machine. In people, there’s no real “normal” because it’s okay to be whoever you are, but some things are more common.
Ultimately, what I have come to realize is that I’m not directing as much of that loneliness, that random talking anywhere and everywhere, up to God. Why am I talking to an unrecognizable void rather than to the Living God? The one who never leaves. The one who always stays. The one who is omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient: all powerful, everywhere, and knows all. My words should be directed at my power source. Over the past year, when my spirit has not wanted to live in this realm any longer, Abba God came through every single time and reminded me that He is still here and He has a plan; I just need to wait for it to be revealed in a way I am able to understand. Mind you, I do pray, but there is still all this extraneous talking that I apparently feel the need to do to no one in particular. I can definitely make better use of those words.
I don’t even know if this is a “stage” other people go through but, if you’re here with me, I see you! I truly believe that God never leaves us alone. If you can’t feel Him there, someone else is feeling what you do and you just have to find the helpers. The whole beauty from ashes? Sometimes it’s when God uses us to help those who come to a place after we do. We are the map. If you’re in that place where you feel lost, I hope something I say gives you a place on the map to start.
Change is the only Constant
I’m not who I was a year ago. There are parts that are healing. There are parts that still feel beyond repair but I know they will heal…they just won’t ever look or feel the same where the scar lies. There are parts that are wiser (about things I don’t really want to be wiser.) There are parts of me that still can’t figure things out. All I know is that change is the only constant in life. How ironic is that?
The one year “anniversary” of my nephew’s death is next Tuesday. It feels weird to call it an anniversary – those are supposed to be happy occasions, like birthdays…but those aren’t as happy either anymore. After we fumble our way through that day, it is only 16 days until it’s been a year for me, too. It’s like there is a convoluted countdown going on. Part of your brain unwittingly hopes that one year means “Whew! I made it through the firsts. Should be smooth sailing from now on…” while the part of your brain that contains intellect knows full well that an anniversary date is no longer the end of anything. It ended last year and once it’s ended there can be no other ending. There’s no reprise, no encore act. The bow has been taken and the theater long cleared out.
I’m different because I’ve made it this far. I have exercised my faith this year as if I were training for a double triathlon. God has come through every time. None of it has been easy – the exercising of my faith to what felt like the full limit part, or even the parts when He came to the rescue. It’s still all been really hard, but I am here. I am still living in our home and was not forced to move. I still have three amazing sons and three wonderful daughters-in-love plus a grandbaby. I was able to care for my granddaughter during my daughter-in-love’s entire nursing school program so that my son didn’t have to pay for daycare and so that my sweet grandbaby was exposed to as little illness as possible. My husband and I had agreed to do that for them and I was trying my best to hold true to that. The fact that I feel so much loss and brokenness but am still so blessed seems like a crazy paradox. An impossible coexistence.
I will be applying to jobs soon. The retirement my husband wanted and planned out for me was revoked once he was no longer here. I’m so thankful that the grace of God has provided ways to allow me time to grieve and to be with my granddaughter; He has provided hand over foot, over and over again, each time I even considered that the time may be coming when we’d be forced to look into daycare for the baby. Then suddenly a solution that would appear, in the natural, to be completely out of the blue, totally unexpected…they were solutions that were promised to me last year. He said “don’t worry; it’s already taken care of” and it was, right on time, every time.
I really didn’t want to go back to work but I am thankful that I was afforded this time to walk the brittle beginning of this journey with my granddaughter to light up the darkest days and without added stressors to keep me from processing all that I have been able to thus far. Now I will work on walking back into the work world and figuring out how that is going to look.
Money has been a sticking worry point for me throughout the last year. I’ve often felt guilty for worrying about it because figuring out how to deal with the money part isn’t nearly as difficult as figuring out to deal with the loss of my husband, my soulmate. Also because God tells us not to worry about what we will eat or what we will wear because the birds of the air do not sow or harvest but God provides food for them. And the lilies of the field are dressed in the most beautiful finery but need not worry about clothing. How much more does the Father love us? (Matthew 6:26-30) Every time I tried to stop worrying about money, another problem would pop up, making everything feel like a monetary house of cards all this time. And every time, He provided a way like He said He would.
I figured out this week one of the main and primary reasons that I’ve been so worried about the financial part. First off, my husband and I were both nurses but he was in a position to make a lot more money than me. As is typical, our bills grew to what we were able to afford and we bought a new home just four years ago, right before the onset of COVID-19. We bought a home together. For anyone who doesn’t know already, this was not either of our first marriage. He had a home and I had a home when we met. He eventually moved to the home I already lived in. Then his career path changed course and we were able to begin looking at houses together. We found one we loved for various reasons and we purchased it together. Then we made even more memories here.
I think it was in the first few days thay I said “I can’t lose our house; God, please don’t let me lose our house.“ This home represented so many of the dreams we had together. Things we wanted to do here for future grandchildren. Upgrades and even addition we dreamed of doing one day. Plans of what life would look like after all of the kids had moved out. I was terrified of an empty nest but he had a way of making it seem exciting and fun to be “on our own,” able to leave town at the drop of a hat and explore places we wanted to go. So one thing that has been at the tip top of my mind this whole time was “how am I going to afford to keep this house and all of the bills that go with it?” I was talking about how going back to work was the only choice but that I should be able to work it out to have the house paid off before retirement (hopefully and prayerfully.) Someone said “well, you could look into selling the house and moving into something smaller since you don’t need so much space.” That person meant no harm at all and was just trying to give a helpful potential solution, but my heart felt like it fell past my stomach and to my knees. Literally like the first downhill of a roller coaster. That same fear of not having this place where we planned our forever jumped right back into my throat while my heart tried to find its way back to my chest. It was all I could do to hold the grief break inside of me til later. It was only then that I fully realized that was the source of almost all of my money fears. Yes, I could survive if I had to sell our home. Yes, I could probably afford a tiny home more easily. Yes, I know many people end up not having a choice but, if there is anything I can do about it, I will have a choice about whether to keep or sell my house. And I will stay right here.
Now that I know part of my plan to do that means I have no choice but to return to work and that I know I will have gotten through my granddaughter’s first year and a half with no daycare, at least, I am able to build the resolve to step into it. I’m in the process now of figuring out how to plan for retirement without him here, too, but God still says it’s all going to be okay…the money part anyway.
So, things are still changing every day. Nursing school ends next month and then I go back to being one, too. It wasn’t the plan but things keep changing. But I was wrong about one thing. The only thing constant in life is not just change. It’s also God. He is never-changing.
Another Monthversary
Today is the 10th. It’s been eleven months. For some reason this landmark in my journey is trying to turn my balance beam into a tightrope. Eleven months means that, right around the corner, I’ll soon be looking at having spent an entire year without him in my life. I don’t know how this can be. And how can it still feel so surreal when I have battled, struggled, and wrestled with grief like a black belt Brazilian Jiu Jitsu champ.
Still, my perspective is changing. I’m still sad and still miss him terribly; I think I’ll always, always be sad on some level and I’ll definitely always miss him, every day forever on Earth. Along with those emotions, though, I’m starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, the horizon is changing a little bit. It will never change back to how it was, but there may be some light up ahead. I find myself wanting to celebrate his life and what we had together more often than devastatedly grieving his death. Yes, there are moments the grief overtakes me and the nightmares encroach on my wellbeing, but it’s less often than before.
It’s springtime outside, mine and Scott’s favorite season. The smell of fresh-cut grass, flowers beginning to bloom, sunshine earlier and later in the day, and time for planting new things. I think that being outside planting, watering, pruning, deadheading, and fertilizing has not only kept me busy but feeling closer to the one who would have been here doing it with me. When I think of things he used to say or do now, I find myself smiling a little more often rather than desperately feeling the loss of never having those moments again. Not always, but at least sometimes now. He brought true joy and love to my life and I’m thankful that I’ll never be the same because he changed me in all the best ways.
Springtime after winter is like a rainbow after the rain. It is ripe with promise of change for the better. It brings a feeling of starting again…or at least of continuing on. Springtime, for me, is hope. God created many reminders that we can keep starting over. A sunrise always eventually comes after a sunset. Rainbows after rain. Jesus on the cross. My husband’s death was a semicolon for me. I wanted to end the sentence but it wasn’t finished yet; there is more to be said and done. I take one day at a time while I wait, sometimes impatiently, for God to unfold my assignment, a way to be used by him for good.
For now, baby, I’ll hold you in my heart until I hold you in Heaven. I miss you so much. (And you would have loved watching this little rugrat we have running around now. I often think of how much you’d laugh at her and get on to me for getting onto her about something.)
The Span of Ups and Downs
Grief makes you feel bipolar. It feels like I think having a legitimate care of bipolar or multiple personality disorder would feel.
Yesterday, despite the fact that it was the eleventh monthversary of his death, I felt somewhat hopeful and just thankful for what we did have when he was here: a kind of love that many people never experience in a lifetime and that it was so very easy to keep the covenant of “til death do us part.” The sun was shining outside. The weather was gorgeous and the temps in the 70’s. Nostalgia wasn’t making me sad yesterday.
This morning I was on my way to pick up my granddaughter and had my music on shuffle. An old song by Styx came on the radio: “Don’t Let It End.”
“What can I do
Pictures of you still make me cry;
Trying to live without your love,
It’s so hard to do.
Some nights I’ll wake up,
I’ll look at your pillow
Hoping that I’ll see you there.
But I get up each day, not much to say
I’ve nowhere to go.
Loneliness fills me up inside
‘Cause I’m missing you…. Don’t let it end;
I’m begging you, don’t let it end this way.”
Yes, I know this song is an obscure piece of music history. The lyrics are, in actuality, about two people who broke up and he’s begging her to try again, to get back together. This morning, though, this part tried to pull me back toward the abyss that is grief. It doesn’t help that today is rainy with thunder and lightning. A day with very little light.
This is a perfect example of what grief does to people. One minute you’re fine. You think you’re figuring it out. Thinking you are figuring out how to keep living makes you feel a little bit manic, like you finally cracked the code to a lock you’ve been trying to remember the combination for forever. You get a dopamine hit from what feels like an almost impossible success.
Drastically and suddenly, with no warning, reasonable cause, or explanation, something causes your foot to slip from the tightrope and before you know it you’re hanging from a thin line by your fingertips while the wind is blowing, rain makes the rope slick, and you look down to see a bottomless pit. Except there is probably a bottom down there somewhere and it wouldn’t be pretty to hit it…again. The “bipolar” feeling hits again. “I was just okay; what happened???”
The thing is, I have choices when this occurs. Choice #1: continue listening, dig deep to really feel the words, and end up so deep in the hole that it’s hard to find a foothold to climb back out. Choice #2: change the station.
Here are a few verses to consider:
“The eye is the light of the body; so then if your eye is clear, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. . . .” (Matt.6:22-23)
This passage reminds me to pay attention to what I put into my mind through my vision. Be careful what I watch on TV or read in books, for example. If my vision starts to stray to something unsavory (from a spiritual perspective,) I should change my view by altering my perspective or averting my eyes elsewhere.
“You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.” (Isaiah 26:3)
This verse reminds me that I will find peace if I change my thought process and aim toward spiritual things (whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Phil. 4:8)
More than anything you guard, protect your mind, for life flows from it. (Prov.4:23)
I have to guard what is allowed to infiltrate my thoughts; my life is influenced by what I allow.
“My son, pay attention to what I say; listen carefully to my words. Don’t lose sight of them; let them penetrate deep into your heart. For they bring life to those who find them and healing to their whole body.” (Prov 4:20-21)
Finally, my ears are a direct line to my heart. Music has always told me this because it has the power to elicit deep emotional responses. The Bible says that the Word of God in one’s ears brings life to those who find them and will heal their whole body.
This morning, I changed the station – literally and figuratively. I chose to pick a different playlist, and the song that played first on that station was “Healed” by Nichole Nordeman. This song sounds pretty somber, too, but the words are life-giving because they remind us of who we are, even in adversity; we exist but are incomplete until He reaches our hearts.
“We stutter and we stammer til You say us,
A symphony of chaos til You play us.
Phrases on the pages of unknown
Til You read us into poetry and prose.
We are kept and we are captive til You free us,
Vaguely unimagined til You dream us,
Aimlessly unguided til You lead us home.
By Your voice, we speak.
By Your strength, no longer weak.
We are no longer weak.
By Your wounds we are healed…
Passed over and passed by until You claim us.
Orphaned and abandoned til You name us.
Hidden undisclosed til You expose our hearts.
By Your death we live.
It is by Your gift that we might give.”
Today, my path was redirected because I changed my destination. Understand, though, that this isn’t something that is easy to do at all in early grief. There was definitely a time when I felt altogether incapable of redirecting my thoughts to anything but loss. And that is okay because it was part of processing the reality of the loss I have experienced. Even now, there are days I will still dig deep into the sadness and sit in it for awhile because something inside me needs to acknowledge my husband’s absence and the effect it has had, is having, and will always have on my life. Then, once I have had an opportunity to acknowledge those feelings, I’ve learned that if I change tracks to being thankful for the time we did have to spend together and for the beauty of our relationship while he was here, I am slowly and gently filled with peace. It all comes down to me being the boss of my thoughts and remembering that this life on Earth is merely one star in a sky of endless ones; it is the puréed spinach at the beginning of a long life of steak and baked potatoes, fresh bakery pastries, and millions of other delectably delicious delicacies. It gets infinitely better after this part that we’re slogging our way through.
If you’re grieving, know that it is okay if you’re not at this place yet, where you can take control of where your thoughts take you. I really think we need to go through the place where grief completely takes over. It sucks, but I think it’s necessary as our brains try to wrap around what happened and learn to grow our lives around it. If we shove those thought and feelings away in the beginning, if we just decide not to deal with them, they do not go away. We’re only hiding them so that they can explode later. It is not possible to ever eliminate them but allowing yourself to feel them takes away some of their power later on. If you’re not there yet, accept this hope that it does become easier to manage eventually. For me, right now it’s intermittently; sometimes it still rears its ugly head and tries to take me out but I seem to be able to find my way out of the pit a little more quickly after all the practice I’ve had climbing up.
The way God works, once you have experience hiking your way through dense and unexplored terrain, you’ll make a great trail guide for others who are trying to follow the same path behind you. You’re struggling now but one day you may be someone’s lighthouse on stormy seas. It’s a job you never wanted but someone will be grateful for you. ♥️
What’s That in the Mirror?
I realized today that I cannot remember the last time I looked at myself in the mirror. I’m thinking that when I brush my teeth I guess I must look at my teeth. When I brush my hair I must look at my hair. But I haven’t “look-looked” at myself. I have worn makeup maybe three times since Scott’s been gone. I mean, who cares, right? What’s the point? I didn’t need to wear makeup around Scott. Even when I looked hideous he would say I was beautiful. (That reminds me of a photo of a kid’s school paper where the question asked “what is love?” And the little boy answered that it’s when you tell your wife she is pretty even if she looks like a dump truck. Sorry…A.D.D. moment.) Anyway, I definitely cared a lot more about my appearance when he was here.
When I acknowledged this thought, I instantly thought of James 1:23-24.
“Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like.”
I think I’m having an issue with that, too. I read the Word almost every morning, rarely missing. It often tells me not to worry. To be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. (Phil 4:6-7) It tells me the joy of the Lord is my strength. (Nehemiah 8:10) It tells me to cast all anxiety on Him because He cares for me. (1 Peter 5:7)
I read these things and then often don’t get very far into my day before I seem to “forget” these things. Or at least forget to focus on them in the chaos that has been my life over the last year. I think a lot of this is because of difficulty understanding why or at least accepting that this is how my life is now…as a widow. But that thought process made me think of another verse about a mirror in the Bible. 1 Corinthians 13:13 in the KJV says “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” It’s a little easier to understand in the Amplified Version: “For now [in this time of imperfection] we see in a mirror dimly [a blurred reflection, a riddle, an enigma], but then [when the time of perfection comes we will see reality] face to face. Now I know in part [just in fragments], but then I will know fully, just as I have been fully known [by God].”
I guess my mirror needs some work…or, well, my eyes do. Or my brain. But if I’m going to do my very best at walking what I talk, I’m going to need to focus my concentration on the Truth more consistently and less on the things I am worried about. Finances have been a big one and I have become far too focused on how to make ends meet rather than focusing on God’s assignment and calling on my life. Where God guides, He provides. And God doesn’t call the qualified, He qualifies the called. They may be somewhat cliché but both of these statements are 100% true. That should be at the center of my attention. If I am where God wants me, doing what He has called me to do, other things will work themselves out. I am admitting, much to my own chagrin, that my life has been fear-based more than I’d like to admit over the last year. That’s not who I want to be. I want my eyes to be fixed on a resurrected Jesus.
I’m praying that, as I change my focus (again, because I know you’ve heard me say it before…that’s what I mean about walking away from the mirror; grief has a way of clouding that image.) God will have an opportunity to speak to me about where I need to be and what I should be doing next. I’m also praying He uses neon signs since interpreting subtlety is not my forté.
And I’m expecting a BIG answer. ♥️
Who is Your Lifesaver in the Flood?
I’ve written what actually happened to my husband during the last five hours of his life several times. Every time that I wrote it out is saved in a drafts folder. At this point I don’t know if I just keep writing it as some form of “therapy,” as torture in some kind of self-flagellation, or because I actually intend to share it one day. Although, I won’t ever tell you the name of the hospital, the nurses, some of the doctors, because I’m not at liberty to say even though it’s my husband’s story. And it’s my story because I had to watch it all unfold. It’s our story but it’s a part of the middle, not the end. Funny how they, the “powers that be,” have so much more power and control over everything than we do. You know, we the people. They can take their names out of it but it is still 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 of how it all ended in this life. How our love story here got cut short. And then “they” can get off and walk away scot-free. Pun 100% intended.
My life isn’t what I thought it would be now, but I’m trying my best to fulfill some of 𝘰𝘶𝘳 dreams. A lot of what you see about me planting things lately is really about him. I’m enjoying doing it but plants of any kind were really Scott’s forté. I loved to be in the garden with him but he was the one who could make things grow. He was always teaching, telling me how he did this or that, but he might have been a little afraid for me to touch them 😂 and yet he would still encourage me to try but I think that’s because he knew if I killed it he could bring it back. I don’t know how he did it but there were plants I swear were dead and gone but Scott could mysteriously revive them. And it’s not like when your kid’s fish dies and you buy him a new one just so he won’t be sad. He really brought them back. He could grow anything. Just look what he did with me while I had him here. And look what his absence has done.
Our back yard was one of the biggest reasons we bought this home together. It was beautiful when we bought it but we worked, little by little, intending to make it a an increasingly beautiful and peaceful oasis. We spoke often of how it should be a place to go when life overwhelms. It should be a place where our kids and our grandkids love and want to come hang out with us. It should be lovely and relaxing. It should be the outdoor version of 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦.
The boys have helped me take on a heavy duty (strength required) project out there that Scott and I had intended to do for awhile. It’s not quite finished but most of what is left to do is more about tidying up and smoothing things out. Unfortunately that part requires some heavy lifting, too, so we work on it when we all can. They’ve also helped me hang twinkly lights over our pool. They have encouraged me and at least acted excited with me over my fruit trees (because we wanted them all to be able to come pick their own fresh fruit when they wanted.) They have ooo’d and ahhh’d over my rose bushes and other plants that I’m managing to keep alive by the grace of God. They’ve also helped me when random but frustrating home issues have come up. Between them, my boys can professionally work on electrical, heating, air, or refrigeration problems, carpentry, masonry, and removing dents from vehicles. They’re each incredibly skillful and talented in their areas of expertise and have great work ethic. I often tease them that I still just need someone to go to school for plumbing. So far, I’ve had no takers on that one (even though that’s one of the things acting up lately.🤦🏻♀️) I don’t know what I’d do without them as I live without my husband.
Our girls, the ones Scott and I fell in love with when our boys did, have been a Godsend in so many ways, too. Scott never got to meet our newest edition, Erin, but he would have adored her just like he did Taylor and Patrice. She is such a sweetheart. I think he would have said something like “Man, Owen, you managed to reel in a nice catch! Good going, man! And it don’t hurt that she’s gorgeous, too. You need to hang on to that one.😉” These girls have really actually been excited with me about my flowers.😂 They have listened when my heart was broken but I didn’t want to burden the boys with my hurt. They have cleaned and helped host the comings and goings of many people when I could barely acknowledge who was here. Most importantly of all, they have loved my sweet boys and have been for them, in many ways, what Scott was for me. A safe place.
And my granddaughter. Well, she lights up a room even when she’s got her face scrunched up like she’s mad. She’s so easy to love and laugh at. She has also gotten me through some of the toughest days. One day I’ll tell her that her middle name should have been Grace because she sure saved me. Many days that it would have been easy to go down a rabbit hole of despair, that baby girl has held me away from the edge.
In the natural, the regular world, there shouldn’t have been any way, financially, for me to stay home with her this year. I was determined to try really hard to do it because I am trying my best to keep any and all promises and commitments that Scott and I made while he was here, and also because I wanted to spend this time with her and to help my kids. But my life is anything but natural since God’s doing it with me. Every time I thought it might not be possible for much longer, He has provided a wholly unexpected way for it to work. And He didn’t just do it for Lillian. He knew how close I’ve lived to the edge of existence at times and He already knew this would have pushed me to the brink. I’d never leave my kids and force them to go through something like I am, but it is desperately miserable to live teetering on that edge, walking a death-defying tightrope every day. And so He also knew what I needed to draw me back to solid ground. You’ll never, ever convince me that He didn’t send Lillian Reese here right when He did because He knew how much we would all need her. I may have said this here, online, before but if you ever saw Lillian any of her uncles, you’d think he was her daddy. They all treasure her like that and she is one blessed little girl to have all of these people who love her as much as our big tribe does.
God has been in the details all this time. Some of them I could see at that moment. Some I haven’t been able to see until looking back from a different perspective. I know that even when I felt alone because Scott is gone, God has still been there holding my head above tidal waves of grief. He has poured peace over me when I couldn’t find it anywhere else. There are certain things that, even now, I should be stressing and panicking about, but the urge to worry frantically over them isn’t there. I know who holds my future, even if it isn’t what I wanted it to be, and I trust that beauty will somehow come from these ashes.
I’m a few days away from the eleven month mark. Not two weeks after that will be the one year mark since we lost my sweet fifteen-year-old nephew and then about two weeks after that one year since Scott was here. I don’t doubt that the water will rise again soon. I also don’t doubt that, in the raging swirls and waves of that flood, I will be lifted out again.
God is in the Outcome 