Day 9

I was possessed again today by an urge to work on Unwilling Widow Diary.  I'm not sure how long I will keep this up, but it seems to be filling a need for now.  So, I share.

June 15, 2013

 

Day 9

 

This morning our pastor and another man from church, John,  came out and did a walk-through of the house in order to gain a better understanding of what work remains to be done and so they can estimate a final cost for me.  We went through, room by room.  I told them what Paul had in mind, but offered some of my own ideas as well that I thought might save on time and work.  John turned to me and said, “Sarah, I want to honor Paul’s memory by doing this how the way HE wanted it done.”  I was touched by that.  Both and he and Pastor commented several times on the quality of Paul’s workmanship.  They want to get a crew together and knock this stuff out.  I know Paul was thinking it would be several years before he would get everything done (the final phase of the basement, the living room, and the bathroom/bedroom project) but maybe it is going to be done sooner than that?  I don’t know.  I’m just so amazed it is going to get finished at all.  Immediately upon Paul’s death Will began brainstorming as to how we could finish things up without having to do all the work Paul had intended.

 

I am chilled today – it’s coming from inside me, I can tell.  A fatigue has settled into my bones as well, although it doesn’t cause me to sleep any better.  I am still dependent on the Advil PMs to fall asleep at all.

 

I changed our sheets yesterday.  Painful.  I carefully folded them up and put them in a large ziplock bag.  I will never use them again.  But as I crawled into bed I was reminded of how appreciative Paul always was when I did get around to putting fresh sheets on the bed.  He’d stretch out his legs and wiggle his toes over the clean sheets.  I wonder if someone changes his sheets in Heaven?  Maybe there’s no sleep there – I don’t know.

 

I found out yesterday that a dear friend has been dx with breast cancer.  It’s really serious and her prognosis does not look good right now.  She has two young teenagers and a 5 month old baby.  The hits keep coming. 

 

A number of people – primarily, those that are not in close fellowship with the Lord – have commented to me that they just don’t know “why” this happened.  I’ve been thinking about that.  Of course, I don’t know the why, either.  But right now, I can say that that is ok.  I don’t have to know why.  I mean, this is God we’re talking about.  I am reminded of Job where God points out that He was there when the earth was being formed and orchestrated all the events of Creation.  Who are WE to question God?  That said, though, I am still filled with a number of concerns, even if I don’t have to have an answer to God’s thinking.  I was talking to Him the other night and complaining/wailing about just how on earth was I supposed to do this – raising the kids, continuing to homeschool, the house, the finances, vehicles, the lonliness, the lack of companionship, holidays, my empty bed,  etc.  I immediately sensed the voice of God.  You know, there have been just a few times – less than a handful – where I can say I honestly heard the voice of God.  This was one of them.  It was quiet, but it was sure.  The voice said,

“Trust Me.”

 

That was all – “Trust Me.”  I have no choice but to obey.  But it will be one of the harder things I’ve ever done.  At the same time, though, it has to be easier than trying to figure out things on my own.

 

I’m reading a book on grief right now that was given to me a Christmastime.  A friend of a friend wrote it, which is how I ended up with a copy.  I had just asked God for a book that I didn’t have to buy and less than an hour later I discovered this small white book stashed on the bookshelf out in the old office.  I’m finding it helpful.  I would like to find a book specifically written to widows, though.  There must be something.  It occurred to me this morning that Elisabeth Elliot was widowed young.  I’ve always enjoyed her ministry.  I wonder if she wrote something during that time of her life that I could use right now.

 

I’ve gotten up to the cemetery every day this week.  I sit up there, chatting away to Paul.  I feel a bit like a crazy lady, but it helps.  I’ve even stuffed a plastic stool in the van that I can sit on while there.  I wonder how long it will take for Paul’s grave to fill in and not look so fresh.  I found another recent grave up there and the marker said the occupant died in late January.  So I guess it takes awhile for the earth to recover from being disturbed like that.  I need to find a monument company.  I know what I want for Paul’s tombstone – simple, but something more than just his name and dates.  He would not want me to spend much money, I know that.  It will have to wait, anyway, until after the insurance money arrives.

 

I received a letter from the organ donor people today.  They listed out all the body parts of Paul they were able to salvage.  It’s a lot – his corneas, a lot of skin, veins, heart valves.  I’m pleased that parts of him are going to help others.  Of course, I’d be more pleased if he were still the one using them!

 

Marcia (our pastor’s wife) gave us a cd of  12 of Paul’s special music numbers recorded over the last few years.  She gave me quite a few copies with the assurance she can make even more.  David put them onto my mp3 player.  Paul was such a “minister” and it was rare for him to ever get up and just sing.  He had to “introduce” his music.  So not only do we hear him sing, but he speaks on this cd as well.  I find it enormously comforting.  I fear forgetting the sound of his voice and now I don’t ever have to worry about that.

 

I am amazed that I have managed to type so much today.  I am literally short of breath as I do this from a crushing weight in my chest.  I would think that would prohibit me from much creativity.  Maybe typing is healing.

 

I am struggling with regrets the past few days.  Memories of my shortfalls in our marriage are creeping in.  There are so many things I wish I would have done, or not done, or done differently.  There were times I could have been more loving, more self-sacrificing and wasn’t.  Why was I so stubborn about certain things?  Why was it so important that I have my own way?  I wonder if it is the Enemy bringing these things to mind.  Or maybe it’s just a natural occurrence when losing someone.  I don’t know.  I don’t like it.  I think I just need to focus on the positive things.  And there were a lot of positive things.

 

Yesterday I wandered around the cemetery a bit and read an inscription that said, “He loved and was loved.”  That describes my Paul, perfectly.

 

I miss my friend.