Diary of an Unwilling Widow

I am honestly not sure what to do about my blog these days.  I have daughters now so my world is not only about raising future men.  And, as of June 6th, I am no longer married (how it hurts to say that) because my husband has died.  But people know where to find me here so I am reluctant to start a new blog.  I rather imagine many of my posts to come will deal with grief and if I were to start a new blog, specifically dedicated to that subject,  that might be a turn-off to my readers.  Who wants to seek out a site solely about sadness?

I started journaling today.  It occurred to me last night that someday I might be interested in reading my thoughts from these early days.  Or perhaps, I will have the future opportunity to minister to others walking a similar path.  I say that and I immediately think, "Please, God, no !"  I would not wish this kind of pain on my worst enemy.

I was interrupted while typing this by yet another neighbor bringing us food.  God loves me.

I am copying most of my journaling today for this post:

June 14, 2013

 

I have been widowed for 8 days now.  My heart is broken, splintered, and shattered.  Oddly enough, I am also numb.  I miss my husband so much!  We had never been apart for more than 6 days in our entire 20 years of marriage.  And now, we’re apart until Jesus calls me home.  The pain is all consuming, radiating outward from my heart.  I have to remind myself to breathe.  As I was making lunch for myself, I thought, “Huh – I haven’t cried yet today!”  And then I began to weep because of that.

 

I am surrounded by those that love me.  The meals and housekeeping help keep coming.  My doorbell and phone ring constantly.  Just this morning Ben’s old sp. Ed teacher showed up at our back door.  He had been out of town and had just heard the news.  He wants to take the boys fishing sometime soon.

 

I hurt, oh I hurt.

 

After Paul died, one of my first prayers to the Lord was for wisdom.  I know that this is a time when foolish decisions are easily made in a number of areas.  I am tempted to avoid the pain by distractions – reading, television, housework.  But there is a part of me that instinctually recognizes that if I do those things, I am only avoiding and prolonging the inevitable.  I MUST go through this valley.  I am unwilling, but I have no choice.

 

People keep telling me how “strong” I am.  I am not strong.  I am as weak as every other person who has walked in my shoes.  I just haven’t quit yet, that’s all.  Jesus has to be my strength because I feel as helpless as a day old kitten. But yet, I MUST survive.  All Monday and Tuesday I looked longingly at Paul's casket, wishing with all my might I could just crawl inside it with him and be locked away forever.  I bent over his prone body and wet his suit with my tears because we were now separated. I love him - oh, how I love that man.

 

Ok, now I am really crying.  As I was typing, the doorbell rang (good thing Ellie is not home today as she is terrified of the doorbell).  It was the UPS man, making deliveries.  I was puzzled because I had not recently ordered anything.  My friend Sara had ordered a book for the kids that I can create for them, called, “Tell Me About Daddy” and a frame where we can put Paul’s picture.  It has a poem about death and Heaven on it.  And my friend Tina in Korea sent me an Amazon gift card. We have been flooded with gifts like this - humbling.  As I posted on Facebook last night, God is showing us how much He cares through others right now.  It still hurts, though – I’d do anything to still have Paul and not have all these gifts that are coming our way.  But yet, I am still grateful.

 

I must, I MUST believe the promise of Romans 8:28 – “For we know that all things work together for good (even widowhood at age 42) to those that love God and are called according to His purpose.”