Day 89

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

Sept. 2, 2013

Day 89

It’s Labor Day.  I wonder what we would have done if Paul were still alive?  As I recall, he was scheduled to be on-call today, but the weather was so beautiful today that he would not have had any calls to run.  We probably would have just worked on the house all day long.  As it was, I slept in and then did household stuff most of the day.  Will worked on his room, I started sorting through the kids’ clothes to see what they will need for colder weather. 

Then we went on a picnic.  It would have been easier to stay home and it might have even been more enjoyable to stay home.  But I was determined we were going to have Family Time.  Tonight, though, I’m wondering – why bother?  Will was not in the greatest of moods, a couple of the kids were being squirrely, and Lizzie was a downright horrible human while there.  I forgot the chips and plates and the oversized marshmallows were too big for the graham crackers. 

Downhearted on the way home, I found myself wondering why everything has to be so difficult without Paul around.  Nothing is easy without him!  But, we will keep trying.  I am determined to keep this family together.  Right now, it may seem like more effort than it’s worth, but  I just know if we do nothing, we will eventually fall apart.  We did go for ice-cream last night after church.  That went pretty well. 

I mentioned in my last post about a NICU nurse who told us not to ever expect anything out of Ben.  I got to thinking later that it was actually a NICU doctor who said that to me.  She was the head of the unit, actually.  This was the same woman, who, when I asked her what Ben’s projected life span was, archly informed me that that depended on “how well you take care of him!”  Still shaking my head…how some people end up in their chosen careers is beyond me…

I am a walking bruise right now.  Late last week I plowed into the piano bench and ended up with a bruise the size of a fifty-cent piece on my upper leg.  The next day I mopped the kitchen floor and walked straight into the heavy, glass light cover.  My scalp is still tender.  Moments later I hit the back of my arm on the kitchen table, resulting in a baseball-sized bruise.  The day after that I was carrying  Ellie when I stepped onto a lego buried in the shag rug in the living room  There is a Facebook Meme entitled something like, “The 3 Levels of Pain.”  The first level is “Moderate.”  Then, “Excruciating” is next.  The third level is “Stepping on a lego.”  Yep.  Oh, my goodness.  I actually hit the floor, it was so bad.  Tears sprang to my eyes.  I have a deep red mark and a big bruise now on the arch of my foot.  I’ve been hobbling ever since.  Granted, I’ve always been a bit accident-prone, but this is ridiculous!  I think I’m going to make a dr’s appt.  Not for my many bruises, but just for a general physical.  A couple of my widow books have suggested that very thing.  This last one mentioned a list of not-uncommon physical ailments following bereavement and one caught my attention – blurry vision.  I am still dealing with that.  I can see just fine, but reading is harder, especially first thing in the morning and at night.  I figured I’d have to go see my eye dr, but I think I’ll start with my regular dr.  I’m certainly paying enough for my insurance through COBRA right now – may as well get some use out of it!

Yesterday was the first day that the church choir sang after their usual summer hiatus.  For as long as Paul was in the choir he always stood in the same spot and to me, it looked like there was this huge, gaping hole where he used to be.  It looked so…empty.  I tried to remind myself that that morning Paul was singing in a great, Heavenly choir as God, Himself, watched and beamed in pleasure.  But it didn’t help.  I wanted Paul singing in our church, up in his spot in the choir loft.  And so, I sat in our pew and cried while the choir sang.

I find myself just yearning to hear Paul’s voice talking to me once more.  I know that won’t happen, of course.  But the last 12 ½ weeks I have heard God’s voice in a way I rarely heard it before – so clear and distinct in my head and heart.  I would give anything if I could hear Paul like that.  And then I wonder does that desire mean that Paul is more important to me than God?  I have the Creator of the entire universe whispering in my ear, but yet I’d rather  hear the voice of another mortal?

I suspect God understands, though.  Every night before I fall asleep my prayer is always, “God, please hold our hearts.  Help us heal.”  Tonight is one of those nights I feel that plea even more strongly.  There is no pain like the one I am enduring.  There is no hurt like this.  I have never in my life experienced an agony like this that is best described by waves.  I feel like I have been thrown overboard the pleasant ship of my life.  I’ve slammed into the ocean, eventually managed to get my head above water, shaken the drops out of my eyes and ears, and then another wave hits the back of my head, knocking me under again.  There is no escape

Except, there is, of course.  No sooner do I write those words than does 1Cor. 10:13 pop into my head: There hath no temptation (trial) taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.

Hurting tonight…but knowing at the same time that the turbulence and dark, angry waves are temporary.  I’m not going to drown, although I’m going to be water-logged - and bruised and disoriented,  for a long, long time.