Day 160
Boy, did I sleep well last night! I’m thinking that I may just have to get
another pair or two of fleece pajamas before this winter is over…what I have
been missing out on because of Paul all these years! Actually, there’s no way I could have worn
something that warm to bed with him in there.
That man was so hairy and so big that he was like a furnace. Some nights he would get sweaty just in sleep
which would totally gross me out if he was touching me. I’d unpeel his body from mine and stick a
sheet between us for rest of the night.
How did people survive and sleep together before air conditioning? Anyway…
Tonight Sam was looking at his science book. Lizzie peered over his shoulder and
exclaimed, “That’s a heart!” It wasn’t a
heart shape, but a drawing of an actual heart.
I wonder how she knew that? Sam
didn’t think she was right and was rather perturbed when I informed him that
his sister knew what she was talking about.
Then Lizzie asked, “But how come I don’t see God in there?” It was one of those questions that I had to
sort through in my mind – what did she mean?
Then it came to me! So then we
talked about how God is invisible and, of course, I had to explain what “invisible”
meant. I told Lizzie that we don’t see
God, but we feel Him in our hearts.
“Oh – h,” Lizzie said, “You mean, every time I feel my heart
beeping that’s God in there?”
Well, I no longer have a wall between my living room and
back room. Even though it is totally unfinished
yet, I am already loving it! It just
seems like we have so much more space and now that living room has light
in it for the first time, ever! It is so
nice to walk out there every morning and have the morning sun streaming into
the room through the back room windows.
Will we still call that the “back room” now, I wonder? Technically, it’s just going to be one big
living space.
It was a big deal Saturday.
I don’t know how many guys showed up, but it was a LOT! They tore down that wall and then ripped up
the floor. 164 year old dust went all over
the house – completely nasty. All the
guys were hacking and coughing. Will was
actually spitting up blood by Monday from the amount of coughing he had done,
trying to clear his lungs of that dust. (Of
course, when he told me he was coughing blood, my first thought was, “consumption!” I think I’ve read way too many historical
novels…) But by the time they all left I
had a new floor down. I was painting
down in the basement all day, which was actually a treat, even though I hate
painting. A friend watched Ben and the
Littles all day so I was able to work without much interruption. Unfortunately, I had a terrible migraine that
day and found it difficult to work at times because the pain just would not
subside. I’m sure it was aggravated by
the paint fumes and dust, too.
We still have two walls to gut down to the studs in the
living room. I am suspicious that the
work on our house may be “burning out” the men from church. I definitely don’t want to do that, so I was
relieved when Will told me that he thinks he can do that bit by himself, along
with drywalling and even potentially replacing the ceiling in the living
room. He is optimistic that by Christmas
we could be completely done out there.
Wouldn’t that be something if he’s right? I cannot wait until the day new carpet
is laid out in those rooms and I can re-hang all my wall decorations!
Sam wants to be a helper in the worst way. Tonight he was delighted when he discovered I
was nailing down the new stair treads on the basement steps (the carpet tape
didn’t work) and insisted on helping.
Boy, did he have fun! Will said
the other day Sam wanted to tag along with him to Menards. He was loading these huge, heavy boards into
the truck that were to be used for floor joists and to his surprise, Sam
grabbed one end and was helping lift them!
He said that Sam told him simply, “I just like working with you!”
We were recently given a nearly-new washer and dryer. I’m thankful because my dryer had recently
taken another nose-dive and was taking 3+ hours to dry a single load. They were in Des Moines Des Moines
I had my will drawn up tonight. That is a relief. Now if anything happens to me, it’s all spelled
out and the kids are taken care of. My
lawyer has to make a couple more calls for me and then I’ll be able to set up a
Special Needs Trust for Ben, too. His
inheritance has to be handled a little differently so that he doesn’t lose any
state services that he needs. Plus, he
has about zero money handling skills.
A couple of nights ago, out of the blue, Lizzie started
talking about the former foster home she was in before she came to me. Quite frankly, this was not a suitable place
at all. I was not impressed the day I
picked the girls up and could not get them out of there fast enough. Lizzie doesn’t always tell the truth, so I’ve
had to weigh that against some of the horrifying stories she has told me about
this home. It’s because of that that I
never pursued making any phone calls to DHS.
Besides, as time went on I learned that numerous other concerned people
had made calls. But anyway, Lizzie
brought up her time there (which, by the way, I never bring up – if she wants
to talk about the past I’m always more than willing to do so, but if she would
prefer to live in the future and let those memories fade, then that’s fine,
too). She was only 3 ½ when I got her,
but she told me that when she was told that she didn’t have to stay at this
place anymore, that a new mom would be picking her up, she felt so relieved. I’m just amazed she remembers and can
articulate how she felt then. Of course,
what I remember about that morning is how, within moments of meeting me, she narrowed her little eyes at me and
informed me, “They should have given us to a black family!”
So the other night when Lizzie told me this, I said to her, “Really?” I then told her that I was afraid that she
hadn’t wanted to go with me that morning because I’m not black. Lizzie smiled at me, crossed over to where I
was sitting on the bed, hugged me, and said, “Oh, Mom – that’s so silly!” When we set out to do this, I had some
(mostly older) people suggest to me that if we got a child of a different race
it would be next to impossible to overcome those kinds of differences.
What
differences?
I’m using a book right now in my morning devotions called, Hope
for an Aching Heart by Margaret Nyman.
It’s for widows, written by a widow.
She was featured on Nancy Leigh DeMoss’ program this fall and my mom
told me about it. I’m really
appreciating this little book. The other
day I read,
Although He
(God) thoroughly understood my overpowering longing to be with my husband, He
also knew that looking to (my husband) for my comfort wasn’t going to bring it. The most effective way to relieve grieving pain
would be to turn my dim eyes toward Him.
Hanging onto a departed husband could never bring healing, but clinging
to an ever-present God surely would.
I found these words very helpful. It was later that same day that Truth hit me
between the eyes. I have two
choices. I can spend my time wishing
Paul were here and lamenting that he is not.
And, of course, there IS a time for grieving. I firmly believe that one must traverse
through that dark and narrow valley before healing and joy can ever
return. Or, I can turn my focus to God,
letting Him comfort me, looking to Him for the needs that Paul formerly met.
Whichever I choose…Paul is still dead.
Making a choice to be depressed and grieve longer than
necessary or to be angry with God will not change the facts. Paul is dead.
Period.
I mentioned this to Will that night and he nodded his head
and said he’d come to that same conclusion within just a few days of Paul’s
Homegoing. He said he’s sad, but he’s
not allowing himself to dwell there because it doesn’t change the facts.
I then bounced this thought off a widow friend of mind at
church. She looked and me and said, “Sarah
– you’re progressing. Now you are at the
point that you are accepting Paul’s death.”
I think that must be a good thing. I’m fairly certain that no future can be
presented to us when we choose to live in the past.
I still ache. I am
mourning for Paul. I feel incomplete
still, wounded and heartsick. But I see
a picture in my mind. Paul is standing
there, and I am looking backward to him.
But a glass wall separates us. I
look back at him once more and then I turn and grasp the invisible hand of the
One who is leading me away from Paul – and into the future.
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