Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Day 167


November 19, 2013


Day 167


I miss him.  Oh, how I miss him.  I miss his laugh, the sound of his steps, his comforting little routines, his touch, the way his presence filled our home…I feel just so empty inside right now.  I try to remind myself of all the things I’ve thought about the last 5 months – how God is both sovereign and loving, how nothing slips through His fingers without His approval, how we’ve been carried, how we’ve  had the unique opportunity to experience God’s love through others, how God is going to use this for  our good.  All those things are still true.  But they don’t matter tonight when I just long to hear his voice and to feel his arms wrapped around me once again.


Nights like tonight I just want to die.  I’ve felt that way, off and on (mostly on) since Paul’s death, but tonight it’s stronger.  I know marriage doesn’t exist in Heaven, but at least I wouldn’t have to continue living here without him.  If I could just slip away, fade into the night…


Lately my mind keeps going back to that moment on the front lawn, when the sheriff’s deputy walked over to me and said, “I’m so sorry, we did everything we could, but your husband didn’t make it.”  Each time I think about it, the horror of that moment grips my heart once again.  Why did I not throw myself on the ground in that moment, scream, and wail in agony?  I mean, I’m glad I didn’t, but I still wonder now how I managed to absorb such a blow without falling apart.  In those moments while the paramedics worked on him, I never honestly thought that he was going to die (or was already dead).  I knew things didn’t look good, but my mind wouldn’t let me traipse down the path of what- if- he’s -dead?


Will has come up with a plan of how to do the bedroom/bathroom project that will involve less work.  It’s going to mean a smaller bedroom for me, but I’ll gain a walk-in closet.  When he was sharing this with me tonight, I was reminded of Paul when he would have a remodeling brainstorm.  Will is so much like Paul, it’s eerie at times – not just in this, but in so many other ways.  I’m so thankful for his work on the house, along with that of others.  But it doesn’t change the fact that we are planning a bedroom that I will never share with Paul. 


That hurts.


Everything hurts tonight.  I just miss him.  I want him back.  Moments like right now I am convinced that I will never experience happiness again.  I will forever be a shattered, incomplete, shell of a person.  I loved him so much.  I remember being married and being knowledgeable of just how deeply I loved him.  At times that scared me and I would even fight against that love because I instinctively knew that if I ever lost Paul I could not survive the pain, so great was my love for him.  So maybe if I loved him less, future pain would be less, too.  But most of the time I convinced myself that we were destined to live out old age together and refused to allow myself horrific thoughts of losing him (although, oddly enough, a frequent topic of conversation between us had to do with the possibility of one or the other of us dying – I think that’s just because I have a morbid streak a mile wide – always have).  But I was right.  I loved him so much that losing him feels like it’s going to kill me. 


I can’t regret that, though.  You never regret love.


Tomorrow I’ll be reminded of God’s many promises.  Somebody, somewhere, will say something encouraging to me.  One of the kids will wrap their arms around me and I’ll be reminded of a very good reason that I am still here.


But tonight I hurt.































1 comment:

  1. Oh, how I understand.....................
    Two became one flesh, how could one not feel shattered when one is torn away.
    I never knew how physical grief was till Jim died. I never knew someone could feel such agony and still breathe, still stand, still live. For what seemed etermity, I operated like an emotional amputee. Trying to function as one with what had been two.......Every fiber of my being longed for him. Somewhere in the last 7 + years some of those fibers stopped throbbing for him. Life made adapting necessary. God sealed them, healed them. But sometimes......like phantom pain of an amputee, the pain comes and I reach out to grap my beloved who isn't there............nights are the worse.......the house is too quiet.......the mind has time to think.............the heart cries the loudest in the night.......Just remember hope comes in the morning. Each morning God gives us mercy, strength, joy, and grace. But till the sun rises, the heart and soul can seem overwhelmed. Press in to the LORD and press through the pain. Cry out to the God of All Comfort to hold you through the night and bring you sweet sleep. He will come.
    Many hugs and prayers of understanding