Saturday, June 6, 2015

Two Years


June 6, 2015

Two Years

 

Two years...

 

A year ago I wrote a long post about the first year of widowhood.  I'm not nearly so verbose this year.  There really isn't a whole lot new to say, I guess.

 

Today hasn't been a bad day.  When I  woke up this morning it wasn't with any sense of dread.  Last night was actually harder for me, I think, dreading the arrival of the 6th.  But once it was here, everything wasn't too bad.

 

I had bought some flowers for Paul's grave yesterday and I put them in the downstairs fridge with a wet washcloth rubberbanded around the stem bottoms in anticipation of taking them up today.  Well, this morning, I discovered that my bouquet had frozen!  It is a pretty old fridge.  So all my pretty daisies were very dead.  I didn't want to take the time to go to town to buy more.   I finally went outside and clipped the last of our peonies, which seems fitting, since Paul loved them so much.  Except, mine were pretty old and the petals shed everywhere.  Sigh...

 

I tied a ribbon around the stems anyway and headed up to the cemetery.  As I passed City Hall I saw that the peony bushes there looked not-quite-so-old as mine so I turned around and went home and got some shears and then clipped me a pretty bouquet. 

 

I remember last year on the 6th buying flowers at Hy-Vee and found that my legs were shaking.  The significance of what I was doing really hit at that moment.  I remember stopping at Paul's grave and sitting and crying for quite awhile.  This year, I wiped the bird poop off the stone and then took some pictures.  And then I felt pretty quiet on the inside.  I'm not sure exactly how I felt.  Sadness was part of it, but I guess I was more pensive than anything.  I didn't cry.

 

I came home and had a pretty normal Saturday, all the while looking forward to this evening when Will and Arien (his girlfriend - she has a name now - they're totally public) arrived back at the house.  We went down to the Checkerboard and had a nice supper.  I was thinking today that I think I have found the key to surviving these important "date" days.  For me, it's having something to look forward to.  And this was it for me today.  We enjoyed our time together and then we stopped at the cemetery.  I had some new things to place at the grave.  I caught Will just standing there for a few moments staring down at the grave.  He's never been one to really feel the need to visit the cemetery or talk overly much about Paul's death.  I wondered what he was thinking in those moments that he stood there.

 

It's been a little harder on David today.  He showed me a notebook in which he records notes from his devotions in anticipation of the missions trip he's going on later this summer.  He had written over three pages about his dad.  After we were at the cemetery he chose to jog home rather than ride.  He told me he needed the time to think.

 

And that's really it.  Here is my Facebook post from today.  It kind of sums things up:

 

Two years ago this morning...

 

In some ways, I feel like a lifetime has passed since this day, 2 yrs ago.  But then, there are still moments when all I need is a sudden flash of memory or a reminder of the life we had planned and I'm suddenly wiping tears away again.  But, the truth is...things are better. Most days, anyway.   I still grieve, but  it's  not with the same hopeless intensity of  the early days.  We are all learning to live without Paul.  I'm viewing the future now with a certain amount of anticipation, although there are still moments when I am sick at heart to think that that future will never again include him, other than the quick glimpses I sometimes see in my sons. As much as hope is beginning to seep back into our lives, I am also accepting that, for the rest of my life, we will be among the walking wounded, forever hurt and altered by Paul's early death.  As sad as that sounds, it really isn't, though.  Even scarred, life is still pretty beautiful.

 

What I have learned in two years of widowhood:

 

·        God is good - so, so good 

·         I am loved far more than I ever knew 

·         I have amazing, resilient children (I am reaping what Paul sowed into their lives) 

·         Darkness eventually gives way to light

·        Strength and wisdom are mine for the asking 

·         I don't have to have all the answers 

·         God delights in carefully and tenderly mending torn-apart hearts

 

Psalm 73:26: My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

 

 

My mp3 player is nearly always on "shuffle" mode and seems to have a mind of its own at times.  This week it seemed to be offering up a lot of songs that  seemed geared towards comfort. I don't know if God orchestrated that, if it was coincidence, or if it just seemed that way because of the state of my mind.   One came on one day that I had not listened to in months.  It's one that came to mean a lot to me that first summer. When I would listen to it - and when I still do - I could just see myself standing all alone, gazing into Heaven and knowing that I was seen and loved despite the agony in my heart.  This song has always flooded my soul with a certain feeling of hope.  I'm going to close this second year post with the lyrics once again.

 

There Will be One Day

Cheri Keaggy

 

O God of comfort, comfort me
Comfort me in this suffering.
I need to know you in this grief
O God of comfort, comfort me.
O God of everything that breaths
They say you are the God who sees
So I am standing in belief
That in this moment you see me

There will be one day when there will be no more tears to wipe away.
There will be one day when there will be no more death to navigate.
But until then we are Your children
Your love cannot forsake.
There will be one day when there will be no more tears to wipe away.

O God of sun and star and moon
When this old earth has felt its doom,
You'll find me clinging to the truth
That You are making all things new.
O God of love what love we've known.
Mercy keeps falling from Your throne.
Still we are waiting for that trumpet blow
When You will come to call us home.

There will be one day when there will be no more tears to wipe away.
There will be one day when there will be no more death to navigate.
But until then we are Your children
Your love cannot forsake.
There will be one day when there will be no more tears.

There will be peace just like a river,
Joy like we've never known,
We all will be delivered
When we get home, home,
Home, home.
When we get home, home.
When we get home.

There will be one day when there will be no more tears to wipe away.
There will be one day when there will be no more death to navigate.

There will be one day when there will be no more tears to wipe away.
There will be one day when there will be no more death to navigate.

There will be one day when there will be no more tears to wipe away.
There will be one day when there will be no more death to navigate.

What I have learned in two years of widowhood:

• God is good - so, so good
• I am loved far more than I ever knew
• I have amazing, resilient children (I am reaping what Paul sowed into their lives)
• Darkness eventually gives way to light
• Strength and wisdom are mine for the asking
• I don't have to have all the answers
• God delights in carefully and tenderly mending torn-apart hearts

Psalm 73:26: My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

ow with a certain amount of anticipation, although there are still moments when I am sick at heart to think that that future will never again include him, other than the quick glimpses I sometimes see in my sons. As much as hope is beginning to seep back into our lives, I am also accepting that, for the rest of our lives, we will be among the walking wounded, forever hurt and altered by Paul's early death. As sad as that sounds, it really isn't, though. Even scarred, life is still pretty beautiful.

What I have learned in two years of widowhood:

• God is good - so, so good
• I am loved far more than I ever knew
• I have amazing, resilient children (I am reaping what Paul sowed into their lives)
• Darkness eventually gives way to light
• Strength and wisdom are mine for the asking
• I don't have to have all the answers
• God delights in carefully and tenderly mending torn-apart hearts

Psalm 73:26: My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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