Day 100

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

September 13, 2013

Day 100

 

It’s Friday the 13^th – and Day 100 of my widowhood.  The number “100” usually implies something celebratory.  I know it’s become fashionable in some schools to celebrate the 100^th day of the school year in some manner.  I think it’s mostly just an attempt to break up the doldrums of winter since that usually falls in mid-January!  Rarely do people make it to their 100^th birthday without having some sort of celebration (complete with cake for grandma to gum and the obligatory picture in the paper – I will write my children out of my will if they publish my picture when I turn 100, by the way!).  But this isn’t a celebration; merely an observance, known only to me.  I won’t hit 100 again until May of 2015 when I hit 100 weeks since Paul’s death.  100 months won’t happen for about 8 years.  And 100 years – well, I won’t need to worry about that one.

I remember when we hit our first 100 days of marriage.  It happened to coincide with Memorial Day.  Paul had the day off but spent some of it working for somebody on some other project.  That afternoon/evening, though, he had the idea for the two of us to have a picnic.  It was nice – just the two of us, spending some rare time alone together.  I remember I wore I striped t-shirt.

But anyway, I have survived now 100 days without Paul.  Will the next 100 be any easier, I wonder?

Yesterday I got my hair trimmed and brought the girls to Sarah so she could relax their hair.  It’s been 8 months since I had Lizzie’s done and hair sessions were getting painful again for her, so I figured it was time to do it.  Ellie’s is getting so long, too, and she’s getting squirmier and squirmier as I have to tug on her locks more with the length.  So Sarah agreed to do both.  I didn’t know she intended for me to leave the salon, though!   I figured I’d be needed to help control Ellie and maybe to help detangle.  But she shooed me out the door and told me to come back in about 5 hours.  Both she and her co-worker suggested strongly that I go somewhere for lunch and that it couldn’t be “something you eat in the car!”

So I went.  What a treat!  I had a multitude of errands to run that I just had not had the time to do – boring stuff, like the bank and Hallmark.  I did stop at Menards and got new shades for the girls’ room and Will’s.  That was moderately enjoyable (not really – maybe slightly more than groceries, I guess).  But then I went ring shopping.  The time is coming – soon, I think – where I will remove my wedding ring.  But I’ve talked before about how I don’t want a bare hand when that happens.  I’ve had the idea of incorporating Paul’s stone in the with the kids’ birthstones.  So I checked out some jewelry stores and discovered that what I wanted to do was expensive, like upwards and over a thousand dollars.  I just can’t.  When I think of all the money I am sinking into this house right now and all the money I’ve spent this summer on burial stuff – and all the money I’ll need to spend over the years to live and support these kids – there’s no way I can justify that kind of expenditure.

But the good news is that I rethought what I could do and I came up with a solution that is just a fraction of the cost of what I was being quoted yesterday.  I’m going to go with two separate rings, but wear them together – a mother’s ring and then a tiny little one for Paul.  Actually, you know what I did?  I prayed about it.  I found myself in a dilemma after visiting these jewelry stores and just asked God for wisdom, explaining to him how important this was to me, but wanting to be financially wise at the same time.  Just a few hours later I came up with this idea.  I know it’s all kind of frivolous and shouldn’t be a big concern to me -   someday the funeral director will be prying them off my cold fingers if my kids want them.  But at the same time, it is important to me for right now.  Not as important as some stuff, like just how on earth am I going to raise, support, and educate these kids all by myself, but important, nonetheless.

And you know what I did?  I actually did eat by myself.  I almost chickened out.  I don’t think I have ever eaten alone at a sit-down restaurant.  What I really wanted to do was zip through a drive-through somewhere.  But before I had left, Sarah and her co-worker had suggested I go to Olive Garden, for some reason.  That idea lodged in my brain and as I was attempting to remind myself of how uncomfortable it would be to sit in a restaurant alone, I couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm for something I could get handed to me through a window.  So, Olive Garden it was.  The hostess seemed quite disapproving when I told her, “just one” but I might have imagined that.  Of course, she didn’t tuck me into a private little booth, though.  No, it had to be a table right out in the middle!  Thank goodness for my kindle.  I buried my nose in that the entire time and avoided eye contact with every person in the place.  I just felt awkward and wrong like it’s not socially correct to sit down and eat if you have no companion, their presence, of course,  proving that you have a life.  But I did enjoy my chicken parmigiano.  And it didn’t keep coming back up on me like something from Culvers or Burger King would have!

Sarah ended up getting done sooner than expected so I met her on the by-pass.  When I saw Ellie for the first time with her newly straightened hair, I blurted out, “You brought me a Mexican baby!”  I always forget to be politically correct when surprised…She looked so cute, though!  It won’t last beyond the first hair washing, but it’s fun to enjoy for right now.  And I should have an easier time with styling for a few months.  Sarah also brought me some stuff to stretch out the times in-between straightening and some shampoo, conditioner, and shine spray.  She is so good to me!

Wednesday I got a phone call from my attorney offering me three adoption dates.  I snatched the first one that he offered before he could even get the other two out of his mouth!  I couldn’t tell anybody the news, though, until he confirmed it with the judge.  I waited for that phone call all day yesterday.  Finally, the lawyer who has served as the girls’ guardian ad litum since they entered foster care called me to tell me how delighted he was about the adoption, confirmed the date, and told me he’d be serving as guardian ad litum at the hearing, too.  So, next Thursday morning, the girls will be mine, legally – finally. 

Almost Mine!

Today my attorney visited with more paperwork for me to sign and then right after he left the other lawyer, the guardian ad litum, came.  He hugged me two or three times and told me he is not going to charge me a dime for his services next Thursday.  That’s wonderful!  I’ll have expenses with my attorney, but I didn’t even know what I would be responsible for with the second.  This guy had actually called me four days after Paul died to offer his condolences and he told me today that after he got off the phone with me in June he thought to himself, “This one is strong.  She’s going to be just fine.”  I don’t think I’m all that strong (refer to my last post and maybe the one before it and oh, most of what I have written since June 6!) but it was still nice to be complimented like that.

So…memories.  Does Paul have them?  It’s something I thought of this week.  Does Paul remember me?  Does he remember anything of his life on earth?  I like to think he does.  My widow books assure me that our loved ones will know us when we enter Heaven.  Hebrews talks about the “cloud of witnesses” that is cheering us on in our Christian walk which seems to indicate that they are given at least glimpses of us here on earth.  But when I get to Heaven will Paul’s recognition be that of one lover greeting another or will it be more along the lines of a dementia patient who knows that he should know the person that just walked into the room, but doesn’t exactly know why he should?  Again, I’m sure it’s just my human mind trying to figure out something it’s not supposed to right now.

But I hope Paul remembers me.  I hope he can remember the good times.  I hope he remembers the  love…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 97

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

Sept. 10, 2013

Day 97

My husband is dead.  Oh, dear God – he is dead.  He is never, ever coming back.  Never.  He is gone.

Not exactly a news flash, I know.  For three months I’ve dealt with this reality and done the things a widow must do.  I bought a casket, a plot, and a gravestone,  planned a funeral, picked out my husband’s final outfit, stoically greeted guests at his visitation and made it through the funeral without collapsing.  I’ve deleted his name off all our shared accounts, figured out the finances, and reorganized his files.  I’ve gone through most of his belongings and am contemplating removing my wedding ring.  I’ve slept alone for 97 nights.  I’ve comforted my weeping children and clumsily attempted to point them to the One who wants to carry their deep hurt. For months I’ve walked around, dazed, clinging tightly to the only thing that made sense – an all-loving, all-knowing, and all-good God.

My head has known Paul is dead, but it is finally piercing my innermost self.  Now, my heart is realizing he is dead, too.  The grief is shattering as my heart attempts to accept the reality.  I feel like this leaden weight inside my chest has suddenly exploded, hurtling shards of grief into every corner of my body.  I cannot bear it.  He is dead.  He is gone.  There is no more Paul.  I have no husband – no lover, no friend, no protector.  I am quite sure I cannot bear this pain.  It will kill me before I survive.

But yet, I know that somehow, I  will survive.  And then what?  What remains? 

Love.

Our love.  The love that began when we were two 19 year old freshmen at Bible College.  The love that blossomed across the miles as we wrote letter after letter to each other, heartsick and missing one another.  The love the eventually joined us together at the altar and into newly married life. The love that produced five children and made room for two more.  The love that endured through trials and heartbreak and disappointment. The love that stretched thin at times, and sometimes seemed ready to break and not quite enough for what we thought was needed.  The love that continued to bind us together as we grew, tighter and tighter, until at times it seemed we were no longer two separate people but a single unit.

The love that could not be buried one June afternoon.

God is Love.  He remains.  Through every trial, every heartbreak – even this heartbreak, He remains steady, pure, and compassionate.  He holds me close when my legs falter and I want nothing more than to escape into a black nothingness.  When I don’t understand and I want to demand answers, He doesn’t disappear, but quietly remains.  He is all I have. He must be enough.

When darkness veils His lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace;
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, His covenant, His blood
Support me in the whelming flood;
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my hope and stay.

 

 

 

Shattered, and so very, very broken tonight.  But not without hope – never without hope.

 

 

 

Day 96

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

September 9, 2013

 

Day 96

 

Hot day today…they are saying that if we top 100 degrees, it will be a record for this late in the year.  Who cares?  I am so ready for fall, like I am every summer.  But yet, the onset of fall will feel like another way I am leaving Paul behind since he died in the summertime.  I have a feeling that after I spend an hour tomorrow night watching the boys play flag football in 95 degree heat, I won’t even care about the emotional aspects of one season rolling into another – I’ll just want the cooler weather!

 

I’m dealing with a sinus-related migraine today.  But despite the upset in my head, I am still finding myself thinking some pretty deep thoughts.  For example, is Paul’s death part of something bigger we can’t see or just one of “those” things?  After all, women have been widowed since the beginning of time.  While I’m sure God has had a plan for each and every one of those women (think of Ruth – had she not been widowed, she would have never married Boaz and produced one of Jesus’ ancestors) it’s hard for me to believe that every single death is part of this big picture God is working on – that each of those deaths is completely necessary in order to complete the picture.  Of course, they are necessary for the work that is being done in that particular’s wife’s life, though.  But I find myself curious to know if Paul’s death is a cog in some elaborate plan of God’s.  Maybe not.  Maybe it’s just for the good of the kids and myself – not to discount that, certainly, though.  I think it’s probably just me being human, attempting to understand God’s great and infinite mind through my tiny lens of humanity.  And this is where people typically walk away.  If they can’t understand God’s thinking, then they decide that they want nothing to do with God.

 

I can feel depression beginning to descend upon me.  Where I felt numb and sad before, now I just feel the sadness.  Depression is something that works its way into the bones.  I don’t like it.  But I would think it’s a normal part of the grief process, where one finally begins to acknowledge that their loved one is never coming back and that all the good things they shared are now part of the past.  Will I be depressed the rest of my life?  That thought is depressing in and of itself!

 

The boys pooled their money and bought tickets to an Iowa Hawkeye game later this month.  They’re pretty excited.  I’ll stay home with the Littles that day.  I think we’re going to borrow our neighbor’s copy of the movie, Brave, and eat something junky for supper.  I’m a little nervous about the three boys being alone in Iowa City on game day, but Will is grown now and responsible.  If things were normal, he’d be a college student himself right now.  Besides, I think fun can be an important part of the healing process.  These boys need eachother even more now than they did before.  I was a little surprised that Ben wanted to go, but that’s fine.  It will be good for him.

 

I made it through the choir’s presentation yesterday in church.  Recently, a friend who is also in the choir shared with me how she missed Paul’s comments during choir practice.  She said he’d always be cracking something funny, making them all laugh when they were supposed to be focused on learning the music.  I love hearing stuff like this!  This is how to comfort someone who is grieving.

 

A way to not comfort: a couple of days ago a neighbor, unsaved, stopped by and in the course of conversation shared how after her grandmother’s death she would catch whiffs of the perfume her grandma always wore.  She also “felt” a presence and knew that her grandmother was “there.”  I tend to view such stories with a degree of skepticism.  It’s not that I think the tellers are making up stories but I wonder how much of a demonic influence is at play.  On the other hand, I suppose God could do something like that to give comfort.  She asked me if I had experienced anything like that.  I told her I had not.  And then I felt kind of sad about that.  I haven’t even dreamed about Paul in weeks and weeks.  I sure would like to, just to “feel” him again.

 

So what is happening in Syria?  Wow…I kind of avoided the news all summer, which was a big thing for a news hound like me.  I guess my own life was dramatic enough that my heart couldn’t take any more input.  After Paul died I had a number of people say wistfully to me, “Wouldn’t it be nice if the Lord came back right now?”  Um…yes!  It’s funny, I always imagined us being raptured together.  I could see him off at work, me at home (or in my van, most likely!) and suddenly meeting each other up in the clouds instead of at home that night like we had planned.  I never gave a whole lot of thought to one or the other of us dying, though.  I mean, we did have conversations about the possibility, but it was usually with the understanding that that would not happen for decades and decades yet.  Anyway, this whole Syria thing has captured my interest because of how it fits into Biblical prophecy.  And then, in my recent reading,  one of my widow books spent quite a bit of time in the end talking about Heaven.  She points out Matthew 23:32-34:

 

Now learn this parable from the fig tree: When its branch has already become tender and puts forth leaves, you know that summer is near. ³³ So you also, when you see all these things, know that it^[a] is near—at the doors! ³⁴ Assuredly, I say to you, this generation will by no means pass away till all these things take place.

 

The author explains that the nation of Israel is always referred to as a fig tree.  Israel was re-established in 1948 and that the generation who was alive at this time is now getting up in years.  It’s her assertion that the Lord’s return will happen before their death because of the last part of verse 34. 

 

That kind of excited me!  I asked Will what he thought but he just raised an eyebrow and asked, “Don’t you think every preacher would be talking about this if it were true?”  Well, I suppose…I know that people have been trying to put dates on the return of the Lord since the beginning of Christianity and have been continually disappointed.  But, like I told a friend the other day when we were talking about this, somebody is bound to be right.

 

I’d love to think the rapture is right around the corner since it would mean that my separation from Paul would be very, very temporary.  But, one can’t count on something like that.  As I’ve heard before, plan like you’ll live to a ripe old age, but live like Jesus is coming back tomorrow!

 

Still, I can’t help but being amused as I watch people like John Kerry – who has vigorously protested all US war involvement since his return from Vietnam – suddenly turn on his heel and become a war-monger!  From a humanitarian aspect, yes, what happened over there isn’t right and should be punished, but on the other hand – going to war against Syria is a bad, bad idea.  Having sons that are and nearly are draftable age probably weighs into my more definite thoughts on this.  Something funny is going on when I see all these peacenik Democrats suddenly anxious to go bomb the pants off another nation.  Curious times we live in…

 

I received another care package from Sara today.  Every few weeks since Paul’s death she has sent us boxes of goodies.  It’s gotten to where the kids cheer when they see me carry in a box from her.  Yesterday, a friend gave me a bag of salt-water taffy.  After prying some out of Ellie’s mouth (after she’d been told “no”) I hid those.  I’ll share Sara’s gifts, but not my taffy!

 

A friend took me out to lunch on Saturday.  That was such a blessing.  I don’t realize how starved I am for adult conversation until I get a chance to talk to others.  I hope I don’t monopolize the conversations as a result!

 

Time to wrap this up.  The men will be here to work on our basement soon.  I probably should cook some dinner for the kids and work on my to-do list a little bit more.  There’s always a to-do list…

 

 

 

 

 

Day 93

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

September 6, 2013

Day 93

Three months ago today…one-fourth of a year…a month from today it will be one-third of a year which sounds like a lot more but only a month more will have passed.  Still, a whole quarter of a year…  It’s in the 90s right now, but I know in a few weeks the air will cool and fall will be upon us.  That’s going to be seem so wrong (although autumn is my favorite season) because I feel like I should be forever stuck in summer now.  I feel stuck in June, anyway.  I have such a hard time these days remembering the date.  Sometimes I’ll say, “Well, it’s July such and such” and then I have to remind myself that no, Ben is back in back in school, and it’s September already!  Before I know it Christmas will be upon us, but that’s a thought I don’t want to even think because I am dreading that holiday without Paul.  But skipping it isn’t an option, either, since I have children.

 

I saw my second Lozier truck this week while out driving.  And…I was ok.  No tears this time.

Tuesday night the boys played flag football.  This will be every Tues. from now through Sam’s birthday next month.  Both Will and David played on the teen team.  To my surprise, they had a team for Sam’s age – I had no clue.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to play, at first, but I took him over and he had a ball (no pun intended)!  So I spent the entire time trotting from the teen game at one end of the field, to the 5 & 6 year old game on the opposite side.  This is where having Paul present would be nice!  But I guess I’ll call it my exercise and be good with it.  It was neat though – both Will and David had a sparkle in their eyes by the end of the game that I had not seen since before Paul’s death.  They really had a good time!  In fact, Will had such a good time that he tore up the skin on both his knees and has been limping around ever since.  Five years of regular football in the public school and I’ve never seen him in this much pain- must have something to do with all that protective gear he was wrapped in at school!  I think Tuesday nights are going to be good for all of us.

I miss going on dates with Paul.  We haven’t been out since May.  I remember we were going to go to The Checkerboard, like we usually did, but when I said that, Paul said, “Why do you always want to do the same thing?”  It’s true – I do.  I’m safe that way.  I always order the exact same thing at different restaurants (Olive Garden: chicken Parmesan, Fazolis: club submarino, etc) and I like going to a select few restaurants I am familiar with.  Paul was more adventurous.  He liked to try new places.  Of course, doing that we ended up eating at some real dives over the years, but we also found some real treasures.

I remember one date in Omaha he had found this little hole in a wall while working.  He arranged for us to go there one night for a date and when we arrived, there were roses on the table for me from him.  He was romantic that way.  I’m sure the restaurant is long gone, but my memories of that place will last forever.

Dates were important.  When the boys were quite little we got into the habit of not going out.  By the time we hired a sitter and went somewhere, it got expensive!  And Ben’s needs made it harder for me to leave him with just anyone.  Also, time was precious and had a way of slipping through our fingers.  But we soon realized we were hurting our marriage by not having regular times away from the kids, so we literally went through our calendar and marked down date nights for rest of the year. And it worked.  We’d see that “Date Night” marked and would began to prepare ourselves – financially, getting a sitter lined up, planning ahead, and looking forward – for our night together.  I’m so thankful for that!

So this last time we ended up at Red Robin’s.  I don’t remember why.  It’s not one of my favorite places, particularly since the one anniversary we were forced into eating there because all the nicer restaurants were filled with teenagers from across the state in town for the state wrestling championships!  It’s noisy and the food is only so-so.  Give me The Checkerboard any day!  I remember we talked quite a bit about Will’s upcoming graduating party and Paul shared some more ideas he had for finishing the kitchen (we were in the final throes of remodeling it then).  Then we went to Costco to look at some things for the party.  Afterwards, I took him to Orange Leaf.  As we sat there eating our yogurt, he asked, “Why have you never taken me here before?”  I know – pretty amazing place!  I wonder if there are serve-yourself yogurt joints in Heaven?

I miss dressing up for him.  I miss going to restaurants where we don’t have to order off kids’ menus.  I miss the hand-in-hand walks we would often take afterwards.  I miss the plays and movies and concerts we attended.  I miss his protective arm around my shoulders, his hand in the small of my back, the way he would help me into my coat.  Oh, I miss him…

Today the Littles and I ate lunch with a friend at her house.  Julie has sons Will’s age and a little one the same age as my Littles.  Sam stopped suddenly and asked me if I knew where her big brothers were.  I explained that they were away at college now.  Sam nodded and said matter-of-factly, “If Dad hadn’t died, Will would be away at college now, too.”  Yep.  The kid didn’t miss a thing, did he?  And then he went back to playing and I went back to talking with Julie.  Life goes on – interrupted – but on, nonetheless.

What do you suppose it was like for Paul waking up in Heaven?  I found myself thinking about that this week.  He didn’t know he was about to die so I’m sure the thought of Heaven was no more on his mind than at any other time (unlike the dying who probably think about it more, I would assume).  But he went to bed one Wednesday night, assuming he’d awaken in 8 hours, go to work, come home, and do the same thing the next day.  Instead, he suddenly awoke in Heaven.  What must that have been like for him?  I can only begin to imagine his excitement.  What did he see first?  Who did he see first?  Did he think about me?  When Paul would get really excited, his whole body would shake like a little child’s.  I bet he was quivering like a bowstring that morning!

I went to a funeral this week.  It was my first funeral, although I had attended a viewing just three weeks after Paul’s death.  This funeral was at the church.  I figured I would be fine because it was a different situation.  This death was for an older gentleman and his death signified a release from a body that had imprisoned him for so long.  But the closer I got to church, the bigger the knots in my stomach became.  Paul’s funeral was at the church and I’ll never forget the drive there that June morning.  A friend saw me and immediately gave me a hug, asking, “Is this your first?”  I didn’t even have to ask, “my first what?”  I knew what she was talking about.  Another friend came in and sat by me, which afforded me more comfort than I knew I even needed.  It was totally different from Paul’s funeral, though, and I was glad for that.  All the same, I kept reminding myself, “It’s not about you, it’s not about you!”

I think we’re about to get Paul’s gravestone.  I haven’t heard anything from the company – I’m just guessing.  Earlier this week I was up there and noticed three utility-type flags in front of his plot.  I wondered then if they were starting to get ready.  And then yesterday I was working up at City Hall when I saw a McCalls Monument truck drive through town.  They had a cement mixing type thing on the back; I had never seen anything like that before.  I suspect they were hoping there was a way out of town other than how they came in.  There isn’t, so they had to turn around.  I was curious, so I jumped in my van and followed them.  When they drove past the cemetery, I whipped in and up to Paul’s grave. They had poured the base for his stone.  I’m hoping this means I’ll soon have his stone.  I’m quite anxious for that.

David has designated himself as the chief seasonal decorator for the stone and I bought a small tub this week to store grave decorations in.  Early on, he made a cross with a picture of Paul and himself attached to it.  I laminated the picture, but it soon succumbed to the elements.  So we printed another picture, I laminated it, and put it in a small frame that we glued to the cross.  David was very upset this week to find that the elements had still gotten to the picture.  I wasn’t sure what to suggest, other than to forget the whole idea of having a picture up there.  David did not go for that idea.  But it occurred to me that there must be some sort of market for grave decorations.  So while I was gone today Will went on-line and found some grave photo frames.  Most of the reviews on Amazon seem to be favorable, so I guess we’ll try one.  They are actually marketed to pet owners to put a picture of their dead animal in there (ack – nothing wrong with that, I suppose, but I really get irritated by status that some people elevate their pets to these days) but there’s no reason we couldn’t put a picture of a dead dad in one.

Ellie has been so cute lately.  Well, she’s been a pain in the rear, too (that child continues to get into everything and thinks that decorating her arms and hair with ice cream and markers is perfectly acceptable), but a cute one.  She found her swimsuit (one piece) and has learned how to pull it on.  She strips down, wiggles into the suit, and then she dances.  It is the sweetest thing.  She makes ballet moves all over the kitchen in her swimsuit, that in her mind, is a tutu, I would guess.  She pirouettes and dips, and bows low – a tiny little brown dancer lighting up my life.

First Day of Kindergarten!

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be going through this grieving process without having children around?  In many ways, I suppose it would be easier.  I could just sit and feel.  I could go days without cooking.  I might even be able to go days without talking.  I could just kind of float around in my misery.  Instead, I get up every day when I don’t want to.  I get one child on the bus, go over spelling tests with others, make lunches, break up squabbles, buckle little ones into car seats and haul them all over the county, pick up the same messes day after day, remind teenagers about the benefits of deodorizing regularly, wash load after load of laundry, attend music concerts and parent-teacher conferences by myself,  and cook meals that nobody really wants to eat.  As one friend told me a few weeks after Paul died, “On one hand, it’s too bad you have all these kids.  On the other hand, it’s really great you have all these kids!”  I know – benefits and drawbacks both ways.

But then I see little dancers in my kitchen and suddenly decide that I’m glad it happened just this way.

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

Day 86

DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW

August 30, 2013

Day 86

The last two days have been painful…really painful.  There’s nothing I can point at to give me a reason as to why that is – no significant date, no unearthing of some treasure belonging to the two of us – just two, very ordinary days.  But I’ve felt like a raw nerve ending again.  This is the thing I am discovering about this type of grief.  I can have times where I feel like I am making progress.  I am able to pack away Paul’s things, I laugh, I find myself beginning to envision a future that doesn’t include him – and I’m ok with all of it.  And, then out of the blue, I am sucked back into a vortex of grief and pain that takes my breath away.  All over again, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me.  The only other significant loss I ever experienced was the baby we miscarried in ’01.  All four of my grandparents died in the last decade and while their deaths made me sad, I was not inconsolable.  They had lived long, healthy lives and made considerable impact on mine.  It was their time.  When we lost the baby it hurt a lot.  But as time went on, I truly did feel better.  It wasn’t that I never cried again after the initial loss, but it was only briefly and usually related to the miscarriage date.  Now, I rarely even feel a pang anymore when April 20ths roll around.  I imagine a lot of that is because I know that without that miscarriage I probably would not have any of my Littles today.  But this pain of losing Paul is different.  I know while it has been 12 weeks, I’m still pretty early into everything, especially if I end up widowed for the rest of my life, which may be another 40 years or more.  12 weeks isn’t long compared to that.  It’s just odd to me how I can feel fine one day and then devastated all over again the next.

I ended up starting school yesterday with the kiddos.  I found out, right off the bat, that two of my purchased curriculums weren’t going to work.  I bought this new math program for David that sounded really good, but in reality is just weird.  It involves teaching math  using these complicated finger movements.  How did I miss that in reading the description?  Ugh.  So – back to the drawing board to find a program that he won’t get bored or frustrated with.  And then I bought a reading program for Sam off Amazon that the seller said was in “Like New” condition.  Um – not so much.  The pages are falling out of the book and the teaching dvd is missing, I discovered!  Fortunately, they are going to refund me my money.  Sam was so excited to start kindergarten, though.  He was bouncing in excitement the night before, asking me, “Mom, what’s a healthy breakfast for boys who are starting kindergarten?”  I told him pop tarts would make an excellent breakfast…I know, I’m such a bad mom, but I like pop tarts because they require minimal participation on my part!

And then we couldn’t do school today because we poured the basement floor.  Well, I didn’t do it (thankfully).  But several guys from church showed up and did it in a 104 degree heat index, bless their hearts and sticky bodies.  It was so hot that the concrete was wanting to set up too fast and I guess the driver was a real jerk.  We’ve used Ready Mix out of Knoxville for all our concrete needs, but never again!  Not that I anticipate ever needing a concrete delivery again, really…

While all this was going on, I had company and then our new mattresses got delivered.  The poor delivery guy accidentally backed over a street sign, which caught the ire of one of our elderly neighbors (who happens to be on the city council).  He was bound and determined that the truck company would pay for the new sign pole and went and fetched his son, the mayor, to back him up.  Will and I were just mortified but the driver was really nice about it all.  What an afternoon!

Ellie has started changing her own diaper the last couple of days – even the dirty ones.  Suppose she is ready for potty training? J  If only I had more energy and want-to for this project!

I have mentioned my latest widow book several times lately.  This book is really ministering to me.  I don’t know if it’s because it’s written by a fellow young widow and that makes the difference or if it’s because the book strikes the right balance between addressing the spiritual and emotional fall-out of widowhood, along with some of the more practical aspects.  Speaking of which…the author makes the comment that a wife will need to have her husband’s driver’s license canceled.  Why is this?  I’ve never heard of this before.  I assumed it would just be allowed to expire.  I really don’t want to cancel it because I would be afraid the DMV would want to hang onto license and that is something I want to keep.

One thing the author mentioned in this week’s reading is that death was never part of God’s plan for mankind – not exactly a newsflash to someone immersed in Christianity since birth.  But she went on to say that Satan, however, intends death for destruction and evil.  But God “provides a way,” as she says.  My mind immediately jumped to the story of Joseph, who upon confronting his brothers after their return to Egypt tells them how what they intended for evil, God intended for good.  In reading this book this week, that thought kind of excited me.  Satan intended Paul’s death to be something that would not only hurt our family, but destroy it, along with our faith.  But God (how I love that phrase, “But God”!) takes that same event of death and, if we allow it, turns it into something from which good can grow.  In fact, I am coming to believe that someday I will look back on this time and say, “I am so thankful Paul died because this came out of it, and this grew from the ashes, and this fruit blossomed from a bitter vine” and so on.  And while I will always be sad here on earth over losing my husband I will have things that come from his death that make me immeasurably thankful. 

The author later talks about the souls of our children and how Satan is after them.  That’s true regardless of whether or not the father has died, of course.  She points out that this kind of death, though, leaves a child vulnerable and unless their mother is diligent, Satan will creep in to the broken places in that child’s heart and attempt to steal him. He may not succeed in turning the widow’s heart from God, but he knows he stands to have better success with the children.  Scary stuff for a mom who feels vastly unprepared to be the new spiritual head of her home…

So, keeping that in mind, I drove David to youth group this Wed. even though it had been a wretched allergy day for me and all I wanted to do was go to bed.  Having him go to youth group meant an hour round trip for me and no help with Ben and the Littles all night long.  As we were driving, David brought up once again how it really bothers him that he had not seen his dad that entire Wednesday of his death.  Paul left for work that morning before David was awake and David had gone off to work in VBS before Paul got home that night.  But I guess David had returned and was in the basement when he heard Paul come in.  He says that he thought about going upstairs to greet his dad but was too tired and went to bed instead.  And then when he woke up the next morning he was informed that his father had died during the night.  He still struggles with that, too – feels like I should have awakened him.  I still think I made the right decision to not do that.  As he hurriedly brushed away an errant tear, David said, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed how I’ve been hugging you every night and been telling you ‘I love you’ (Yes, but he’s always been a more emotional, demonstrative kid, so I didn’t think a lot of it) but that’s because if you die some night I want to know that I told you ‘I love you’ one last time.”  Oh, David…

I’ve been working my way through a little devotional guide on grief put out by the Our Daily Bread people.  My pastor gave me two of these in the days following Paul’s death.  I’m going through one of them with the kids right now in our family devos, too.  But the last two mornings have had Scripture reading that has been particularly meaningful to me.  Yesterday it was in 2 Corinthians 4.  Verses 8-9 say,

 We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; ⁹ persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.

This is the thought that I have attempted at times to explain to others this summer when they have asked how I am doing.  I am hurting, I am devastated, I am “hard-pressed” as it says, but I am not forsaken and I am definitely not destroyed.

Today’s reading was in Joshua 1.  Moses has just died and the Israelites are pretty concerned about what is going to happen to them now.  I am guessing Joshua probably felt a very heavy mantle of responsibility and wondered if there was any way he could possibly lead and protect these people the way Moses had done it.  I can relate!  But God assures him in several verses of the first chapter that he will not be doing this alone – God is with him!  He then wraps up His pep talk to Joshua with verse 9:

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”

I have always loved that verse.  In fact, I remember when I transferred to UNI from Bible college being scared spitless those first few days.  It was so bad that I actually took a 3X5 card and wrote down this verse.  I would pull it out of my backpack many times throughout the day to reassure myself of God’s promise.  After Ben’s birth I found great comfort in it again as I wondered what his future held and just how on earth I was supposed to parent a handicapped child, of whom our NICU nurse told us to “not expect much” from.

And now – I find comfort once again.  I am in the greatest test of my life with more responsibility than I have ever held before and with more at stake than I’ve ever stood to lose before.  But this test is God-ordained. 

He will lead me through.  He will give me strength when I have none.  He will lift me up when I am weak.  And He will even dry my tears since He is also my Comforter. He will hold my heart and those of my children.

He will be with me wherever I go.