In
conversations with our children, we ponder whether my expectation of the grief
that is to come is realistic. We will
certainly each grieve individually and have given each other permission to experience
the journey in our own ways. And that is
more than okay, it is necessary. I still
simply cannot imagine a single day void of contact with my Tim; however our
children are very wise and one child has shared with me that they aren’t so
sure the grieving process will take as long since we have been in a state of
constant grief and sorrow for going on 21 months now already. Possibly, this long, drawn out death is a way
for those of us left behind to be as prepared as we possibly can be for the
next step. I hear this and I
wonder. Maybe there is deep truth
embedded here. Or maybe the grief that
is to come is so far beyond our comprehension that it will wash over us as a
fresh wave…somehow deeper and darker. We
won’t know until we get there, but regardless of how each of us heals…we are guaranteed
that the healing of our hearts will come.
"Do not worry, Lori. I will surely comfort you and will look with
compassion on all your ruins; I will make your deserts like Eden, your
wastelands like the garden of the Lord. ~Isaiah 51:3"
It doesn’t
lessen the sting of loss, but there is such a beautiful hope in knowing where
Tim will spend eternity. There is
comfort in this knowledge, and quite frankly we are all (Tim included) in some odd way, ready
for Tim to be in the presence of Jesus and free from the suffering involved with
this nasty disease. My brave husband has
not tasted anything in over a year. He
has absolutely no swallow; not even his own saliva. Can you even imagine? I cannot and I live beside him every day as
we administer feedings and hydration through his feeding tube and use surgical
tweezers to clean out the thickened dried spit and blood from his throat. He can feel the tumor ripping through his
tissues every single day as its invasive and aggressive fingers spread and grow
throughout his head and neck. He can
feel the portion that is invading his mouth and throat as it interferes with
his speech. He aspirates on the blood that
seeps from the tumor at night. His left forearm has been surgically transplanted into his throat to replace the areas that the tumor destroyed. It is a
horrific “sci-fi-ish” existence and the man never complains.
NEVER!
I stand in awe of his integrity and
strength. I am humbled by the peace
Jesus Christ has delivered to our family members as the end approaches. Just as the Bible promises, it is beyond our understanding.
I like to
read several different devotionals. One
is written by Christian widows. It helps
me prepare for what is to come and also shows me that I am not alone in this
journey. I mean, I know God will never
leave me, but I am talking about other women who are walking this same path
with dignity and grace. Showing me what it
is to lean so heavily into our Savior that only His love and peace radiate from
within. So imagine my surprise when I
found myself experiencing a strange emotion while reading a devotional about a
woman who lost her husband while he was out on a run.
I, myself am a runner; have been for 3
years. Tim is the one that got me
interested in the sport. He loved to
lace up his running shoes and head out for a few miles after a long day at the
office. It was one of “our things”.
 |
| New Years Day 5K Race 2011 |
 |
| My training partner who didn't really want to run this day, but didn't want his wife out there alone either. (Love him!) |
As I read of
this woman cutting part of her husband’s shoelace from his running shoes to
bind a locket of his hair as he lay on the ER stretcher, my heart ached for the
suddenness of her loss. Then she wrote
of how she kept his running shoes in a box so that she could smell the sweat on
them and remember his aroma after his runs.
And I felt this emotion
that was partly anger and partly jealousy!
How was this
possible? What is this emotion? Am I
envious of a widow? I spiraled into jealousy that she had
something to cling to with her lovers scent on it. You see, I lost the scent of my Tim almost
two years ago. This cancer came on hard
and fast and quickly the tumor took over the smell of my sweet Tim. It breaks my heart to admit that I cannot
even remember his scent. All I smell is
the rancid odor of the tumor. I have no
clothing to cling to with the old scent.
I have nothing to tuck away in a drawer for future times and pull out
when I just need to smell him. And this
realization made me envious. Wow! What a new low to stoop to! I was so taken aback by my reaction that I
instantly confessed this as sin to God and begged for forgiveness. He replaced my envy with His grace and
mercy. He reminded me that He has chosen
to give me and our children; the gift of time to process the grief. We may be saying a long goodbye, but we are
being given the opportunity to say the goodbye; and there are so many others that
do not have this luxury. Clearly He knew
I would need to take baby steps into this thing called “widow”.
So maybe our
child is wise beyond their years after all.
Maybe we are already further than knee deep in this process of grieving
and the other side is closer than we realize.
Maybe we are swimming neck deep now and will soon be finding sure
footing again and begin our ascent out of the murky, dark waters of this
valley. And then, just as I prepare to post this blog, I read wisdom from a friend on her Facebook page.
“We want the shortcut, but often God takes us the long way around because He knows better people, stronger people develop over time. Don't despise the wait. He's in it, too.” ~Lisa Whittle
Isn’t God so good to us, all the time? All the time, he is good!
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