Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Valentine's Day....My 1st Holiday as a Widow

How does one prepare to celebrate their first holiday as a widow?  Oh the irony of this milestone being Valentine's Day.......

Today marks one month without my Tim.

It was on Valentine's Day 2000 when we found out we were expecting our second child.



This would have been our 20th Valentine's Day together...



...which means our 19 year anniversary is coming closely on its heels (March 11th).  That day will fall on the two month anniversary of his death and will be followed closely by Tim's 46th birthday (April 3).  Talk about "ripping the band-aid off".

OUCH!

I feel paralyzed just thinking about each "first" that will occur this year.  But these three...they are way too soon and spaced entirely too closely together for me to wrap my brain around.  And then boom, our oldest will turn 15 in May.

I read a list titled 5 Stages of Grief this morning and thought, "Stages?????  Really?  I feel like I am experiencing EACH and EVERY one of these in a sharp, jagged-edged, kaleidoscope of jumbled emotions.  They are supposed to be stages???"

Oy vey.

Stages would be nice, then I would know where I am and what to expect next.  I prefer "neat and tidy" in all areas of my life, emotions included. Grief is everything BUT neat and tidy.

It's odd really.  When you stop to think about it.

The fact that life goes on for those of us left behind.  Whether we want it to or not; 
it    just    does.

There is school and there is work.  There are friendships and activities. There is church and Bible studies.  We have chores and responsibilities. In many ways it is good for us to be busy.  In some ways it isn't.  The balancing of it all is difficult and exhausting and then suddenly another day is over.  Throughout every day I am constantly thinking about Tim.  What he would think.  How he would react.  Sometimes horrible flashes of his suffering enter my minds eye and my heart aches all the more; but there are also thoughts that bring smiles and laughter.  The recent Facebook movie of a friend brought an onslaught of beautiful memories to me.  This (slightly blurry) photo (taken by a kid) of Tim and I going on a date night was in her video.
Our friends had come over to watch our (three at the time) children so we could go on a romantic date to one of our favorite restaurants.  I even remember what we ordered.  (Oh how we loved that lobster bisque and don't even get me started on those button mushrooms!)  We treasured our date nights together where we would sit and visit about our goals and dreams.

That is one of the things I miss most.

Our easy conversations about anything and everything.  The comfortable way we could share our hopes for the future with one another.  The trust we had in each other to be "secret keepers" when sharing our fears, failures, and frustrations.  How he would listen and offer advice or guidance for me when I needed it.  How he valued my input in his decisions.  I miss being his sounding board and having him be mine.  Oh how I long to hold his hand and pray with him again.

When Tim passed away and I began cleaning out drawers and closets, I found three cards that he had purchased to give to me.




He never even signed them, but they made me cry just the same.  I envision him standing at Target with his soft hair growing back over his bald head that was tucked into his Thunder stocking cap; his wool hunting socks pulled up to his knees underneath his blue jeans that were belted tightly (because "fat matters" and he was always cold after losing 80 pounds in the battle).  I see him with his sweatshirt on under his black jacket, perusing the cards for the perfect message to give me, his "bride" (that's what he still called me pushing two decades into our love story).



Regardless of the stabbing pain the tumor constantly caused or how self-conscious he felt now that it protruded from his face and bled often....he took the time to slip to the store, and knowing his days of driving were coming to a close, he selected multiple cards to tuck back and give me in the months to come.

I miss his selfless love.



I miss sneaking encouraging Scriptures onto his pillow for him to find at night.

I have no idea how to survive these upcoming milestones, but I DO KNOW that I will.  By the grace of God, I will walk through these months and come out stronger on the other side.  And somehow, simply knowing that God will guide me (and even carry me if need be) through this season, makes me willing to keep moving forward with my eyes on my Lord and my thoughts on eternity.  Because, you see, life does keep on going and I have to choose whether I will participate in it or lock myself away in this grief.  Tim loved life and lived it large.  He would want me to choose to live for Jesus and to lean deeply into Him for my strength and comfort.  This doesn't mean I can't cry or miss him (which is a good thing, because I could strap a bucket around my neck to catch the unexpected tears at this point).

It means that my grief is intermingled with hope.

It doesn't necessarily make the process easier, but it does make it different from those who grieve without the hope of being reunited with their loved ones in the presence of a Savior.

May I be honest?  It still stinks.  I'm incredibly lonely and longing for my Tim.  I am certainly not at a point where I can paint a rosy picture out of this mess, but I know the One who can!  And truth be told, I am eagerly anticipating what my Lord and Redeemer will continue to create in my future from the love Tim and I shared in my past.  A love that lives on through our children.  A love that I will treasure until the moment I see him again.



17 comments:

  1. Those early days... Those. early. painful. days... I have hope for you, too, Lori.

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    1. Thank you for the anonymous camaraderie. Although I am quite certain neither of us ever wanted to join this club, it is truly encouraging to hear from those who have walked this lonely journey ahead of me and can offer comfort and wisdom that the constant painfulness of the early days will somehow decrease or change into something more bearable.

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  2. I don't know who all you are blessing with your beautiful thoughts and words of love and grief for Tim, and like many seeds which are planted, you may never know in whose heart your words have taken root, but I read your words with confidence our Lord created YOU to share these things, because He knows your thoughful way of expressing yourself in this most difficult time, will be a blessing to others, now and in the future. THANK YOU for sharing your love for Tim and for the Lord.

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    1. Thank you for your kind words, it isn't always easy for me to read my own writings. There is just something about the cold reality of seeing my life in black and white that stings terribly; but there is also a healing balm that saturates my heart as I release the words God places on my heart to share. I appreciate your encouragement.

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  3. In agreement with my friend above.

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  4. Your words speak volumes and it saddens me to think about your loss. My best friend also lost her husband to cancer at an early age and she has gone through what you are experiencing. I can not say that it was an easy journey, but through her faith in God she did get through it. My friend, like you, had the perfect mate. May God continue to give you strength.

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    1. To hear stories of women who have had to trudge through the loss of an adored spouse...it encourages my soul. Thank you for a glimpse into your friend's ability to "get through it" and your honesty about it not being easy.

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  5. I don't know you, but I feel like I do. I can't even begin to imagine, but I'm so glad you are willing to share your journey. So grateful to Karen Bullard for posting your blogs on her FB page. I can't even begin to tell you how deeply your story has touched my soul.

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    1. Amanda,
      Thank you for taking time to post a comment. I praise God that He would use anything that He has laid on my heart to share in a positive way for you. He is so extremely good and faithful, even through our pain....especially through our pain.

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  6. Lori I know your pain all to well. I lost my husband 7 years ago. He was my best friend. Not a day goes by that I do not think about him. Holidays are the worst but I can tell you that pain starts to ease in its own time. I have followed you and Tim and you are such an inspiration and so full of knowledge. You write things that I wish I would of read when I was having such a hard time. The Good Lord is using you in ways that you can't even imagine and I hope one day soon you will find peace and comfort. (((HUGS)))

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    1. Oh sweet "anonymous" sister! I sit here with tear-filled eyes as I read your comment. I cannot even begin to process the thought of seven years without my best-friend by my side and my heart grieves for you and your journey. It also rejoices with gratitude at your bravery to post a comment here and offer me encouragement that the "pain will ease in its own time." I need to know that this pain will somehow morph into something that I am better able to bear. God has been so good to already begin giving me glimpses of beauty....moments of shared laughter with our kids (Tim loved to laugh daily with us.); new hopes and dreams are budding for our future as a family of three; and my heartache and longing to have him back beside me is eclipsed with sheer joy for Tim when I focus on God's goodness and the truth that Tim is now free of all mental stress and physical discomfort associated with his cancer battle. Thank you so much for taking the time to post this comment.

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  7. Asking God to show me how to pray for you for these upcoming "firsts" ...
    Romans 8:26-27 says: “In the same way the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words; and He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. (NASB)”

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    1. Thank you, Janie! You are such a faithful prayer warrior for me and the kids. There is no doubt in my mind that the fervent prayers of faithful friends and family (and even strangers who followed our journey) have held us, protected us, and propelled us forward in God's will for our lives. We are eternally grateful. I often think of Tim and his ability to see the whole picture now. I find myself envious of his enlightenment and am certain he is in awe of the protection we have received from the horrendous spiritual warfare that has been waged all around us these past two years.

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  8. Thank you for this beautiful post. I grieve right along with you. It has been 15 months since my beloved husband of 45 years left this earth to be with our Father in Heaven after battling pancreatic cancer for a year. I miss him so very much, but like all of us who have given our lives to the Lord Jesus, we live in hope. May our God continue to bless you, heal you and give you His peace.

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    1. Dear fellow care-giver, I know the oddness of a loss when your entire existence has been focused on lovingly caring for your spouse in their cancer battle. The juggling of appointments, medications, at home nursing duties. The grief of watching the strong man you love slowly diminish into a weaker physical version of himself. The constant fear that they will pass at any moment and the stress that brings with it. The attempts to keep life as normal as possible for all other family members while balancing the needs of your spouse and wanting them to know how cherished they are. We were not alone in the scariest days and we are not alone now as we learn how to navigate this world without our loves. God is so faithful. What a beautiful testimony you have of a 45 year marriage! Thank you for sharing a bit of your story and for offering words of wisdom about the hope we all can find in Jesus Christ.

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  9. I've been following your story, and I am so very sorry for your loss and the challenges you are facing. Something struck me in this posting, though. You mentioned your children (three at the time). Did you and Tim lose a child? I hope to goodness that I misunderstood, because losing both a child and a spouse would just be more than one person should have to bear.

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    1. Sometimes I forget that people outside our little circle of life read my writings. I apologize for the confusion. We did lose a foster daughter that we were preparing to adopt. It is a long story. Baby "A" was our fourth foster child and we fell deeply in love with her. We believed that every child placed in our home deserved to be loved as if they were never leaving; and we gave 100% of ourselves to their care; but there was something uniquely special about this precious life that was so malnourished and sick upon her arrival into our home. She required around the clock care initially and instantly burrowed deep within all four of our hearts in a way that was indescribable. God did not give us permission to adopt her and I did not handle this decision very well at the time. I obeyed, but with much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Tim was diagnosed with his leukemia in 2009 and we were forced to stop our pursuit of adoption due to his health crisis and God’s prompting. She joined her half-siblings in another foster home and was eventually adopted with them into that family. The pain was excruciating to lose this precious toddler that we had nursed to health as a baby after severe neglect; but she did not pass away. She is thriving and God has showed me that our job was to provide a loving and nurturing environment where she could become healthy and learn how to love and form healthy attachments to others. We served the purpose God had intended for us to serve in sweet baby A’s life and His will did not include us being her permanent family. I accept this (much better now in hindsight than I wanted to at the time). Life is such a journey of learning how to trust in our Savior!

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