And so life really does keep going. Time ticks off the clock. Days disappear from the calendar.
Suddenly, it is January 11, 2015.
How is this possible?
A year ago, I couldn't even imagine the next ten minutes in front
of me.
365 days.
8,760 hours.
It has been a full year of countless tears and an emotional
roller coaster that continues to nauseate me.
I am wounded.
I am damaged….damaged in a way that doesn't always show from
the outside. I carry deep, gaping wounds
that continually have the edges of their tender, healing scabs catch and snag
on a memory, then rip open again. There
is a bleeding out from my soul that can’t be stopped with a kind word or a
hug. My eyes have seen suffering that cannot be unseen. My heart has been shattered, it will never go
back together in the same way it once was.
It is something I have to walk
through; this grief.
 |
| Me quoting Scripture over Tim in his hospice bed. |
There are days when no tears fall, but there has yet to be
a waking hour when he hasn't been on my mind. Not a single one. My ache is so guttural.
There are also periods when the muck of the grief is so
thick that I am tempted to stop, lay down in it, let it smother me and just
surrender to the pain. My chest feels heavy
and breaths are ragged.
I know that this deep suffering is a result of the loss of an
even deeper love. I accept that. I wouldn't trade our love story for anyone else’s. But quite frankly, it doesn't make it any
easier. I am lonely without him. It is a loneliness that is so acute; it can
completely swallow me while I am in a crowd of people.
But life continues.
God didn't take me. He took the
best part of me, but I am still here, just trying to muddle through each day,
and sometimes each hour.
I’m struggling
to guide our children without Tim’s wisdom, his level-headed parenting, and his
wicked sarcasm that lightened every situation. Oh how he loved these two...with a total acceptance and all-consuming love.
They were his pride and joy; his very heartbeat.
I don’t have a choice but to keep trudging forward. I let the grief waves come, some days they gently
lap against my ankles and others they attack like a tsunami. I have given myself permission to feel what I
feel; to cry as long as the tears will fall; to experience the full ups and
downs of emotions that ravage me.
I have only given myself one rule for this grief. One single rule has kept me sane over these
past twelve months. I DO NOT have permission
to take my eyes off of Jesus.
I must stay focused on Him.
That is my rule.
He is my strength. He
is my constant companion. He guides
me. He reminds me that He has a purpose
for my life. He redeems my brokenness. He assures me that time is in His hands. Tim’s time, my time, our children’s time; it’s
all there, in the hands of our Savior.
If I am left here without Tim, then I have a responsibility to
fulfill. I am now living for two. Experiencing our children’s youth for the
both of us. I am leaning hard into God
as the leader of this little family of ours.
So while time keeps on ticking, and days fly off of the
calendar…I want to really be choosing to live this life. It is a gift with an expiration. No one knows their time.
I have no idea how long God will choose to leave me here,
but I know Tim expects me to choose wisely.
He expects me to lead our family well, tucked under the
ultimate leadership of Christ.
He expects me to continue moving forward, whatever that
looks like.
He wouldn't allow me to wallow in the mire of grief. He sure didn't when facing death. He faced it with honor and dignity.
He faced it with a bravery that I can’t comprehend, even
though I witnessed it.
So yes, I am damaged.
I am different than I was.
I may never stop leaking unexpected tears. That's okay...
Because my eyes are on Jesus.
I trust Him.
Whatever He has in these next 8,760 hours, I will follow. I give Him the messy grief. I depend on Him for the healing of deep wounds that
will eventually turn to scars. I choose to collapse in His capable
arms as He carries this family forward.
Not away from Tim, but forward, in honor of his memory.
My Tim,
You are missed constantly.
You are cherished deeply and respected beyond measure. You continue to be an amazing provider for
your family, even in death. We are doing
okay. The pain is harsh and the missing
is raw; but we are putting on brave faces, smiling in your memories, and
leaning hard on Jesus, just like you taught us.
All my love, forever and ever,
Lori
