Birthday Reflections October 3, 2015

Forty-four years ago today I was born.

Twenty-two years ago today I celebrated this day with a new boyfriend who would turn out to be my husband.

Fifteen years ago today I was freshly home from the hospital and now a mother of two.  One 16-month old toddler and one 6-day old preemie.

Four years ago today was my last passionate kiss with my husband, as his sore throat continued to worsen and the cancer ran rampant.

Three years ago today I sat surrounded by friends and family as Tim underwent a gruesome 23 hour surgery as our last tiny chance at chasing the healing that would not be ours.

One year ago today I celebrated my first birthday in over two decades without him by my side.

Today, the kids and I went to our new home and wrote Scripture on the foundation and framing. We prayed over it and dedicated it to the Lord with extremely grateful hearts for the ability to have a safe place to lay our heads at night and make new family memories.

Today has been bittersweet for me. Lots of joyful memories, fun new laughter, and lots of tears. Lots and lots of tears. I didn't expect this intense grief wave today, but as Tim would say, "It is what it is."

Thank you for the birthday wishes. I am blessed by a God who loves me deeply, provides friends to walk alongside of me in this life, and carries me on the rough days. I am covered by His feathers; tucked safely under the refuge of His wings.

Love is a gift that transcends time and location. I know to the marrow of my bones that I am loved by Tim Streller. Today, I just found myself wishing I could experience that love in the flesh again for a long hug.

Tonight, I rest my head on my pillow and have happy thoughts. I am excited for the future of our family. I am grateful. Tears will leak and grief will overtake me at times, but the laughter always returns and joy fills me up again.

God is good. Here is to whatever God has in store for me in this next year of life. May I live it well and glorify Him!

I used Tim's Bible to copy Scripture onto the foundation.

"Like I'm Gonna Lose You"

We are driving down the road with the radio blaring.  It's what we do.  Loud music makes me happy. It always has.  "Like I'm Gonna Lose You" by Meghan Trainor and John Legend comes on and my girl cranks it up even louder.  We smile and sing along at the top of our lungs.  The words begin to sink into the broken places of my heart.  Each little crevice is filled with a beautiful memory of the love affair her Daddy and I had for two decades.    

[Meghan Trainor]

I found myself dreaming in silver and goldLike a scene from a movie that every broken heart knowsWe were walking on moonlight, you pulled me closeSplit second and you disappeared and then I was all aloneWoke up in tears with you by my sideBreath of a leave and I realized,No one will promise tomorrow

[Chorus]

So, I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you,I'm gonna hold you like I'm saying goodbyeForever will stay in, I won't take you for granted'Cause we'll never know it when we'll run out of timeSo, I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you,I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you

[John Legend]

In a blink of an eye,Just a whisper of smokeYou could lose everythingThe truth is you're never aloneSo, I'll kiss you longer babyAny chance that I getI'll make the most of the minutesSo long with no regretLet's take our time to say what we wantHere's what we've gotBefore it's all gone'Cause no one will promise tomorrow

[Chorus]

So, I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you,I'm gonna hold you like I'm saying goodbyeForever will stay in, I won't take you for granted'Cause we'll never know it when we'll run out of timeSo, I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you,I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you

Tears begin to form and a large lump resides in my throat.  The song ends.  I turn down the volume and it takes me several seconds to compose myself before I can remotely trust my voice will even work.  I turn to our gorgeous, nearly 15 year old daughter with tears slipping down my cheeks I tell her, "This is the type of love I want for you and your brother to one day find.  THIS is the kind of love your Daddy and I had.  It's an all-out, self-sacrificial, best-friendship with a deep, honest, living-large kind of total and complete love.  And it makes for a beautiful life."

Loving fully.  Not holding back.  Living in each moment and cherishing each other.  These are things you will never regret.  DO THEM.  

So friends, if you are blessed enough to have someone special by your side in this life...LOVE THEM LIKE YOU'RE GONNA LOSE THEM.  Don't miss an opportunity to show them you value and respect them.  Don't waste time focusing on the petty, let those things fall aside and JUST LOVE THEM.  Enjoy them.  Encourage them.  Be their biggest cheerleader and their best secret keeper.  Be their safe place to land in a world of chaos, stress, and pressure.  Be their 'home".   

I assure you, you won't regret choosing to love deeply.  I know I don't.  

What a pure honor it was to be married to my best-friend.  We loved deeply.  We didn't always get it right.  Who does?  But, it was good.  It was better than good.  It was a breath-taking whirlwind romance and it was worth it!         

Grief is a Messy Casserole (As Seen on A Widow's Might)

"I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy." Job 29:13 {ESV}

Grief doesn’t follow an outline or a formula. Sure, there are stages to experience, but I have found that even those are more of a jumbled mess than a straight line to follow or a checklist to complete.

Grief is as unique and complex as the individual experiencing it.

I thought I knew how this grief game was going to play out. After all, there are plenty of books and published steps or stages for us to refer to. We had a few years notice that death was coming.

Let’s be clear, I don’t believe we will ever be fully healed from our grief in this life until Jesus returns.  None of us. I do believe we will learn to live beside and around it, that somehow it is possible to not be consumed by it.  This is what I am referring to when I reference “healing."

As “prepared” as I was for my husband’s passing, I could never have imagined how jumbled and chaotic the grief process would be. I knew grief would be a heavy blanket in our home. I knew that we would alternate kicking off those covers with snuggling under the heaviness of them.

What I did NOT mentally process until we were in the middle of the mess was the individual journeys progressing at their own pace yet existing all under the same roof.  Nor the very real fact that we weren’t each experiencing grief stages individually or collectively.  It was a mish-mash of emotions in three individual lives interacting with each other.  And most days it was suffocating for me.

Instead of making our way through the stages at our own pace, it felt much more like we were being force fed a nasty, casserole-mix of all the emotional grief stages--huge, overloaded spoonfuls of the grossest hodge-podge of cupboard ingredients tossed together and set in the oven to bake at 350 degrees for an hour then served tongue-scorching hot.  I kept thinking in my head, "Where is my checklist of stages? How can I possibly minister to my children in their grief when I can’t even sort out my own emotions?"

I guess I share this with you ladies because just maybe, a few of you have found grief to be less textbook and more messy casserole. I want to encourage you that it does get better.  The grief does become something that we can live with.

It takes determination and bravery to step out from under the heaviness of grief's weight, to get rid of the nasty aftertaste that lingers.  We are approaching the two year mark and the kids and I are living proof that through God’s mercy and strength, it can be done.

We are not “cured."

We are not “healed” in the traditional sense of the word.

But we are on the journey to healing in the ways that matter.

We are striving to live beautiful and full lives in spite of our grief.

Do the work, sisters.  Whether your grief is neat and orderly, following the stages outlined or is a nasty clump of yucky casserole you are choking on.  Keep leaning on Jesus.  Keep processing the emotions as they come.  Keep moving forward.

Healing is possible.

Lord God, thank You that You long to make the widows heart sing for joy.  Oh what a marvelously tender and loving God You are to us.  Your love and grace are the sweetest tastes we could ever experience.  Thank You for removing the bitter aftertaste of grief's casserole from our tongues and freeing us to worship You for the healing found in Your presence.  Amen.

The Missing (As featured on A Widow's Might)

While smiling and nodding, they ask me how I am doing.  It is as if they are willing my response to be something along the lines of, “I am doing well.  The kids and I are moving forward and healing.  Life is back to normal.” 

Sometimes it feels like people “need” me to be doing better than I really am.  After all, we’ve passed the One Year mark and their lives have moved past our pain and loss.

The missing of him in year two is a strange beast.

We teeter between loving memories and an acute knowledge of his absence.

This painful missing in our lives can at times be so real, so overwhelming, so heart shattering that it feels as if the MISSING itself has become the fourth member of our family unit.  Don’t even get me started on the managing of three distinct grief journeys all under the same roof.  It’s flat out exhausting, and not just for this Momma; it is tiring for all of us. 

This emptiness of space our loved one filled is a unique pain, isn’t it?  Its severity will waiver; it lessens at times and intensifies at others, but it never fully goes away.  Ordinary life events trigger significant pain.  A pain that is physical.  A breath shortening, heart racing, tears brimming, all-

consuming ache.

I answer this question of “How are you?” with some version of the truth I am feeling at that very moment.  I’ve put my brave face on with a “We are holding on” or “hanging in there”.  I’ve bitten my lip to hide the quiver with an “It really stinks, but God is still good.”  I’ve even wordlessly collapsed into a few strong hugs with tears spilling at the simple gesture of kindness. 

More often than not, I soften my answer in an effort to not burden the one asking.  Probably though, I do it to maintain my composure without falling off the cliff upon which I find myself precariously perched.  Because you see, I don’t get to dictate when the missing of him will overwhelm me.  My children don’t get to dictate when the missing of him will slam them into a wall of grief.    

The asking, while I assume it is hard for the asker, and I assure you it is hard for the answerer…is in itself is a beautiful gift.        

I hear widows complain that people “don’t really mean it” when they ask how we are, that they “don’t really care or want to hear the truth.”  Hey listen, I wouldn’t want to be the one tip toeing around the land mine that is me in these early months or years either.  Let’s cut them some slack. 

I tend to think their desperation is more than just a need for me to be doing well so they aren’t made to feel uncomfortable in my mess.

These are people who have been prayer warriors for me and my family. 

They have shed tears over our loss. 

Many have had to navigate their own grief in losing him from their lives too. 

Some encounter my children on a daily basis and see the odd mixture of healing and fresh pain in real time.

I truly am grateful for their considerate questions.  Even when it is unfortunate for them that they caught me in a not so wonderful moment, my heart swells with gratitude.  Their simple gesture of asking, even when awkward for us both, is a precious gift.  It means they are acknowledging our pain and willing to share our burden of “the missing”, if only for  a few brief moments.

Lord, instead of me bristling at the brevity of the encounter, help me choose to praise You for bumping me into people who care enough to ask the question.  Keep moving me forward in my healing.  There is no cure for this missing, but I trust that You can make something beautiful of the pain.  Amen.   

     

http://anewseason.net/widows-might/the-missing/

Nineteen Months: A Mental In-Between

It all feels recent and yet distant.

Painful memories are less prominent (unless it is late at night).

Sleep has returned to a normal cycle.

Beautiful memories, ones from before illness finally fill my mind.

The missing remains, but it is blanketed at times with new coping skills.

Here is where my current mental battle remains...irrational fears are still very present, usually surfacing at bedtime. 

At nineteen months out from experiencing one of my biggest fears become my reality...I am existing somewhere between wanting to dream of my future again and knowing dreams don't always come true.

It's a strange place to be; this in-between.  

The place where tragedy has touched and changed me deeply, yet hopes linger.

When I am exhausted, strange thoughts and feelings can enter my mind.  It isn't fully explainable, it is as though I am on the verge of dreaming of a new future, yet I am sabotaging it with crazy "worst fear" scenarios at the same time. My mind races off on a tangent.  "What if?"  How would I respond if my worst fears about the future came true (again)?  Why would I respond that way? Over and over, the scenarios play out in my mind.  I find myself frustrated over something that hasn't even happened.  Irrational fears are a little discussed part of the grief process.

Any new happiness will always be tinged with my reality that loss occurs in this life.  It is a mental battle to just experience the joy when it comes and not play out all the possible negative scenarios that could ruin it.  The thought process is unwelcome yet unavoidable.

So I turn to Scripture.  I read in my Bible and claim God's Word.  Taking thoughts captive.  Being reminded that He makes beauty from ashes.  Resting under the safety of His wings and taking shelter there from the vicious cycle of thoughts and fears that want to grip my mind and steal my future happiness.  Remembering that fear is not from God but is a weapon of the enemy, I lay my fears...rational and irrational both...at the foot of the cross.

The peace He gives cleanses my mind and heart.

I am currently residing in the in-between.  Behind me lay ruins.  A greatest fear realized through profound loss. Before me exists an immediate future I can neither predict nor control.  Beyond that lies eternity, which is secured in Christ.

My responsibility is to be obedient to Christ, keep my mind steadfast on Him, and to trust Him for the details.  I pray he enlarges my ability to fully experience hopes and dreams again and diminishes my "devil's advocate" mentality that constantly wants to remind me things in life are hard and won't go as planned.  I depend on Him alone to balance knowledge of reality and the ability to dream of beauty again.  In the meantime, I am fighting hard to live in the moment and enjoy the now.  

I want renewal.  

I want to dream without constant filter of fear and loss touching it.  

For this in-between is where newness will sprout, if I allow it.

The Unplanned

I've come back to "our mountains".  

The beautiful landscape of Utah.  

This time, our daughter accompanies me for her first experience of the state her daddy and I so deeply love.  She has heard our stories, seen our photographs, and witnessed our huge smiles as we have spoken of our few short years spent here.  

This trip almost didn't happen.  We were supposed to be somewhere else.  Those plans fell through last minute after our bags were already packed.  In a split second, I decided we would leave the next morning for Park City, Utah.

I am NOT a spontaneous person.  Tim was!  I like order and planning and "knowing" what to expect.  Losing Tim taught me many things.  Some lessons I never wanted to learn and some that have been delightfully enlightening.  Spontaneity is one of the latter.  

I was NOT the road trip driver in our family.  Riding in vehicles makes me sleepy.  I am severely directionally challenged.  Yet, I drove the 18 hours here without getting lost. And with only one speeding ticket.  (Sometimes I enjoy the loud music a bit too much and my lead foot takes over.  😳)

We have hiked Olympic Park and The Canyons over the past two days.  We did the most incredible zip line over a gorgeous mountain valley yesterday.  We have appointments at the Spa and plans to lounge poolside today.  

This morning, I find myself waking up for some time with God on our private veranda while our girl stays snuggled in bed. 

I am reflecting on the memories from our early years of marriage spent here in these mountains.

I am smiling.

Genuinely smiling.

Losing the love of my life has shown me that I never had control of anything to begin with.  It has reminded me to LIVE fully in each moment.  To stop worrying about every detail of the future and to ENJOY the now within the shelter and confines of God's guard rails.

What a blessing it is to be here with our daughter.

I see so much of Tim's vibrant personality in our girl.  She has his free spirit.  She loves to explore nature.  She laughs easily and loves deeply.  She is an amazing mixture of tough and soft, just like her Daddy was.  I am grateful to have this time with her as she prepares to begin her high school years.  It is an unplanned blessing.  

I'm learning that sometimes the unplanned becomes the loveliest part of life.  

Lord, open my heart to the "unplanned".  I don't want to miss a blessing from You because I am too busy planning my life. Guide me with your wisdom and place balance within me.  A balance of both proper preparation and a love for spontaneous adventure.  I welcome what You have for our future and I trust You to work in us to bring glory to yourself. Thank You, Father for this time to return to "our mountains".  It is healing to my soul.  Amen

The Place Where Joy and Sorrow Co-Mingle

I sit in a lawn chair staring at the sky. 

Fireworks burst before my eyes, but my mind is flashing even brighter with memories of years gone by.

Our first 4^th of July, he propped the ladder against the side of his rent house and hopped up on the roof reaching down for my hand.  We lay there watching the sky explode in patriotic colors.

Fast forward five years to him holding our seven week old son while sitting on the rear compartment of our minivan in Plano, Texas to watch the fireworks.  I can see his ball cap on his head and Kolby with pacifier in mouth.  I remember what they wore.

Pops of color bring another flash of memory to us in lawn chairs in the bed of his truck lined with quilts as our one and two year old children stare in awe at the UCO spectacular show.

A splash of light floods the sky as years come tumbling through my mind.  Festivities with friends in our neighborhood, fun with new friends as time progresses, time with his oldest friend as both men have landed in Edmond.

The sound of a boom and tears slide down my cheeks as memories of the final 4^th of July crash into my mind.  I am rearranging hospital furniture to get his bed closer to a window so he can see the beauty of America’s celebration.  We had planned to sneak up on the hospital roof, but he was too weak so we improvised.  He is so grateful for my efforts to help him experience some portion of normalcy in this slow march toward death's door.

I find myself happy and yet sad.  Tears of gratitude flow unashamedly beside tears of sadness. 

And I realize that one week out from 18 months into this journey;

this is the place where joy and sorrow co-mingle.  

Here, in my memories. 

It is both beautiful and hard. 

It is all together lovely and crushing; uplifting and devastating.

To have known a love so fierce,

To have been cherished so completely,

To have experienced in our twenty years what friends say many don’t know in a lifetime;

It is a privilege and it is heartbreaking at the same time.

Tim~ Loving you forever, missing you always….Lori