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

       

Living Life as a Party of One

I've had a lovely mini-escape over the past several days.  It wasn't my first time to travel alone since Tim's passing, but I have yet to be alone at my destination until now.  Does that make sense?  This was a first for me.  Ever, actually.

 

I toured a Native American Cultural center.

 

Walked a trail looking for bison (saw one in the distance but no photo).

Enjoyed a delicious meal at a nice restaurant.

Spent an entire day being pampered at a spa.

Shopped at some cute little boutiques.

 

Lounged around, watched the rain, read a book, played in the casino some, and rested in a steam sauna.

Walked through an art gallery.

Visited a winery and toured a chocolate factory.

 

It was wonderful.

It was peaceful.

It was what I needed.  Time for self-evaluation and reflection.  Time to look at my future with eyes wide open and a heart willing to go where God leads.

I needed to just be Lori again.  The Lori that Tim loved.  The Lori without the weight of the world on her shoulders.

I drove home with the radio blaring, singing at the top of my lungs and with a smile on my face. 

I am refreshed.  I can do this.  

{And as soon as I waver and begin to think I can't, I will take myself on another escape, soak up more of God's creation and let Him whisper to my soul in the quiet of my singleness that He is with me and in Him I can do all things.}

I intend to live a beautiful life.  A life that glorifies God and honors my husbands memory.  

I don't have a clue what God has in store for my future.  I feel Him working on my heart.  I see Him shaping my thoughts.  Yet I don't know which types of beauty my life will include.  What I do know, what He has already proven, is that He is faithful. And because of His faithfulness, I can trust Him. 

And trusting Him, my friends, it is enough!

  

Permission to Live

It isn't uncommon for me to wonder several times each day what Tim would think of something.

What would he think about a situation with one of the kids at school? How would he advise I handle it? 

What would he think about the threat of terrorism on American soil?  

What would he think about my outfit?   

How hard would he laugh over a witty comment? 

How would he plan for our future financially?  Would he approve of my decisions?

And on and on my mind goes.

Next month will mark my seventeenth month without having his opinion to help guide me, to carry on important conversations with, to share humor with and to validate my feelings.  

I am confident in what I know he would want from me.  He was very clear before his passing.  He wanted me to LIVE.  He wanted the kids and me to LAUGH and to continue to LOVE deeply.  He didn't want us holding back from participating fully in this life.  He, of all people knew what precious gifts life and fully living it are.  

He would say that we honor his memory best when we choose to keep loving and keep living.  He would want whatever remains of our lives to be full and rich with joy.

That has been easier said than done for the better bulk of this past year.  Grief takes a lot of personal work and is exhausting.  It is necessary for proper healing to occur, but the process is excruciating and tiring.  We still have work to do.   Grief continues to sneak attack us, and that might never change.  We will continue to work our way through it.  Each of us individually and the three of us as a family.

But I am seeing huge progress.  This house is filling with spontaneous laughter again.  Family games at the kitchen table.  Goofing off as we prepare dinner and clean the kitchen.  Improper but secretly hilarious table manners (Don't tell them I said that! I PROMISE they've been taught better).  Humorous interactions and sarcasm at a level that would make Tim incredibly proud.  Just tonight, the two of them ganged up and held me down while tickling my feet until I couldn't breathe from the laughing. (Something their father taught them years ago.)

I dare say, we are finally making it.  We have practiced the "Fake it 'til you make it" mentality and are beginning to see real progress.  Extended periods of happiness and genuinely positive attitudes.  It is beautiful.  The three of us are building fun memories together.  

And I think Tim would be smiling; he would think, "Well done, guys."

That thought, knowing we have his blessing in moving forward through life without guilt. It is yet another gift he has left us.  I am grateful.

My Mission Field

We hit a rough patch of heavy grief this past month in our home. 

These things happen.

They take time to work through but the hard work is necessary for proper healing to occur.

Watching my children struggle through grief management wipes this Momma’s heart out.

When one of us goes down, the others can’t help but to follow a little bit.  It is a natural part in the process of sharing different versions of the same loss under one roof.

Honestly, we were beginning to have better days more often than horrible ones. Then one of us suffered a tremendous break through and breakdown.  With my ministry sabbatical nearing its end in a few weeks, I thought I should gather my pieces for the next quarter while I was in touch with the deep and ugly bits of grief.

It’s been a very emotional 48 hours for me.  Selecting and polishing the entries from my personal journal that God would have me share with other widows.  Creating the artwork pieces for each post, and reliving the pain associated with each story has also oddly been positive. 

How?

Without our tragic story, we couldn't proclaim the depth of our Saviors comfort to a hurting world.  It is really that simple. 

God has been faithful to comfort me.  To whom much is given, much is expected.

"When someone has been given much, much will be required in return;

and when someone has been entrusted with much, even more will be required."

Luke 12:48

While God has shown great love and compassion for me, He also expects me to proclaim all glory to His name.  I am not walking this path of widowhood victoriously because of my own strength.  It is His power that propels me forward and it is His comfort that gives me a safe spot to land when grief knocks me off my feet.

One way I reflect God's glory is through my writing and conference speaking for aNew Season/A Widow's Might Ministries.  It isn't easy.  Each of our team members have to repeatedly open ourselves up to "go there"; back to the raw pain and the brokenness time and time again as we encounter new widows who need to hear about how Christ longs to make their heart sing for joy again. 

As I place the finishing touches on my upcoming four posts for the next quarter, I am reminded of 2 Corinthians 1:4.

"God comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others."

There will undoubtedly come a day when I will not be able to continually dip down into this deep well of pain and suffering.  In order to continue my personal path of healing, I will have to move forward without re-accessing the immense sorrow.  But right now?  God has called me to minister in this way for this season.  

I cherish your prayers as I prepare to re-enter this portion of my ministry journey.   

{You can read my collection of previous ministry posts here.}