Thursday, August 17, 2017

In one word...



On a FB grief support community, someone posted this meme. The top words that people chose were: Unending. Unbearable. Life ending. Everlasting. Relentless. Surreal. Lonely. Difficult. Impossible. Shocking. Crushing. Empty. Lost. Hell. Change. Broken. One user even put "Can't."  One user put "hope" and another "heaven."  As for me, the word I chose was: REDEFINING.

How has grief redefined me?

My world was turned upside down. I had a hole in my heart the size of the Grand Canyon. Having been part of an "us" for 34 years, I was suddenly on my own. It was like falling of a boat into the middle of the ocean. During a storm. In the dark. My life became so utterly different than what it was and while the changes were being made, having to contend with crushing sadness and loss was at times nearly overwhelming.

I say "nearly overwhelming" because God won't let us be overwhelmed. His presence in the fire, in the flood, in the furnace, wherever we may be, keeps us from being consumed by it.


Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Busy-ness

It occurred to me that I have spent most of this past year since my husband died in a whirlwind of busy-ness. It is rare that I relax - often that means collapsing.

Before Pat passed, I had accepted a position that did not pay well because we had his income for our main support. This job was a mission and very worthy in terms of experience. We were both excited about it.  When he passed, I knew the salary wasn't going to cut it BUT there was no way on this green earth that I could handle interviews after his death. So I've been drawing from the life insurance I received to pay my big bills every month - this cannot go on forever.  I also would lose my health insurance because we were insured through Pat's job. My new job offered that but it took a huge chunk out of my paycheck each payroll. Therefore, I began teaching several exercise classes a week to supplement my income.

Each day involved getting up at 5:30, taking care of the dogs, leaving for school by 7, a 30-minute drive, starting my workday, dealing with a very unkind co-worker, heading home at 3:15 for a 45-minute drive since the traffic had picked up. Taking care of dogs, eating quickly, heading out the door to teach a class, coming home, grading papers, cleaning, laundry. For a couple of months there was a man I was seeing who showed up every night that I didn't work at the gym. This meant that I couldn't do the stuff that needed to be done because I was entertaining him or he was taking me out to eat. Sometimes we walked or went to the gym but I was determined to be in bed by 9:30 pm to get a good night's sleep. Therefore, there was more rush on the other days. On weekends I tried to see the grandkids, tried to accomplish bigger chores. Went to church every Sunday. Directed a children's church Christmas program from October through December.

All the while I was rushing hither and yon, working, breathing, juggling life, I was stricken with grief and striving to function around it somehow. My house was (and mostly is) positively overflowing with my husband's things. He liked his "stuff" and there has been quite a wild amount to deal with. (My goal was to get that done this summer, ha ha ha). I was able after a few months to give away and donate more than 15 giant bags of his clothing. When I say "more," I am talking 5 - 10 bags more. I lost count. There were 64 pairs of pants/jeans before I stopped counting. I'm still working on shoveling my way out of his belongings and there are less than three weeks left to summer break.

This summer break I had so much that I planned to tackle. However, Vacation Bible School was slated for two weeks after school ended. That first week meant decorating and organizing stuff. Any one who has done this know what kind of work this is. My dear friend and I had the teaching station so we had to plan/practice our lessons and then spend 3 hours each morning delivering them.  Meanwhile in the first two weeks after school ended, I taught 26 exercise classes.  The summer has been spent with me teaching 10 classes a week  - and sometimes a couple of more. I've babysat grandchildren whenever possible.

I also fell in love. After the first fuzzy relationship - more like friendship - with a widower ended, God put a man in my life that had been a friend of my husband's. He was seeking after God, reading my writings, and wanting to talk to me about the Lord. That turned into a long distance relationship and a prayer partnership. We read the Bible together daily and pray every morning before work and every evening before bed. We also have been seeing each other every month, sometimes twice a month. Each of those visits is jam-packed with a great deal of busy, busy frenzied activity. He has projects that he feels need to be done at my house (and I'm thankful). When I go there, he has things he wants to take me to do and I also need to see my daughter and her four children. It hasn't been restful.  The most restful time was when I had two snow days in a row and he was visiting while out of work due to an injury.

I've had very few days with the luxury of truly having nothing to do in a "good way." The days that there has been "nothing" were also populated with emotional turmoil. There has been quite a bit of that to contend with. The co-worker who was so much like Dolores Umbridge who seemed to make a business out of trying to tear me down. The grieving child lashing out at the easiest target. Suffice it to say that other relationships can be affected by grief, especially when it is shared. Being the "mom" it was very hard to function in full mom mode when I have also been a new widow trying to find my way in a completely new life.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

One year has passed...

It seems like yesterday they were lowering Pat into the ground - and yet it seems like a thousand years ago, or at least a dozen.  On one hand I feel like I'll spy him out in the back yard, putzing around, doing what he love. On another, I feel like it has been infinity since I saw his face, kissed his lips, and felt his warmth.  Here I am, after one year has passed, gazing into the gaping hole left by the loss of my husband.

How can it be that my life somehow moves forward with such an intrinsic partner in it missing? We were an "us" not a "you" and an "I." This is something that he emphatically stated time and time again. We were a team, each with our own roles to play but clearly working together towards a common goal. I feel at times like I am standing out in a ballfield, facing my opponent, and yet somehow expected to cover all the bases by myself. On those days I'm torn between trying to do it all and wanting to call "forfeit" and run home to nurse my sorrows.

There are things I would tell him, and I hope he would understand. I'm an athlete, no good on the sidelines. Letting life pass me by doesn't come natural to me and no dishonor to the relationship is meant. "I'm in the tryouts or training season for a new team. Seven months now.  He is not you, but he is a good man in his own right."  This new team is going to have a completely different schema; its own strengths and weaknesses. It doesn't replace the team that Pat and I once made. In fact, it is an entirely different league. Once upon a time we were children who grew up into adults together, we built a life, had our own children, then grandchildren. This new team is made up of two people who are already all grown up and who do not want to stand alone in the ballfield hitting balls and running after them alone.

Sometimes I cry; most of the time I just keep muddling forward. I've made it through one year this way. One day I'll probably sit down to write and discover it has been ten years. I wonder where I will be then.