Whole

I talked with someone this week who has just become a widow.

She is very much still in shock.

Oh how I remember those first days.

They are nothing short of agony.

Trying to remember to breathe.

And then there are the first months.

When,

as well-intentioned as folks are,

they all go back to their own lives.

And then,

even though my children were there,

the house was just so empty.

And so was my life.

For my life was his life.

And his life was my life.

We were truly one.

When this lady asked me if it would get better, I promised her it would.

Because it does.

Because I remember how horrible it feels to wonder and grasp for when things would go from agony to getting better, I wish I could explain to the new ones who join our widow/widower ranks how that change happens but I can’t.

Because I really don’t know.

Other than knowing that God’s grace is always there.

But I do know that it happens.

The shifts of healing happen.

Slowly.

And in pieces.

But it does happen.

Slowly, the heart heals.

The heart, though scarred, does heal.

She asked me if I feel whole again now.

My answer to her was

“yes but a different kind of whole.”

Like “I will never be the exact same person as before” kind of whole.

Because how could all that I had with my Rob and our family not be integrated into the person I am now?  I will carry a part of him always.

I will never be the same person as before.

But I do feel whole again.

My heart,

although always missing him,

is not broken.

I still have days when the missing is tough.

(In fact, I had one of those days this week).

But it doesn’t take me all the way back to the beginning.

(Thank God)!

But for those of you who are in the beginning.

Please hang on.  Just hang on.

It does get better.

I promise.

Another friend of mine (who is a widow)

told me just this week that she knows that God sent me into her life

because she knows that,

if I can make it with all I had to do after Rob’s death

(mourn, pack up a ministry, mourn, move out of the parsonage, shop for – obtain – and set up a mobile home for my parents since I needed to move into my retirement house where they were then living, mourn, move my children away from all of their friends and where they had lived with their dad, mourn)

and with all I have to do now

(only parent my kids, homeschooling them and taking care of my parents 24/7)

then she knows she can certainly make it!

After I told her I was getting my dad ready for me to take him to the podiatrist,

she jokingly

but fully meaning it

said, “You always make my life seem not so bad!”

I replied jokingly

but fully meaning it

with,  “Glad to be of service! LOL”

And I did mean it.

If God can use what I went through (and am still going through)

to help encourage someone that he or she can make it too,

then I am glad to be of God’s service!

So, with that in mind, I thought of this post that I’m going to repost here.

I wrote this back in March 2013.

I was 2 days shy of 18 months out from my Rob’s death.

It was still so very hard then.

Looking back on what I wrote is encouraging to me that I have come as far as I have.

And I hope it will encourage someone else that they will make it too.

You will,

although in a different way,

feel whole again!

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Written on Monday, March 18, 2013

Forlorn

Mark 10: 8

"And the two will become one flesh.  So they are no longer two, but one flesh."

I miss so much about my Rob but yesterday and today, I am especially missing conversation with him. 

Yesterday something happened that I had to work really hard to not react to.  And it was a simple thing - really not noteworthy to anyone but me.  But it was hard.  In response to a question asked, I spoke.  What I said is irrelevant but it was obvious that what I said did not matter and was maybe not even heard.  It really was not a big deal.  But in that moment, for some reason, it was huge to my heart that the person did not take the interest or the time (1/2 of a minute) to finish hearing my answer.  

And in that moment, I missed my Rob more intensely than I have in a while. 

I so miss him coming home and telling me about his day.

And I so miss having someone to tell about mine.

I miss talking with him about his past, his present, and his future.

And I so miss having that one person who knows and cares about the details of my past, my present, and my future.

I miss listening to him ramble on and on while getting his point across.

And I miss him listening to me ramble on and on while making many points.

(And I even miss the times when I know he wasn't really listening 

but he cared enough about me to try to fake listening).

I miss having someone who remembers the days our children were born, someone who remembers the milestones they have marked, and someone to be with me as they mark new ones. 

I miss having someone I have history with.

I miss having someone with whom I know I have a future.

So as the verse I quoted above says, "the two will become one."  That's the way I felt about all of my life with Rob.  His troubles were my troubles.  My troubles were his troubles.  His joys were my joys.  My joys were his joys.  And even in disagreement, I always felt like we had the same ultimate goals.  

And when his death happened (which in 2 days will be 18 months ago), that "twoness" felt like it was literally ripped from my body, my intellect, and my emotions.  It literally felt like I lost a limb.  

I'm not a math person but this is the way it has added up and has been subtracted for me.

When I married Rob, we went from being separate ones - "two" - to being "one."

But when he died, I did not feel like I went back to being my separate one of "two"
that I was before Rob.

It felt like I was reduced to 1/2 of the "one" we were - only 1/2 was left.

And now, even though on most days I am truly fine, there are some days - like yesterday and today - when it seems as if I'll never feel like a whole "one" again.