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!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
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